RUNNING FOR HELP

Fugitive New Brunswick Addict Finds Hope In Ottawa Clinic

Rob Grace rips into yet another string of expletives, oblivious to the
patrons around him and just happy to be in Ottawa.

A fugitive from the New Brunswick justice system -- and from the
drug-addled life that put the law on his tail -- the diminutive 27-year-old
is a junkie seeking redemption. And, in the morning bustle of a downtown
cafe, propriety seems the least of his concerns.

Nabbed last year in an RCMP sting that targeted drug traffickers along the
New Brunswick-Maine border, Grace skipped his court date and fled the
Maritimes for Ottawa. Desperate to escape jail and an addiction that saw
him endure brutal beatings just to get high, he hoped to find easier access
in the capital to controversial methadone treatments.

"I've never really thought of myself as a bad person," says Grace, pausing
to sip the $4 latte he clutches between pointy, nicotine-stained fingers.
"I mean, I've done bad stuff in order to get drugs, but that's the nature
of the game.

"Then I started getting my ass beat and getting nothing in exchange for it.
I swear to God, I was going to die."

Scared and strung out on a $500-a-day habit, Grace had become a
self-described "bottom-feeder," getting the drugs he needed by moving
thousands of dollars in pills for his "employer." Turning to Ottawa, he
sought the help of a father he hadn't spoken to in 15 years. He got by on
cocaine from the street and patches of Fentanyl, a synthetic narcotic,
prescribed by a doctor. And, nearly six weeks after he arrived here, he was
accepted into a methadone program.

'I Love This'

Born in Sept-Iles, Que., and raised in Ottawa, Grace left to live with his
mother in Maine when he was only 12. He began experimenting with pills when
a friend told him popping percocets with beer was a great buzz. But, soon,
he was snorting Dilaudid, a powerful narcotic often prescribed to the
terminally ill.

He vividly recalls the first time he injected the potent opiate, locked
alone in a dark, second-floor bathroom of a Machias, Me. hotel.

"I, like, fired it in," Grace says, jabbing at his forearm with an
invisible syringe. "And, right there, I swore this was not something I was
going to do only once.

"I remember thinking 'I love this s---,' and I swore I was going to
continue doing it."

By the time he was 22, Grace was on the run from immigration officials and
a misdemeanour possession charge in the U.S. Tired of running, one night he
slung a garbage bag of belongings over his shoulder and walked across the
border into St. Stephen, N.B. -- the worst place these days for an opiate
addict.

The prevalence of prescription drug abuse in New Brunswick has exploded in
recent years, carving out lucrative markets for pushers and plaguing many
communities.

That Grace had to leave New Brunswick to find help speaks to the magnitude
of the problem, says Margaret Dykeman, a University of New Brunswick (UNB)
nursing professor and outspoken advocate of harm reduction.

"I don't blame him," Dykeman says. "There's just no service in place here
for these people."

She estimates as many as 400 addicts are on waiting lists for methadone
treatment in New Brunswick, many of them hoping on a pilot project
associated with a community clinic run by her nursing faculty in Fredericton.

A UNB research study, due to be released next month, suggests many in the
province are hooked as young as 12 years old. And, facing increased
pressure to act, the New Brunswick government has only recently
acknowledged there is a serious problem.

Yet, New Brunswick Health Minister Elvy Robichaud answers critics with
hard, fiscal realities. Where total provincial health-care spending doesn't
even match the City of Ottawa's operating budget, he says the estimated $6
million annually it would cost to provide methadone treatment, alone, is
prohibitive.

With just two doctors in the province prescribing methadone for addicts,
Dykeman says others like Grace clamour toward larger urban centres for
treatment.

100 Calls

"They're leaving town all the time," she says. "And, I'm telling you, if
you name the doctors prescribing for addicts in Ottawa, they'll get 100
calls tomorrow morning."

Indeed, the demand for methadone in Ottawa far exceeds the level of
services available, says Paul Lavigne, the city's harm reduction project
officer. Research suggests there should be 800-1,600 treatment spaces for
the estimated 3,000 opiate addicts who live here. Currently, there are 172.

"It's a big concern; we need to improve services in the short term,"
Lavigne says. "Time is of essence here, and we can just be waiting,
waiting, waiting,"

New Brunswick RCMP say they won't pursue Grace, but add police will hold
him on a warrant if they encounter him in Ottawa. But, committed to a daily
regimen of methadone maintenance and the urine screening it entails, Grace
insists it won't happen. His focus used to be on the next hit; now it's on
finding a job and eventually returning to school.

"I've got the willpower and the resolve and absolutely no f---ing desire to
go back to that life," he says. "I trust that no judge in his right mind
would send me back if I'm getting the help I need here.

"Under the circumstances, I didn't have much choice but to do what I did.
There's just no way I can go back there.

"I mean, that would be the end of me."