HIGH SOCIETY

In a city obsessed with the problems of street drugs, white collar
drug addicts slip under the radar--at great cost to themselves and
their families

Gary remembers the day he hit rock bottom.

"The lowest point for me was the day I woke up in my car on the side
of the highway at UBC and couldn't remember how I got there," he
recalls. "The sun was coming up and I was supposed to be at work. I'd
had a dream about my [deceased] dad while I was sleeping and he was
slapping me in the face. I looked in the [rear-view] mirror and had
one of those dramatic movie moments. That was when I called my mom, my
brother and my sister-in-law and said, 'I need help.'"

Gary, a rising young executive, initially regarded that moment as one
of the worst of his life, but now considers it the wake-up call that
saved his life. A recovering alcoholic and cocaine user, Gary has been
clean and sober since that day, July 17, 2006.

The Courier agreed not to use Gary's last name at his request, which
was in keeping with his commitment to the code of Alcoholics
Anonymous. In exchange, the 33-year-old Vancouver resident agreed to
share his story.

In a city obsessed with the alcohol and drug addiction problems
plaguing the Downtown Eastside and other neighbourhoods, it's easy for
white-collar addicts like Gary to slip under the radar. On the
surface, people like Gary seem to have won life's lottery: they're
successful, well-paid, popular and happy. But drug and alcohol
addiction in this city goes far beyond the corner of Main and Hastings
and can be found in the professional world of doctors, dentists,
nurses, lawyers, pilots, veterinarians, business owners and executives
working in banking and finance. Drugs are remarkably easy to find in
their social circles, and they have the money to buy them. Some like
Gary find their way into treatment, often thanks to understanding and
compassion from their employers, friends and family. And those like
Gary who succeed hope that others in their situation will do the same.

Gary was an ambitious financial executive in his late 20s, in
corporate training, education and development, when he began his
spiral into drug and alcohol abuse. He'd been a social drinker for
years, but in 2005 after receiving a promotion at work and the raise
that went along with it, he ramped the partying up.

Gary's story could be lifted straight from the script of the 1980s
movie Bright Lights, Big City, in which Michael J. Fox plays a young
talented executive swept up in the party life that so often
accompanies the professional rise of successful men and women. As in
the movie, alcohol and cocaine quickly became Gary's drugs of choice.
Gary, who first tried cocaine New Year's Eve, 2001, began as a
recreational user who kept his drug-taking to the occasional weekend.

"I was sort of the party guy with my friends and family and things
were good for awhile," Gary explains. "But I think it was when cocaine
got in the picture that things started to deteriorate pretty fast.
Pretty soon things were out of control."

Gary began avoiding family and close friends and hung around with a
group of other successful young professionals with whom partying was a
priority. He had three groups of friends. After work, he enjoyed
civilized after-work cocktails, but when they headed home he'd join a
second crew of friends willing to party until midnight on a work
night. Once Gary said goodnight to that gang, he'd catch up with his
midnight shift, whose venue of choice was a now-defunct restaurant on
Granville Street that fronted for an after-hours bar.

"I'd stay out drinking until four or five in the morning, five and six
days in a row," he says. "It got to the point I'd know I was going to
stay out all night and I'd bring a change of clothes for work."

The office where Gary works has a gym, and he'd slip into the shower
after a night of partying, change his clothes and begin his work day,
often without sleeping.

"I reached the point where my sole purpose of the day was not to pass
out," he says. "Looking back you try and make sense of why this
happened, and ask, 'Why me?' I never planned on this happening. I have
a totally great family and I never had any financial
difficulties."

He reached the point where he drank most weeknights and used large
amounts of cocaine on the weekends. He took cash advances from his
credit cards to pay for his habits and soon found himself in serious
debt. Initially a gram of cocaine would last Gary a week, but
eventually he started snorting up to a $100 "eight ball" [3.5 grams]
of cocaine in a day.

Gary never had to buy drugs off the street because as a young
professional he knew enough other young professionals so that a drug
source was no further than a phone call away. He says the owner of the
restaurant was also good for hooking the party gang up with coke on
request.

During these binges it was easy for Gary to believe he'd be best
friends forever with his newfound buddies. One of them would wait
until his wife fell asleep before sneaking out of the house to join
his party pals.

"While we were partying we'd come up with great ideas for the world,"
he says. "But then I couldn't remember what they were the next day. I
had replaced all of my really good friends with people who were always
on the scene. I was embarrassed, I didn't think they'd
understand."

Gary's performance on the job slipped and he missed several important
deadlines. He also began calling in sick to work. On one of those
occasions he spent the day alone drinking a bottle of tequila at a
friend's place.

Then Gary suffered blackouts. Near the end of his drinking days Gary
would find himself at a party with no clue how he got there. More
disturbingly, when he'd leave the party he often found his car parked
outside but had no memory of having driven it there.

And that's exactly what happened the morning Gary woke up on the side
of the road by UBC. He says he doesn't have to be reminded how lucky
he was that he didn't kill himself or someone else. The shame and
guilt he felt was the main reason it took him so long to ask for help.
The idea of confessing digressions to mothers, fathers, siblings or
close friends keeps many addicts in the closet. But Gary says he's
proof addicts can get past the shame with help and get their lives
back on track.

Gary found the help he needed at the Orchard Recovery and Treatment
Centre on Bowen Island, one of several residential treatment programs
in B.C. where white-collar addicts from around the world head in
search of help. Gary decided on the private, for-profit centre after
researching treatment options online. He was reluctant to participate
in other Vancouver-based programs because he assumed they'd be full of
street people similar to the ones he'd seen on the Downtown Eastside.

"That was a whole other bottom I didn't see myself as hitting," he
says. "I just pictured people living on the street using heroin. I
couldn't relate to that at all."

Once Gary decided to seek help he went to his supervisor at work to
tell him the truth about his poor performance of late. "He's known me
since I started," says Gary. "I went to him and said, 'You know I've
been calling in sick a lot, well I'm going to have to call in sick one
big time again.'"

Gary credits his supervisor for showing great concern and for agreeing
to keep their conversation confidential. By then Gary had quit
drinking and joined AA. "He told me to take as much time as I needed
with no questions asked and got the [insurance] paper work going,"
says Gary. Gary's employer offered private insurance, which helped
with the $12,700 cost of his 28-day stay at Orchard.

Many white-collar companies have employee assistance plans for
executives that will cover all or part of the cost of treatment. Some
plans loan employees the cost of treatment. There are more than 50
for-profit and non-profit recovery and treatment programs available in
B.C., but not all have stand-alone centres or offer residential care
programs.

Arriving by ferry to Bowen Island from the mainland, it's easy to
imagine the conflict an executive, used to controlling his or her own
destiny, must feel upon arrival at Snug Cove. Gary recalls feeling
"really scared."

The short drive to Orchard is gorgeous, along a winding road cut
through towering trees. The property has West Coast spa feel to it,
albeit with a six-foot cedar fence surrounding the administration
building and some of the meeting areas. A large gym is located outside
the enclosure to the left near a second meeting room. Outside one of
the meeting rooms near the main office a group of men sit talking,
smoking and laughing.

Orchard owner and executive director Lorinda Strang says the ratio of
male to female clients at the centre is almost even, with a slight
lean towards men. The administrative and meeting areas are treated
almost like a campus or workplace, with sleeping areas and a dining
room a short drive or walk away. The centre accommodates a maximum of
25 clients, for either 28 or 42-day residential care programs, which
typically are full or near capacity.

Strang says executives find asking for help extremely
difficult--they're used to being in control. By the time a type-A
executive, doctor or business owner seeks help, says Strang, it's
likely their addiction is out of control.

"They're also not used to anyone saying no to them," she says. "The
bottom line is the hardest thing they can do is ask for help and admit
they can't do it on their own."

Strang, a serious-looking blond but with a quick smile, fought her own
battle with alcohol before getting sober 18 years ago. She opened the
Orchard in 2002 with her husband at the time, but now runs the centre
on her own. They opened Orchard, she explains, because most similar
private treatment centres were based in the U.S. and cost from $25,000
to $30,000 per stay. Adding in the cost of travel makes the cost often
prohibitive for both the addict and family. When Orchard first opened,
says Strang, many of its clients were American. But with the dollar at
par, and strict passport rules for international flights, those
numbers have dropped. Instead the centre sees a steady stream of
Canadians, as well as clients from as far away as Australia, Africa
and Saudi Arabia.

Strang says the old saying about the necessity of reaching rock bottom
before asking for help with addictions isn't the rule. Just because a
person isn't drinking in the morning, keeping liquor in their desk at
work or buying drugs on their lunch break doesn't mean they don't have
a problem, she says. "We tell people the elevator doesn't have to go
all the way to the bottom. They can get off at any floor.

Sometimes they just have to be sick and tired of being sick and tired.
That's the time to get help, before there are irreversible
consequences."

Those consequences can be anything from losing a marriage or job, to
accumulating heavy debt to permanent physical damage such as "wet
brain," a chronic brain syndrome caused by long-term alcoholism, with
symptoms similar to dementia such as confusion, memory loss and
disorientation, as well as drowsiness, paralysis of eye movement and a
staggering walk.

"A lot of clients we see are just holding on by a thread," says
Strang. "They still have a job, a home and a family, but just barely.
Addiction holds you hostage and steals your life."

Strang says even if all of those losses have already taken place,
there's still hope. "There's always hope," she reiterates. "Sometimes
you need to lose something before you seek help and sometimes you don't."

Because many white-collar addicts are still very high functioning,
they can convince themselves there's no problem, she adds. "They still
have a job, they still have a family, they work out every day and run
marathons," she says. "Many of these [white-collar] addicts are over
achievers, that's what they do. But there's always payback."

Clients arriving at Orchard are addicted to everything from alcohol,
cocaine, crystal meth and heroin, to an array of prescription drugs
including Percodan, oxycodone and Demerol. The staff at Orchard can
assist in arranging detox treatments if necessary, and can also advise
loved ones on how best to arrange an intervention if needed. Strang
doesn't watch the reality TV program Intervention, but notes since it
began airing the centre has received calls from concerned family
members looking for advice after viewing an episode.

"We even had a client call after watching the show and he said, 'I
wonder why no one cares enough about me to do an intervention,'" says
Strang. "The family actually held one the next day."

Their time at Orchard includes regular supervision. Clients take part
in group and individual counselling sessions. An extended care program
following treatment is available to clients who need to live in a
protected, sober environment while preparing for life outside the
centre. The centre's clinical team includes a medical services
director, program director, three counsellors, a spiritual director,
yoga and qigong (Chinese breathing and energy exercises) instructors
and a personal fitness trainer. Consulting physicians are on call 24
hours. A typical weekday at Orchard begins with breakfast at 7:30
a.m., Qigong from 8:30 to 9 a.m., a seminar from 9:15 to 10:15 a.m.,
small group sessions from 11:45 to 12:30, lunch, spirituality group
from 1:30 to 2:45 p.m., meditation from 3 to 4 p.m., gym or free time
from 4 to 5 p.m., dinner from 5 to 6 p.m., an AA or Narcotics
Anonymous meeting from 7 to 9 p.m., leisure time or a movie from 9 to
11 p.m. "Lights out" is at 11 p.m.

Strang says while many success stories come out of Orchard, not
everyone makes it. A wooden archway leading into a memorial garden
near the administration building holds several small plaques honouring
former clients who've died. A circular wooden bench at the bottom of
the garden sits peacefully under a canopy of tree branches. The garden
is named after Strang's brother Michael Warren Whitmore, who died of a
drug overdose in 1984.

An alumni program allows addicts who complete treatment and remain
sober after leaving Orchard to keep in touch with staff and other
graduates. The last Thursday of the month is Alumni Celebration Day at
Orchard, which includes sobriety anniversary celebrations, dinner and
an evening meeting based on a 12-step program. Orchard alumni events
are held in West Vancouver, Edmonton, Seattle and Calgary. Alumni
groups are also launching in Victoria and Toronto.

Corporate lawyer John Gulak helps run the alumni program in Calgary.
Gulak, a former cocaine addict, gave the Courier permission to use his
last name.

Like so many other cocaine addicts, Gulak used the drug recreationally
at first. That was six years ago when he turned 40, the start of what
he calls a minor mid-life crisis. Soon he was using cocaine every
night. Gulak, a typical over-achiever, liked the effects.

"It made me feel on top of my game," says Gulak. "I was able to
multi-task more. Your brain operates at a faster speed and it can make
you believe it increases your mental ability. But over the long term
you lose the ability to focus and I found that was a problem."

Unlike Gary, Gulak wasn't into the party scene and instead used
cocaine in isolation. He began avoiding his close friends and family,
including his son who lives with his mother. Like a lot of other
addicts, Gulak kept the people around him separated so they couldn't
compare notes about his behaviour. Many close to him sensed there was
a problem, but couldn't put their finger on what was going on. He says
a typical trick of executives dealing with addiction is to ensure
spouses don't have contact with assistants or secretaries who could
help them put the pieces together.

Gulak remembers when he had dinner in 2004 with an old high-school
friend in Toronto. "He sensed something was not right," says Gulak.
"But he thought it was more career related. I presented it as that I
was considering a career change, but that wasn't the case."

Like Gary, Gulak never had to buy his drugs on the street, and he
wonders if that necessity would have slowed his addiction's
progression.

"It probably would have changed my path if I did," he says. "But I had
an arrangement with a guy so I didn't have to hang out in any scary
locations. I think that would have deterred me from getting involved
if I did."

Gulak admits he was spending a small fortune on drugs, but he was well
paid and could afford it. "It was absolutely expensive, but it was
manageable," he says.

As with most addicts, Gulak had a tough time confessing he had a
problem and needed help. He believed a lawyer's main role is as a
problem solver, and it was hard to admit he had a problem.

"Solving other people's problems became my excuse to not deal with my
own," says Gulak. "I didn't want to disappoint my family and close
friends. I'm the guy who's supposed to make responsible choices and no
mistakes."

Gulak believed it would be a sign of weakness to ask for help in
dealing with his addiction. Like Gary, a huge obstacle to admitting he
had a problem was the shame and guilt involved.

"At first I felt like I had gotten myself into this mess and I could
get myself out of it," says Gulak. "My work environment is full of
high-achieving folks who are highly motivated. We have a strong
culture of working out problems."

But unlike with addicts seen every day on Vancouver's Downtown
Eastside, Gary's addiction wasn't visible to the world. It was easy to
continue his cocaine habit for more than two years unnoticed. But
several key incidents took place that prompted Gulak to ask for help.
The first was the death of a younger cousin who died of an overdose of
prescription painkillers. Gulak continued to use cocaine for another
six months following his cousin's death. The second was a conversation
with a concerned friend, who was also his managing partner in their
law firm.

"We had a chat and he said some people had expressed concern about
me," says Gulak. "They thought I wasn't well. He asked me if I wanted
to talk about it. It was an expression of concern and wasn't coercive
in any way."

Those incidents combined with the conversation he had with his high
school friend had a huge impact and convinced Gulak to seek help. In
late 2004 Gulak spoke with his managing partner again, and with the
help of his employee assistance plan, opted for the 28-day program at
Orchard. Before heading to Bowen Island Gulak attended a recovery day
program offered though the Alberta Alcohol and Drug Abuse Commission.

"I wasn't that scared to go to Orchard because I'd already been clean
for almost four weeks before I arrived," he says. "That's not typical.
A lot of addicts are high when they get off the ferry at Snug Cove."

When Gulak arrived at Orchard, he was relieved he no longer had to
hold it together for family, friends and co-workers. He likens the
controlled conditions at Orchard to summer camp.

"I didn't need to make too many decisions," he says. "There was a
range of choices of activities, but not too many. They took away my
other responsibilities."

Gulak spent a lot of time talking while at Orchard, in both private
and group counselling sessions. He had no problem sharing his thoughts
with a group because he was clean before arriving at Orchard and his
head was clearer. He was inspired to see clients who arrived at the
centre high on drugs or booze come out of their shell.

"But it's not a straight-line progression," he says. "It's fairly
common for some people to leave after a couple of days, but they
usually come back."

Luckily Gulak's call for help had a happy ending.

"Actually coming clean was very affirming for me and I can't think of
any exception with people who mattered who weren't supportive," he
says. "Really, it was a huge relief."

Looking back on his story, Gary says anyone considering treatment
should not be afraid.

"I was so worried that going into treatment would be the end of fun as
I knew it," he says. "But honestly, it's been the best time of my life."

Between the drinking and unhealthy lifestyle he'd adopted, Gary gained
weight and was out of shape. Since getting sober he's become an avid
cyclist, runner and martial arts enthusiast.

"All the stuff I used to bullshit about when I was drinking, I'm
finally doing," he says. "And I've just signed up to write my [law
school admission test]. I figured why not, I've been given a second
chance at a proper life and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it."