Reporter’s Notebook: What I learned talking to people about addiction and recovery in Kamloops

Content warning: This story mentions overdose, substance use, the toxic drug crisis and death. Please read with care. To connect with your local mental health or substance use centre, call 310-MHSU (6478).

My hands are sweating nervously. I’m mentally going over all of the questions I had written for my very first interview as I walk to our agreed meeting place, a local Denny’s. 

I’m meeting Troylana Manson, a retired kindergarten teacher and advocate with Moms Stop the Harm, a harm reduction advocacy group made up of parents who have lost a child to drug poisoning overdose. I anxiously debate what I should order. Is it considered professional to order a chocolate milkshake? I decided so. 

I’m interviewing for Roadmap to Recovery, a special series for The Wren. As a student in Thompson Rivers University’s (TRU) master of human rights and social justice program, I’m asked to complete a practicum to gain on-the-ground experience in working toward social justice. 

Having worked in the field of harm reduction facilitating youth recovery groups, I saw an opportunity to team up with Kamloops’ (Tk’emlúps) only independent, community-driven news outlet to research the local situation. 

The Wren heard readers say it can be hard to find information about addiction recovery services. With addictions so visible in the community, especially downtown and on the North Shore, I wanted to offer my research skills to support more productive community conversations about recovery.

Over the course of eight weeks, I interviewed people with direct experience with local recovery programs to investigate what services are available, what’s missing and what’s misunderstood.

Manson is a self-described “born and raised” resident of Kamloops. She admits she “wears many, many, many hats,” including kindergarten teacher, advocate and mom.

“Two kids, and now I have a new daughter,” she explains, referring to her late son Aaron’s girlfriend. 

Aaron is described by his mom as an incredible cook and self-taught guitar player who “gave the warmest hugs.” 

The 26-year-old was just about to graduate from TRU when he passed suddenly of drug poisoning. 

Manson said her son was living his best life as a student coming into his independence.  “He just loved school so much being in university, and loving his mentor teachers. He’s just learned so much from them.” 

Aaron was in recovery and doing well, making choices to protect the progress he had made. Despite experiencing a relapse, Aaron remained close to his family and committed to the life he was building. 

“I’ve had a slip [setback in recovery],” Aaron journalled. “Today’s a new day. I’m so grateful for my family, and my path in life.”

Aaron’s life was cut tragically short in 2021 after he ingested a fatal mix of toxic drugs including kratom, a plant-derived opioid marketed as an herbal supplement made from leaves of the Mitragyna speciosa tree, found in Southeast Asia. 

Though it can be purchased online, kratom is not recognized as safe by the U.S. Food and Drug Administration or Health Canada.

Use of kratom has spread in recent years by people seeking a substitute for opioids or as treatment for opioid withdrawal.

Manson recounts her and her husband giving Aaron chest compressions and Naloxone, a life-saving drug given to temporarily reverse the effects of an opioid overdose. 

They were quickly met by paramedics and firefighters, who had already been in the neighbourhood for an unrelated case. As Manson points out, Aaron had the best chance possible. It simply wasn’t enough. 

Without drug policy that includes a regulated, controlled safe supply, Manson believes people will continue to die, regardless of in-the-moment efforts to save them. 

“You can get more ambulances, you can get more fire trucks, you get more whatever — all the bells and whistles — it would not change what was in his system, it was done.” 

Manson imagines what could have been if Aaron, who was committed to his life and recovery, had access to regulated kratom that was labelled with a suggested dose, similar to the Health Canada warnings on packages of cigarettes.

A Health Canada report indicates cigarette smokers are 25 times more likely to die from lung cancer, compared to someone who has never smoked. Yet, according to most recent data from the 2022 Canadian Tobacco and Nicotine Survey, 3.2 million people aged 25 years and older smoke cigarettes. 

Cigarettes are an example of a controlled supply of tobacco, with appropriate labels that warn people of potential harms from using. In the same vein, this could be done with illicit drugs.  

My first interview lasted almost three hours. I am so mesmerized and moved by Manson and her story. I feel so privileged to listen to her. This feeling would continue to grow as my practicum went on. 

I need to honour these voices. I have to do right by them. Each person I interview leaves a lasting impact on my heart. I feel myself carrying them forward, as I continue my research. 

I attend a few drop-in Street College groups run at The Loop, an informal education program facilitated by my classmates Lana Fine and Kris Middleton. 

I’ve heard about The Loop drop-in centre, mostly in the context of community members expressing concern about impacts on nearby businesses. I have to investigate for myself.

I’m surprised to see The Loop is surrounded by colourful, painted banners. The art is so vibrant, I snapped a photo. Fine welcomes me inside, showing me to the backroom they have set up for Street College. 

The group is attended by a few community members. It is fairly informal, participants can stay for as long as they want, even if just to have a couple of snacks while sitting safely inside. Today’s topic is the history of the Opium Wars. Fine and Middleton have a PowerPoint prepared and a short documentary to watch. 

I chat with other participants and quickly connect with a Loop regular. She is energetic, curious, and easy to talk to. In the time I spend with her, I never see her not smiling. She calls me her “new best buddy,” and teases me for being late to the group. 

During one of our conversations, I asked what would happen to her if The Loop closed, since I’ve learned the drop-in centre’s lease will soon expire. She softly responds, “I eat supper here every day. I don’t know where I would go.” 

Her words echo in my mind. Where would people like my new friend go? During my last visit to The Loop, she pulls me in for a tight hug and reminds me to not be late for the next group. 

I chat with an older gentleman who is helping give the building a new coat of paint. He shares a bit about his background and what brought him to Kamloops years ago. He teases me playfully about my paint-brushing skills. 

During one visit, I am treated to a tour of The Loop kitchen with Danica Fletcher and other volunteers. If you didn’t know you were in The Loop, you would think you had stepped into a family’s kitchen. Fletcher prepares a salad and pasta for dinner, while warmly chatting and checking in with folks as they pass through. I can tell her work at The Loop is a real labour of love. 

Everyone pitches in to help, whether that be cleaning up outside, setting tables and chairs for dinner, or checking in on each other. I realize The Loop is a community that takes care of its members. 

I wish people could experience The Loop in the way I did. To be clear: I am not street-entrenched. I am very privileged to be able to visit The Loop for research, instead of relying on it for a safe place to go. During the three groups I attended, my safety never felt threatened. Instead, I was welcomed into a community. 

As operator Glenn Hilke points out during a phone call, street-entrenched people will be more visible in public spaces with The Loop shutting down, having lost a safe space to eat, shower, do laundry and connect with their community members. 

So long as affordable housing remains unattainable, street-entrenched people will continue to exist, whether we choose to ignore them or not. 

Reporters take an evidence-based approach so I know I need to talk to more people. I return to the North Shore and walk up and down the streets. It’s a beautiful neighbourhood with a mix of businesses and social support services. 

I recognize a few organizations from my research. I stopped by the Interior Chemical Dependency Office, ASK Wellness, North Shore Community Care Services and Kamloops Immigrant Services. I collect a pile of pamphlets for future reference, and make a few contacts with service providers.

I muster the courage to walk into a few businesses. A budtender at a nearby dispensary expresses feeling protective towards The Loop, viewing them as neighbours and members of the same community. 

I speak with another local business owner who says she doesn’t have a problem with The Loop. With the exception of some graffiti, she reported no issues in the seven years she’s worked nearby. As a longtime resident of the North Shore, she feels more concerned about unmet mental health needs.

I move on to Hatsuki Sushi, a restaurant across from The Loop. The owner, Oscar Or, opens up about his frustrations. He’s experienced people scaring his diners by shouting, asking for free food and leaving garbage and other waste outside. 

“Imagine any customer comes with their kids, this is the first time, and the last time they want to be here,” he says. 

Or shows me security footage of people camping on the roof of his restaurant and photos of property damage to the side of the building. 

After several break-in attempts, Or installed multiple security systems. The extra security measures would not be necessary if his business was located elsewhere, he believes. 

I empathize with Or. His whole life is his business. He also has a responsibility to provide a safe workplace for his staff. 

“Is it necessary? Yes, I have to,” he says.

I feel torn between two worlds. I keep thinking about Or sleeping with his phone under his pillow out of an anxious habit to protect his livelihood. 

On the other hand, I think about my “new best buddy,” who relies on The Loop, for dinner. My sense of responsibility to who I speak to is gnawing at me. The issue isn’t black and white, it’s coloured with shades of grey. 

If you or someone you know is struggling, visit HelpStartsHere.gov.bc.ca or call 310-MHSU (6478).

You can also visit the Interior Health Authority’s Mental Health and Substance Use Services