Photos: An Australian mother’s fight against her son’s opioid addiction | Hindustan Times
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Photos: An Australian mother’s fight against her son’s opioid addiction

Updated On Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

On the opposite end of the earth from America, where the opioid epidemic has left 400,000 dead, Australia is facing its own crisis of soaring opioid use and fatal overdoses. It has all unfolded despite the glaring warnings from the US, and despite more than a decade of warnings from Australian health professionals about a looming disaster. On the Central Coast, the Ware family is one of thousands across Australia locked in a life-or-death fight against opioid addiction. In months of interviews with The Associated Press, years of diary entries, videos, photos and medical records, Deb Ware has shared her own family's fight in the hopes it can alert the world to Australia's plight.

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Sam Ware, 22, takes photos of pelicans while out on a morning walk from the hostel where he is staying at The Entrance, Australia. Sam was 19 when his opioid addiction began, a good kid with a good job as a factory machine operator. He loved photography and walking in the woods. He had little interest in drinking and none in drugs. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Sam Ware, 22, takes photos of pelicans while out on a morning walk from the hostel where he is staying at The Entrance, Australia. Sam was 19 when his opioid addiction began, a good kid with a good job as a factory machine operator. He loved photography and walking in the woods. He had little interest in drinking and none in drugs. (David Goldman / AP)

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In Oct. 2015, Sam’s dentist recommended he have his wisdom teeth pulled. He was sent home with a prescription for an opioid painkiller. Deb had worked for years as a nursing assistant and seen plenty of kids prescribed opioids after extractions. There was nothing initially worrying about Sam’s pills. The instructions stated he take two for his pain that night. The next morning, he told her he’d taken four. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

In Oct. 2015, Sam’s dentist recommended he have his wisdom teeth pulled. He was sent home with a prescription for an opioid painkiller. Deb had worked for years as a nursing assistant and seen plenty of kids prescribed opioids after extractions. There was nothing initially worrying about Sam’s pills. The instructions stated he take two for his pain that night. The next morning, he told her he’d taken four. (David Goldman / AP)

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Disturbed, Deb took the pills away. But Sam loved the safe and warm buzz codeine had given him. He wanted more. At first, he mistakenly believed he’d need a prescription. It took him a few months before he discovered that Australian pharmacies at that time sold it over the counter. In those days, all Sam needed to do was go to a pharmacy, hand over a few dollars, and walk out with an opioid. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Disturbed, Deb took the pills away. But Sam loved the safe and warm buzz codeine had given him. He wanted more. At first, he mistakenly believed he’d need a prescription. It took him a few months before he discovered that Australian pharmacies at that time sold it over the counter. In those days, all Sam needed to do was go to a pharmacy, hand over a few dollars, and walk out with an opioid. (David Goldman / AP)

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Initially, the codeine was an occasional treat. Soon Sam moved from a few pills a week to 40 a day. Then 80. Then 110. His abdomen began to ache. So he went online and learned how to extract pure codeine from pills. Deb watched the kind-hearted, funny boy she loved rapidly disappear, replaced by a deceptive, desperate stranger. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Initially, the codeine was an occasional treat. Soon Sam moved from a few pills a week to 40 a day. Then 80. Then 110. His abdomen began to ache. So he went online and learned how to extract pure codeine from pills. Deb watched the kind-hearted, funny boy she loved rapidly disappear, replaced by a deceptive, desperate stranger. (David Goldman / AP)

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Sam walks past a billboard while out on a walk. After he got a CT scan that showed a bulging spinal disc, his quest for opioids became even easier. The CT scan was a golden ticket, proof he had legitimate pain. He began carrying the scan’s results everywhere in a plastic shopping bag, along with his pill crusher. The drugs were cheap. Most medications in Australia are government subsidized. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Sam walks past a billboard while out on a walk. After he got a CT scan that showed a bulging spinal disc, his quest for opioids became even easier. The CT scan was a golden ticket, proof he had legitimate pain. He began carrying the scan’s results everywhere in a plastic shopping bag, along with his pill crusher. The drugs were cheap. Most medications in Australia are government subsidized. (David Goldman / AP)

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Deb chronicled Sam’s downfall in a diary cataloging the drugs, hospitalizations, broken promises. His first overdose came around four months into his addiction. “I don’t feel well,” he told her, heart hammering, face pale. She fetched him a bag, into which he ejected a stream of bright pink vomit. “I know it’s really bad for me,” he said at the hospital. “I won’t do this again.” But he did. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Deb chronicled Sam’s downfall in a diary cataloging the drugs, hospitalizations, broken promises. His first overdose came around four months into his addiction. “I don’t feel well,” he told her, heart hammering, face pale. She fetched him a bag, into which he ejected a stream of bright pink vomit. “I know it’s really bad for me,” he said at the hospital. “I won’t do this again.” But he did. (David Goldman / AP)

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The first time Deb truly began fearing Sam might die was on Feb. 16, 2017. He had taken a cocktail of medication and walked to a restaurant. He blacked out. She begged him to go to rehab. One day, he told her he just wanted to take pills until he didn’t wake up. The police took him to the mental hospital. He stayed a week. The day he got out, he overdosed and was back in hospital. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

The first time Deb truly began fearing Sam might die was on Feb. 16, 2017. He had taken a cocktail of medication and walked to a restaurant. He blacked out. She begged him to go to rehab. One day, he told her he just wanted to take pills until he didn’t wake up. The police took him to the mental hospital. He stayed a week. The day he got out, he overdosed and was back in hospital. (David Goldman / AP)

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Sam’s life became an endless pursuit of pills. He lost friends, family and most of his belongings –left behind or stolen while overdosing on trains, shopping centers, in a library. Eventually, all he owned fit into his plastic shopping bag. Inside, always, was his CT scan. Each time the police called, she braced for the worst. She started asking Sam what music he wanted at his funeral. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Sam’s life became an endless pursuit of pills. He lost friends, family and most of his belongings –left behind or stolen while overdosing on trains, shopping centers, in a library. Eventually, all he owned fit into his plastic shopping bag. Inside, always, was his CT scan. Each time the police called, she braced for the worst. She started asking Sam what music he wanted at his funeral. (David Goldman / AP)

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Deb Ware looks after Yazoo, her son’s cockatiel, whom she’s been looking after since Sam’s addiction. Deb kept fighting. She contacted politicians, up to federal Health Minister Greg Hunt. In an email, she begged him to implement a national prescription monitoring system. An assistant secretary replied, assuring Deb that a system was in the works, but its rollout was left to each state. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Deb Ware looks after Yazoo, her son’s cockatiel, whom she’s been looking after since Sam’s addiction. Deb kept fighting. She contacted politicians, up to federal Health Minister Greg Hunt. In an email, she begged him to implement a national prescription monitoring system. An assistant secretary replied, assuring Deb that a system was in the works, but its rollout was left to each state. (David Goldman / AP)

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The day Sam refused to go to detox was the day Deb hit her limit. He sat in the passenger’s seat sobbing. “You got your seatbelt on?” she asked. “Why?” he replied. Her response was matter-of-fact: “I’m going to go as fast as this car can go. And I’m going to swerve off the road into a tree or a barrier. Because you’re going to die if you keep doing what you’re doing. And if you die, I might as well die, too. Let’s just get it over with now.” (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

The day Sam refused to go to detox was the day Deb hit her limit. He sat in the passenger’s seat sobbing. “You got your seatbelt on?” she asked. “Why?” he replied. Her response was matter-of-fact: “I’m going to go as fast as this car can go. And I’m going to swerve off the road into a tree or a barrier. Because you’re going to die if you keep doing what you’re doing. And if you die, I might as well die, too. Let’s just get it over with now.” (David Goldman / AP)

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She never really intended to hurt either of them that day. But that little voice inside her urged her to do it; end the misery. The end also felt near one day in June, when doctors told Deb to say goodbye and placed Sam into a coma. Family and friends gathered. Day after day, she sat by his bed and prayed. She held up her phone to his face and played a song they both loved, “When the Rain Comes” by Third Day. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

She never really intended to hurt either of them that day. But that little voice inside her urged her to do it; end the misery. The end also felt near one day in June, when doctors told Deb to say goodbye and placed Sam into a coma. Family and friends gathered. Day after day, she sat by his bed and prayed. She held up her phone to his face and played a song they both loved, “When the Rain Comes” by Third Day. (David Goldman / AP)

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Deb returned in the morning to find him sitting in a chair, eating breakfast. The day he was discharged, she welcomed him back home. The next morning, Sam went to a shopping center to buy chocolates and a thank you card for the hospital staff. And then he popped into a doctor’s office and got himself a prescription for an opioid and a benzodiazepine. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Deb returned in the morning to find him sitting in a chair, eating breakfast. The day he was discharged, she welcomed him back home. The next morning, Sam went to a shopping center to buy chocolates and a thank you card for the hospital staff. And then he popped into a doctor’s office and got himself a prescription for an opioid and a benzodiazepine. (David Goldman / AP)

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Sam Ware steps into a ray of sunlight while walking through a park. Another overdose hits. Deb is too fed up to follow. When she gets to the hospital the next day, a nurse delivers another blow: Sam has withdrawn consent for Deb to be updated on his medical care. She is done. And yet, she’s not. She is his mother. He is her son. Deb went home, gathered Sam’s belongings, and dumped them at the hospital. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

Sam Ware steps into a ray of sunlight while walking through a park. Another overdose hits. Deb is too fed up to follow. When she gets to the hospital the next day, a nurse delivers another blow: Sam has withdrawn consent for Deb to be updated on his medical care. She is done. And yet, she’s not. She is his mother. He is her son. Deb went home, gathered Sam’s belongings, and dumped them at the hospital. (David Goldman / AP)

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On July 19, three weeks later, he stepped off the bus. His sweatshirt and sweatpants hung loosely on his skeletal frame. It was clear he hadn’t showered. Deb wrapped him in a hug and rustled his messy hair. He tried to explain why he withdrew his consent. He was worried she’d say something to the doctors that would get him committed to the mental health ward. He regrets it now. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

On July 19, three weeks later, he stepped off the bus. His sweatshirt and sweatpants hung loosely on his skeletal frame. It was clear he hadn’t showered. Deb wrapped him in a hug and rustled his messy hair. He tried to explain why he withdrew his consent. He was worried she’d say something to the doctors that would get him committed to the mental health ward. He regrets it now. (David Goldman / AP)

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A couple weeks ago, he said, he was trying to sleep on the train but couldn’t stop crying, thinking how badly he had hurt his mother. In his bed at the shelter in Sydney, he lay awake thinking of her pain. And then another doctor, another prescription, another overdose. That was the moment he decided, “Enough’s enough,”. That’s why he agreed to go into detox for a few days. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

A couple weeks ago, he said, he was trying to sleep on the train but couldn’t stop crying, thinking how badly he had hurt his mother. In his bed at the shelter in Sydney, he lay awake thinking of her pain. And then another doctor, another prescription, another overdose. That was the moment he decided, “Enough’s enough,”. That’s why he agreed to go into detox for a few days. (David Goldman / AP)

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He said he hasn’t touched a drug since, that he’d been staying in a hostel, but has no money left, no place to go. “It doesn’t have to be like that, Sam,” Deb interjected. “You’ve been advised what the best thing to do is to get your life back on track, and that’s to go to rehab.” The argument goes on in a relentless loop. And in the end, there’s the desperate request she knew was coming. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

He said he hasn’t touched a drug since, that he’d been staying in a hostel, but has no money left, no place to go. “It doesn’t have to be like that, Sam,” Deb interjected. “You’ve been advised what the best thing to do is to get your life back on track, and that’s to go to rehab.” The argument goes on in a relentless loop. And in the end, there’s the desperate request she knew was coming. (David Goldman / AP)

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“Can I please stay here tonight?” She tells herself that coddling him is enabling him. That if she lets him get one foot in the door, he will force his way back into her life until the inevitable, awful end of his own. “I don’t want you staying here, Sam.” “Can I at least have dinner here?” “And then what?” “I don’t know. Sleep on the footpath or walk to the train station or something.” (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

“Can I please stay here tonight?” She tells herself that coddling him is enabling him. That if she lets him get one foot in the door, he will force his way back into her life until the inevitable, awful end of his own. “I don’t want you staying here, Sam.” “Can I at least have dinner here?” “And then what?” “I don’t know. Sleep on the footpath or walk to the train station or something.” (David Goldman / AP)

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It is dark now, and they are freezing. Deb let Sam into the warmth of the living room. He sits on the couch where he overdosed three weeks earlier and wolfs down a meal. Deb sinks into her armchair, looking broken. She tells herself to stay strong, not to give in. But she cannot send him into the darkness. And so she keeps him home for one last night, for one last chance. (David Goldman / AP) expand-icon View Photos in a new improved layout
Updated on Sep 09, 2019 11:46 AM IST

It is dark now, and they are freezing. Deb let Sam into the warmth of the living room. He sits on the couch where he overdosed three weeks earlier and wolfs down a meal. Deb sinks into her armchair, looking broken. She tells herself to stay strong, not to give in. But she cannot send him into the darkness. And so she keeps him home for one last night, for one last chance. (David Goldman / AP)

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