Beat The Drum - Our Struggle


	Our Struggle There is a scourge upon our land; an epidemic among our young people. I just lost my adorable 16 year old daughter to a plague that runs rampant in our community, and surely our country. It is far more widespread than I could ever have imagined. My tormented mind churns over this sickness we seem powerless to prevent. Prior to my daughter's involvement with this curse, I had a very different image of drug addicts. My daughter, Katrina Kevlock, did not fit that image. She was bubbly, lively, spunky, beautiful, clean, well-groomed, pleasant, kind and caring -- a talented and accomplished high school athlete, loved by many. Her dark side came as a total shock to many who had interacted with her as recently as the day before her death. THIS is the true face of drug abuse among our young people. It is hidden very, verywell. I want to tell you the story of Katie's battle for life. June 29, I was notified that my daughter was in the hospital. How sad that I greeted the news of an overdose as a welcome opportunity to finally get the intensive treatment that her drug abuse warranted. Although Katie had twice before participated in out patient treatment programs for drug abuse, I had been unaware that, not only had she returned to the world of drugs, but that her habit had escalated all the way to heroin. This devastating revelation came to me directly from Katie, who had recently come to me, told me about her cocaine and heroin addiction and asked for help. She told me she needed to go away, she needed inpatient care: that she'd already been through outpatient treatment and knew that it wouldn't work. In her words, "This is bigger than me, mom. It's a monster that I cannot control. I don't want to be like this." She hated the person she had become. Immediately, I began calling drug hotlines for help. Lo and behold, they told me to call my insurance company! I followed their instruction to take her to any emergency room for evaluation. But, for the insurance company, her recognition of her addiction, her awareness that she was in critical need of immediate help, and her desperate plea for that help, were not sufficient to qualify her for the inpatient treatment that could have saved her life. No, it was not enough. She had not OD'd. She was not yet on the brink of death. She was showing no significant signs of withdrawal. (the hospital indicated that that was a very good sign which pointed to short-term addiction and a good prognosis for recovery from her addiction - bad reason to provide aggressive treatment?). And, for some strange reason, the ER medical staff acquiesced. Life and death treatment decisions were being made by people without medical degrees who had not seen the patient. Yet this went unchallenged. For the rest of my days I will regret entrusting my daughter's care to them, deferring to their supposed expertise. Goliath had triumphed here. Instead, they told us to go directly to an outpatient facility in Cherry Hill, NJ., leaving it to us to discover that that facility did not accept adolescents. Then they referred us to an outpatient treatment center near Staten Island, NY, claiming that it was within their approved driving radius for 3 times a week commuting. Outraged, I ranted and raved until I won that skirmish, but I was drained. This was a formidable opponent. It was MUCH bigger than me.