In 1992, my eyes became diseased with histoplasmosis and severe dry eye, manifesting red-speckled spots in both eyes. I had severe pain in my eyes and head. A specialist informed me that there was no treatment for “my” ocular histoplasmosis, a disorder in which airborne spores of the fungus Histoplasma capsulatum are inhaled into the lungs and then spread to the eyes.
This is an extremely painful disorder. When seeking relief, a doctor in his mid-70s warned against painkillers. He told me I could not afford to become a drug addict. I followed his warning and avoided things like morphine, heroin, tramadol, oxycodone and methadone. Consequently, I’ve endured severe pain throughout my life.
Nevertheless, wanting to save others from misinformation, I trained as an American Red Cross HIV Preventionist and Alcohol, Tobacco and Drugs Preventionist.
My eyes gave me more pain to bear than I could muster. I expected blindness. So, I then trained to become a medical transcriptionist — a field that employs people with visual impairments.
Although there were numerous struggles with the pain and my eyes, I persevered with no prescription drugs, as the doctor advised. There was even a period where I slept heavily, keeping my eyes closed as a sight-saving device.
I’ve remained interested in medical research and community action. Lately I’ve been researching opioids and the destruction they have wrought in our neighborhoods and among our families. How right my doctor was to warn against them. It just so happened that I recently saw that the nonprofit journalism institute Poynter would be holding an Opioid Crisis Reporting Training Day in New York City. Not expecting to hear back, I dropped a line to senior faculty member and veteran journalist Al Tompkins. And I was lucky enough to be invited to join!
So, I headed up to New York. And I’m so glad that I did. Mr. Tompkins was a star. And while there, I got to hear from Mark O’Brien, Baltimore’s director of opioid overdose prevention and treatment. He shared the city’s “Staying Alive” campaign to destigmatize addiction and has been at the forefront of Baltimore’s response to the opioid epidemic. “Staying Alive” also trained injection drug users, first responders and others on how to treat overdoses with Naloxone, known by the brand name Narcan, a prescription medicine that can reverse opioid-related overdose. Due to their effect on the part of the brain that regulates breathing, opioids in high doses can cause respiratory depression and death, according to a World Health Organization fact sheet. Access to naloxone is generally limited to health professionals, but WHO advocates that people who might experience an opioid overdose or be likely to witness an opioid overdose should be trained on how to administer naloxone, according to the fact sheet.
O’Brien, said that in 2015 alone, Baltimore lost 393 persons to overdose. And 90 percent were opioid-related deaths. These community members were our mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, daughters and sons. We now have an empty seat at our dinner table. We miss our family members.
While in New York, I also ventured to the “Ark of Return: Lest we Forget” memorial, which asks us to remember the American slave trade. The Ark of Return was unveiled March 25, 2015, a date that honors the International Day of Remembrance of the Victims of Slavery and the Transatlantic Slave Trade. The memorial is located in the United Nations Visitors Plaza.
I appreciate my doctor’s counsel regarding my eye pain, which I still experience as a part of my life. We must learn alternatives to pain management, such as yoga. Perhaps we need to be reasonable and give our injuries time to rest so healing can occur. We should give consideration to our activities as we work and play so we can work to deter accidents that generate pain and opioid addiction. Missing our family members at the dinner table is saddening and produces struggling moments for our children that we leave behind.
After photographing the Ark, I walked on to the New York City Aids Memorial located at the intersection of West 12th Street and Greenwich Avenue. Both memorials memorialize lives lost in tragic events that ceased breath for many of us. I grasped the loss of human breath at the Ark and AIDS Memorial, while others sauntered by.
