Remembering Chris and the invisible drug deaths

I learned that Chris was in a coma because I asked for his photograph. 

I rarely ask for pictures of people who use illicit drugs. When I go to encampments for interviews, I keep my phone out of sight. This is because I want people to actually talk to me, but I also want them to feel safe. It’s not just that they’re worried about being arrested. They could also be targeted for “clean-ups” or “abatements”—having their shelter and possessions taken. In a context like this, brandishing your camera without permission is almost like pulling out a weapon—you’re broadcasting that you have power over others and you aren’t afraid to use it. 

But when I was working on a story about how jails are unprepared for the latest withdrawal crisis, my editor asked if there was anyone we could photograph. I immediately thought of Chris. Because he was one of those guys who is handsome and charming and clearly knows it, and I suspected he’d enjoy the opportunity to broadcast his good looks without appearing vain. Chris had long hair—a bit unkempt, yes—and the features of a Disney prince: the round eyes and strong but symmetrical nose. So I texted Julie Armagost, the outreach coordinator at Bridge to the Mountains who introduced me to Chris in Pittsburgh. I asked if he might be interested in a photo shoot. Her answer made my heart sink. 

Just a week after I met Chris, he’d experienced a second heart attack due to withdrawal from medetomidine, a tranquilizer that has adulterated illicit fentanyl in Pennsylvania for over a year. Severe medetomidine withdrawal can cause strokes and heart attacks. Both of Chris's heart attacks happened after he was arrested and lost access to his drugs. Upon his second arrest, Chris was withdrawing so badly that police skipped jail and took him straight to the hospital, where physicians put him into an induced coma to protect his brain and heart.  When he came out of the coma, he was responsive at first. Then his heart gave out.  He was just 36—my exact age.

Today is Overdose Awareness Day, but Chris’s death will not be included in the CDC statistics that paint an optimistic picture of overdose fatalities on the decline. Because his deadly heart attack was the result of  withdrawal and not overdose, there is no systematic dashboard that will include it. 

This is not a memorial piece or a real portrait of Chris. I didn’t know him beyond the hour we spoke at a McDonald’s along with his partner, Brandie, who survived him. I don’t have permission to use his last name or his image. But during that hour, he made it very clear that he wanted people to understand him and his community. To know what it’s really like to be living on the street and addicted to fentanyl. The pain, the frustration, but also the moments of community and even laughter at the bleakness of it all. I have the opportunity to share a single impression of a man during one of the last days of his life. Here it is.