DRUG DAMAGE SENDS STARK MESSAGE

On Aug. 22, 1997, 22-year-old Jade Bell finished his shift as a waiter
at a tony Vancouver restaurant and went to a friend's place, where he
shot heroin in the bathroom. He'd been an addict for several months
but injected too much that night. Despite his friend's attempts at
mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, he collapsed motionless on the floor.

In the 15 minutes it took paramedics to arrive and inject the drug
Narcan, which scrubs heroin from receptors in the brain and allows the
cells to "breathe" again, his brain was severely damaged. Today, Bell
is blind and can't control his limbs or speak-he has to tap messages
out in Morse code, using his head, and let his computer do the speaking.

But that hasn't stopped him from getting his message out at Lower
Mainland high schools-that drugs and alcohol aren't cool or glamourous
or even fun, but deadly.

Bell's tanned arms are heavily tattooed. He has a goatee, wears
several silver necklaces, bracelets and large rings, and looks every
bit the bad-boy rock star. In a recent presentation at Prince of Wales
secondary, he starts by showing the short video "The Wrath of the
Dragon." Before it begins, warnings flash on the auditorium's screen
that the video contains scenes of death and violence and the audience
may find it deeply disturbing. The warnings are justified: the video
includes interviews with ravaged teenaged junkies, scenes from a
school-age addict's funeral and images of overdoses on the Downtown
Eastside.

In a speech that took Bell more than three weeks to tap out, using a
wheelchair-mounted device that records each bump of his head as a dot
or dash, Bell tells the students how he's endured several friends'
suicides since he began using drugs, and feels responsible for the
death of his best friend, who also overdosed on heroin.

In a monotone computer voice, Bell urges kids to tell a parent or a
counsellor if their friends are using drugs. It's not "ratting them
out," he says, but saving their lives.

Afterwards, Bell fields questions from the crowd about things like how
old he was when he first began using drugs and if his rigid muscles
are painful. In response, he bumps his head against a pad on his
headrest, taking several minutes to bump out each letter of every
word-he often taps out an incorrect letter and must skip back. Despite
the painstaking process, his humour shines through his simple answers
and he encourages the audience to ask more questions.

Bell has presented his story to more than 13,000 students over the
past two years. He lives in a West End apartment with a 24-hour care
giver named Nathalie Pitre, and has become a favourite of Brian
Hall-Stevenson, addictions prevention coordinator with the Ministry
for Children and Families.

"We do drinking and driving talks and bring in various alcohol abuse
counselors and stuff, but this is the guy that has a real impact,"
said Hall-Stevenson, who books anti-alcohol and drug speakers at Lower
Mainland high schools. "People are always moved by his presentation-so
much so, that high school students will give up their lunch hour to
stay behind and meet this guy."

Although some people may be disturbed by swearing and images of dead
junkies in the video, Hall-Stevenson said as many kids as possible
should be exposed to Bell's message. "At this age, young people are
starting to flirt with other types of drugs besides alcohol and
marijuana. They're experimenting with things like ecstasy, cocaine and
heroin and we want them to know that this can happen."

After the talk, two dozen young girls and a few boys stream onto the
stage at Prince of Wales secondary school and form a circle around
Bell's wheelchair. A few bolder kids approach to thank him for the
presentation he just finished, but most hang back, not knowing how to
approach a blind man who can't speak or control his limbs.

After questions about his favourite colour, favourite band and what
high school he attended begin to dwindle, a short blonde-haired girl
in a green track suit steps forward. She whispers in Bell's ear, wraps
her arms around him and begins to cry. Bell leans his head
forward-about the only thing he can do without assistance-and smiles.