To: JFoilett@durhamregion.com – July 11, 2012
Jillian, I’d like to commend you on your article written in, “Oshawa This Week” regarding the discontinuation of OxyContin, and the fallout to occur. I too, have been watching this issue closely. I first heard of OxyContin through a pseudonym, hillbilly heroin. Last year, I bought a home in Oshawa, which happens to share a driveway with a rooming house next door. Since then, I’ve met all sorts of interesting people, and listened to many tales of innovative mischief. For instance, I was told that heating the gel version of OxyContin, then freezing it, will turn the liquid into a solid. This will allow the user to crush the frozen tablet into powder and administer it how they see fit. Another account is one that takes place inside something called a methadone clinic, which is a facility intended to wean patients from opiate dependence using a similar prescription called methadone. As it turns out, some patients will enter a clinic with a plastic bag concealed under a long-sleeved shirt. Once the medication is received, it is held in the mouth until the eyes of the caregiver prove inattentive. The drink is then transferred into the bag, which can later be distributed among friends, family, or any other members within our community.
As endearing as the house beside my home is, it would pale in comparison to the home three doors down. Many evenings, I would sit on the porch of my humble contribution to Oshawa’s revitalization. Cigarette in one hand, lemon tea with touch of honey in the other, and observe the constant activity of this home which I can only describe as a saloon from the Wild West. Several organizations made the effort to solicit intervention with little to no result. In the end, the result was of course catastrophic failure, as Durham Region witnessed its first homicide of 2012. As the community continues to heal from this travesty, what is to be said of the men who lived there? I cannot imagine anything more sinister than a venture for prosperity through chemical addiction. A platform for conformity so devious, Heinrich Himmler would praise the sponsorship.
With the discontinuation of OxyContin, and urgent warning that heroin could reach levels of epidemic, many questions remain. The first, what will happen to the 3.9 million dollars that Premier Dalton Mcguinty invested to facilitate Purdue Pharma? The opiate manufacturer located at 575 Granite Ct, in Pickering Ontario. Secondly, will students at the University of Ontario, continue to benefit through donations received from Purdue Pharma? Furthermore, will this hinder the international relationship between UOIT and ICT Prague, a chemical engineering university residing in the Czech Republic’s most liberal city? Perhaps, one day, the collaborated effort of these young minds, can engineer a more suitable design of relief for pain without addiction. Whether indigenous, or born of colonial inheritance, I believe most Ontarians would consider these inquiries valid. Regardless, Jillian, there is just one more question that would keep even the most introverted of observers awake at night. As tourism in Afghanistan has declined, and roughly 90% of the world’s opium is produced in Afghan fields, where poppies grow. The assumption of import must prove to be true. Yet, with stringent airport security, the probing, the prodding, touching that only significant others should do, how on earth does heroin get here? Perhaps that is a question a young man should no longer concern himself with.
If I may, I’d like tell you about my dear friend Amanda. Born of humble beginnings, her mother a postal worker, her father a gardener, she is the younger sibling of two. As is often the case with young girls, she would take every opportunity to outwit her brother when playing in their backyard. Further into adolescence, she would shed her tomboy exterior, become a valedictorian, and gaze upon the future toward high school. Unfortunately, as is all too common of young couples who fall for tradition of love, foundations of the family unit crumbled, and a new father figure was introduced. He is a military man, a Christian man, a follower of the good book. Sadly, neither discipline, nor comforts of God, could curb instinct as the children were rejected. Amanda is aware of many social services offered in Toronto, the city of gods and angels. Fortunately, her love for literature, and women of historic significance, enabled her to prevail. She would gain employment, put herself through school, and find a place to call home. I’m certain Amanda would be viewed as a pillar of strength to many young women in similar situations. However, as fate often tests those capable, she was sentenced one more tribulation. A sentence far greater than any judge or jury could bestow and more inhuman than any institution of profit for law could conceive.
At the age of twenty-seven, her vision would blur, her limbs weakened, the grace of her dexterity dwindle. Twenty-seven years old and walking up twelve stairs would become so exhausting it would give cause for a break. The simple act of signing her name became a daunting task, as she began to lose the sensation of touch. Twenty-seven years old, and she could no longer feel a loving hand brush the hair from her eyes or caress the features of her face. Twenty seven years old and Amanda was indeed diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis. Shortly after her diagnosis, she would decide that it would be irresponsible of her to bear children. The last four years I have watched her from a distance as the many scars of MS, a vascular disease I know all too well, takes hold. The thought of her being confined to a chair for the rest of her life is unbearable to me.
Staying true to her nature, Amanda is not one to back down from any challenge. She now seeks the effort of doctors to perform the CCSVI procedure, a procedure known as The Liberation Treatment, envisioned by Dr. Zamboni. As what could be considered the greatest love story of our time, this treatment was not conceived in the name of cyclical profit, but for love of another. The good doctor’s wife also fell victim to this, mysterious disease. Certainly, passions of Dr. Zamboni will forever romance the pages of history, as all efforts before him to find a cure, prove unfavorable.
Against my better judgment, Amanda has sought this treatment in the United States. With the current situation of the American healthcare system, circumstance of uncertainty is a concern. Nevertheless, Amanda has already begun the process and took it upon herself to raise funds for this procedure. Unfortunately, she has fallen short of the desired amount, and will require an estimated sum of six thousand dollars. It is for this reason I have put pen to paper. With CCSVI being most significant breakthrough in the history of Multiple Sclerosis, one would assume that a beacon of light would streak across our skies, illuminating the shores of this great country, summoning all capable of contribution to end this chapter of hopelessness. Sadly, for reasons unknown, this procedure has been met with great resistance in Canada. The Premier of Ontario is viewed as a proponent of this resistance, with the implementation of Purdue Pharma, a failed endeavour with obvious challenges. I wonder Jillian, if I may ask for an act of kindness on your behalf. I wonder if you could use your credentials as influence, to send a note to this Mr. McGuinty. I would like to ask the good Premier, if he would consider a donation to help emancipate a young woman from fear of the inevitable. Perhaps, an act of benevolence would be seen as a sign of good faith among those within the international community of MS sufferers.
With warmest regards,
Franklin A Churchill