Lessons from the Frontlines: 5 Things We’ve Learned About the Drug Crisis
As a nurse and someone who has lost a loved one to a fentanyl overdose, I’ve seen the devastating impact of the drug epidemic from both a professional and deeply personal perspective. Beyond the statistics and headlines, the crisis is heartbreakingly human. It’s not just about substance use disorder; it’s about people—fathers, mothers, siblings, children—fighting battles we often don’t see until it’s too late. I’ve cared for patients in withdrawal, their bodies trembling with pain and fear, and I’ve watched families break under the weight of guilt and grief. And I’ve walked my own path of loss, learning how it feels to carry the questions that come after. These are the lessons I’ve learned, lessons that have reshaped how I view the epidemic and how we can all approach it with greater compassion and understanding.
Substance Use Disorder Is A Disease, not a moral failure
One of the hardest truths I’ve come to understand is how deeply misunderstood substance use disorder is. I’ve held the hands of patients detoxing alone in hospital beds, their bodies shaking from withdrawal as they whispered apologies for “being a burden.” I’ve seen the tears of people begging for help, scared to admit their struggles because they fear judgment. And I’ve talked to families who are heartbroken and confused, asking me, “Why couldn’t they just stop?” These moments have shown me that substance use disorder isn’t about weakness or bad choices—it’s a chronic condition shaped by genetics, trauma, mental health, and societal pressures. Shame and stigma only push people further into the shadows, making it harder for them to seek the care they so desperately need. We, as advocates, must dismantle these harmful narratives and replace them with compassion and understanding.
2. The Overdose Crisis is Often Silent and Unseen
As a nurse and someone who lost a loved one to a fentanyl overdose, I’ve seen the devastating aftermath of this crisis from two deeply personal angles. My brother Adam’s death wasn’t just a statistic—it was a hole ripped into the fabric of our family. He thought he was taking something to ease his pain, but what he didn’t know was that it had been laced with fentanyl. I’ll never forget the call that shattered everything, or the moments after when my mind swirled with questions—“Did he know? Could I have done something more?” Adam wasn’t reckless; he was human, struggling like so many others I’ve met in my work as a nurse.
In the hospital, I’ve seen countless parents sitting beside beds just like his, holding hands that will never hold back again, whispering the same helpless words: “He didn’t know.” For me, Adam’s story will always be the one that haunts me most. I got the call at 1 a.m., and I rushed to the hospital, holding back tears in a Lyft as panic swirled in my chest. Just weeks earlier, we had celebrated our daughters’ birthday together. He had laughed and played with the kids, full of life in a way I hadn’t seen in a while. But this time was different. When I arrived, he was hooked up to a ventilator, not breathing on his own, his body wracked with seizures. The room was a blur of machines and alarms, and I felt helpless as I watched him lying there. It was traumatic in a way I can’t fully put into words.
Many overdoses aren’t the result of intentional misuse but of drugs unknowingly poisoned with fentanyl. Adam thought he was taking something to ease his pain, but it had been laced with this deadly substance. His story—and the countless others I’ve witnessed—are stark reminders of why awareness campaigns must highlight the dangers of a poisoned drug supply, not just the broader issue of substance use disorder.
3. Families Carry a Heavy Burden
It’s not just the person living with substance use disorder who suffers—it’s their entire support system. I’ve spoken with parents, spouses, and siblings in hospital hallways, desperate for answers, guidance, or simply reassurance that they did everything they could. The guilt and helplessness they carry are heavy. Families need just as much support as the individual facing these challenges, yet resources for them are scarce. As advocates, we need to push for programs that address the needs of the whole family.
4. Stigma is Killing People
I’ve seen patients judged for their struggles. I’ve had to bite back tears and frustration when hearing those words, knowing they could have just as easily been said about Adam. These labels don’t just hurt—they can kill. Stigma in healthcare creates walls where there should be doors, making it harder for people to get the care they need.
Every time I hear these judgmental remarks, I try to take a deep breath and use it as an opportunity to educate. I’ll share Adam’s story or point out the courage it takes for someone to seek help, even when they know they’ll be judged. It’s not always easy; sometimes I’m met with indifference or resistance. But there are moments when a colleague’s expression softens, when they start to see the human being behind the label. Those moments keep me going, because every person deserves to be treated with dignity, no matter their circumstances. As a nurse and an advocate, I will continue to fight for empathy in healthcare, even if it’s one conversation at a time.
5. Prevention Starts With Education
One of the most heartbreaking things I’ve learned is how preventable many overdoses are. I’ve cared for young adults who didn’t even know they were taking fentanyl-laced pills. I’ve had parents tell me they didn’t realize how easily their teenager could access counterfeit drugs. Education is key—not just in schools, but in communities, healthcare settings, and even homes. Advocates have the power to bridge this gap by raising awareness about harm reduction and safe practices.
