Stoned

NOT a day goes by without print or broadcast media mentioning "shabu," the illegal drug also known as "ice" or "crack": shabu dependents arrested, shabu dens raided, shabu labs busted, shabu-driven crimes perpetrated. But can you recall the last time there was an article, or a talk show, where shabu's effects -- physical, mental, social -- were discussed in a helpful way, rather than just scaring and depressing us?

The Philippine Drug Enforcement Agency (PDEA) claimed last year that about 11 percent of the country's population uses shabu, yet there's very little understanding about the drug except that it's "bad."

Medical ignorance

In the last few months, as I've struggled to help a very close friend to overcome his shabu habit, I've mined the libraries and the Internet for information on shabu and have realized how little we actually know about this terrible drug. We do have a lot of information about amphetamines, but not specifically about shabu itself, as it is produced, sold and used in the Philippines.

I've realized, too, how little our health professionals know about shabu. As I made the rounds of hospitals with my friend to have his various health problems checked out, I've found out that doctors aren't usually able to recognize shabu dependence, and the problems produced by that dependence.

For example, I had to bring my friend to an ear specialist when he complained of acute earaches. The doctor initially couldn't find anything wrong with my friend's ears, but discovered he had acute rhinitis, meaning his nasal passages were inflamed. The doctor was puzzled and asked if my friend smoked or lived in an area with air pollution. When I finally whispered, "Shabu," the doctor went, "Of course!" -- amazed at what the drug could do.

For our more innocent readers, shabu is inhaled and this creates problems in the nose, which then affects other adjoining organs: the ears, the throat, the lungs. The reason I began to suspect my friend was on shabu was that he was always expectorating, trying to bring phlegm out from his lungs. Since he doesn't smoke, or have any respiratory disease, I began to suspect shabu.

Generally, the doctors I consulted (as well as some dentists; did you know shabu destroys the teeth as well?) admitted they knew little about shabu, or other drugs being abused. Some of them would try to comfort me, assuring me that no one dies of shabu overdose, but I've realized, from observing my friend and his user friends, that shabu does kill, indirectly and slowly -- slowly taking away our loved ones, transforming the gentlest persons into vicious, mean and amoral people ready to engage in the most risky of activities.

Silent denial

Actually my doctor-friends, including some who teach in medical schools, were the ones who asked if I could eventually write more about the medical problems around drugs, especially shabu. I will do this in future columns. Today's column is more of an appeal to break the silence around shabu.

We are making little progress dealing with the shabu problem because we still look at drugs as a police matter. We see drug users mainly as criminals and rehab as punishment. Because we create so much stigma around shabu and drugs in general, we lapse into silent denial, even when the problem affects our own families.

My friend was actually enthusiastic when I said I wanted to write about shabu. Quite often, he'd be the one to push me to talk openly about his problem and, whenever I'd do this, it was amazing how others would open up as well, revealing how a neighbor, a cousin, a best friend, a brother, even occasionally a grandfather or grandmother was also hooked.

We've laughed as we shared common experiences: shabu use produces its own crop of the surreal and absurd experiences, the most common being perceptions that the users always end up with the most hideous of extra-marital partners. (Contrary to popular perception, shabu never enhances aesthetics.)

Other times we've held back our tears as we began talking about how marriages break up, about children suffering from their parents' use of drugs, about family savings quickly disappearing with the dependents' stealing and rehab expenses.
Shabu reveals to us the extent of corruption in our society. I've heard of cops who are pushers, of rehab centers that themselves turn out to be drug dens, corrupt guards and nurses supplying patients with shabu, alcohol and other drugs. I've discovered how it's become good business for some rehab centers to keep their patients hooked on shabu, or on "therapy." I've heard heartbreaking stories, too, of patients who have languished in these centers for months, their families leaving them in rehab out of sight, out of mind.

On the positive side, I've met people who have found strength, in families and friends, in dedicated counselors and rehab center staff, and, most importantly, in themselves, to fight shabu and drugs. We say too little, know too little, about these difficult journeys toward recovery, of the ordeals as well as the triumphs.

Therapeutic communities

Once I was with my friend in a restaurant and the owner, after realizing my friend was in the recovery process, began to talk about how he was able to overcome a serious shabu addiction. I have no doubt that was a turning point for my friend, the restaurant owner being living proof of what could be done to overcome the odds.

Today's column is an appeal then for people, users, ex-users and their families and friends, to speak out more often, to let people know what's involved with shabu and other drugs. Let's do this without sensationalism, without moralizing, without self-defeating pity. We need more insights into the human side to this problem: why in many ways the shabu epidemic reflects a general malaise in society, and why our current approaches only worsen the problem. The Tagalog slang word for shabu -- "bato" [stone] -- is appropriate because we are, really, a nation stoned.

When I negotiated with the rehab center to allow my friend (okay, my partner) to go on an outpatient basis, I had to convince them I had done my own homework to build a supportive therapeutic community outside, of family and friends ready to give time to help him. To be frank, I wasn't really sure about how committed people were but the day I brought my friend home from rehab, I was astonished to find the house packed with people. Filipino-style, they'd organized a welcome party. I thought to myself, oh, but if we could have more of these therapeutic communities, ready to be firm and brave, yet patient and caring, we'd probably learn, too, how to heal a nation.