Sunday, August 26, 2018

Lillooet, Gilbert and the Godkids

I just returned on the Sea to Sky Highway, having taken the Duffy Lake Road from Lillooet to Pemberton through Whistler back to Vancouver and Burnaby.
Heading out Friday with the Palomino Maverick truck camper on the Ford F350 with the KTM690 on the front rack for the first time I stopped for the night of a logging road near Lytton.  In the morning I drove onto Lillooet where I hooked up with Kevin and Anna, Kendra, Izek and Alex.  They’d come the other side of the great circle route stopping short of Pemberton.
We arrived simultaneously in town and met at  Cookhouse Restaurant in the Reynold’s Hotel. .  They’d had breakfast but we all had drinks and  I had a perfect bacon and cheese burger.  We also had the delicious home made gravy and fries. The staff were terrific.
Kendra, Izek and Alex really like policemen for some unknown reason.  Kendra even thinks her jacket which has a badge is a police jacket. .  They all jumped up and down on their seats waving and cheering when a somewhat pleasantly surprised RCMP officer came in.  They greeted Gilbert, their friend, the same way. Gilbert couldn't stop his tail wagging and squirmed and licked all of them at once.
The Bustards are fisher folk.  Most every weekend we enjoy Kevin's pictures of them all catching rainbow trout.  This day Kevin caught a lovely rainbow and damned if I didn’t too.  Meanwhile Gilbert, Kendra, Alex and Izek were in heaven messing in the dirt.  It was raining.  So what.  Fish were biting.
We parked by the river and decided rather than going on to a campground just to stay there. It really was a nice wilderness spot a little off the highway.
I’d brought steaks but we had enough rainbow for everyone coupled with the corn, potatoes and herb butter and sour cream I’d brought. Kevin cooked up the fish and beans while I boiled the potatoes and Anna barbecued the corn.  The kids and Gilbert played everywhere in the camper and around the grounds. The meal was heavenly.   We had plums and hot cross buns for dessert.  With kids meals are a more rewarding communal rite especially when we hold hands and say grace at the beginning.
Later while I answered an endless stream of questions from the kids, “what’s this for?’ ‘what’s this.’   Anna and Kevin put up their tent.  The adults had tea and coffee and talked about adult things with the three kids sneaking across from the tent to the trailer to listen at the screen door repeatedly until Kevin finally said a boogeyman would get them if they didn’t stay in the tent. They are afraid of bogeymen.
We had all attended St. James Anglican Church and reminisced about Father Mark and our time there. I told them how Father Mark had welcomed Gilbert to the church but said he wasn’t sure about me. His two big dogs had joined us and  became Gilbert’s church friends.  We discussed the Christian revival all over the world, especially in the former USSR, and Poland,  the persecution of Christians in Islamic nations, especially the Coptics and by the Atheist Communists in China. The place of family and values and challenges to the faith, were all part of the discussion.   Kevin had started as a Pentecostal,   I’d started as a Baptist,  Now we'd all become friends as Anglicans.
Kevin and Anna left to join their kids while I and Gilbert bedded down in the  camper,  During the bouts of rain it had served  as a terrific dry haven with running hot and cold water, a working refrigerator and an indoor toilet Kendra had earlier become enamoured by.  She used so much soap in the sink my grey water was full of bubbles.
The night before had been a full moon but this night was intermittent rain,  a good thing given all the forest fires BC had been plagued by.
In the morning  I awoke and put on the expresso coffee and boiled water for Anna's tea. The three munchkins had slipped out of the tent first and were shortly followed by the parents  thankful for the cups of hot coffee and tea I handed them.   The kids liked the tangerines, plums, ham and cheese croissants and yogurts I thought to bring.
Family and food.  I was surprised 3 adults and 3 kids fit in the camper booth but we did.  Prayers and meals .  Then we were breaking up the camp  to go to another a fishing hole Kevin knew.   I never did get my motorcycle off the rack but we had to shovel away some gravel to get it clearance for it to get back onto the road.
The evergreen scenery, mountains and streams and Duffy Lake, the twisting turning Duffy Lake Road was all such a joy to travel along. Given all the  times I’ve travelled this route, either on motorcycle ,or in car or hunting in a truck, I never tire of it. It’s truly one of my favourite  drives  of all times.
At Pemberton, another favourite town, we all got MacDonald’s Burgers  including an Angus paddy for Gilbert.
The next fishing hole included  quite the climb down to the roaring river.  The kids and 4 wheel drive Gilbert had no difficulty but I had to go down on hands to avoid falling.  Unfortunately I’d broken the tip of my rod so was just along for pictures.  The fisher folk caught more rainbow.  Kendra  was ecstatic when she caught her fish, doing a little dance while Anna extracted the hook and bonked the fish with a rock.
A great family weekend.  I was reminded of fishing with my mom and dad my brother Ron watching Kevin and Anna helping the kids with rods and hooks and worms. I remember Mom and Dad having the patience of saints with the tangles I’d get my line in.  
What a wonderful tradition.  It was  so much fun for me  to be apart of this fisherfolk family weekend.    Gilbert thinks he’s one of the kids. They’re just great with him.










































Tuesday, August 21, 2018

Story - Lovers at the end of the day

She lay immortal in the mere sheath of a body. Aged to the very lightness of being, her heart beating like a feather on a very old but true drum.

He lay beside her in a separate bed, crisp white sheets over the now withered hulk of so many dreams and adventures.  

They reminisced together in the twilight reminding each other of forgotten friends and rare moments of tears and laughter.

Now and then a young man or woman in pastel uniform would come with a tray or medicine.  

Then their conversation would continue and they’d smile. There were tears in her eyes and his too.  The conversation was so rich.

“They’ve not spoken now for  days,?” The nurse told the doctor as he made his rounds.

  “But they’re still smiling.” He asked.  

“Yes,”

“No food or fluids.” 

“No.”

“It won’t be long now. Unusual that they should go together.”

The conversation continued as they rose and walked to the light leaving the noise and worry behind.  She was radiant as was he. Two children, like when they’d met. Lovers on a playground.  How soon they’d forgotten.  Now it was all coming back as they joined friends and family.

Their bodies were removed and buried beneath happy trees. The grass was thankful.  Few stood around remembering.  

The laughter in the light was louder now. The hugs and smiles and touches on the cheek from light fingered hands melting together in an envelope of love.  Too precious.  And still they talked.  As only old lover can.  With familiarity and respect and a little bit of sacred wonder.  

How long has it been that you’ve loved me now, she asked.

An eternity. He replied.


Monday, August 20, 2018

Salt Spring Island Rally 2018

It’s an annual prilgrimmage of the very best sort. Murray told us this is his 13th year in a row.  It must be nearly a dozen times for me.  I told Laura I love going because Harley Murray and Forestry Brian are always there and I love those guys.  Deeply spiritual men who really take service seriously.
Saturday morning  Laura and I walked into the Old Farmer’s Institute and were caterpulted into the 4th dimension.  Forestry Brian was serving coffee and Harley Murray was cleaning up tables. Murray had come on his Harley and was tenting.  Brian had brought his Big Foot Camper.
We’d come over on Friday night on the 8 pm ferry to Fulford Harbour before driving through Ganges up past the school to the Farmer’s Institute. The air was thick with smoke still smelling of burnt toast. Not nearly as bad as Vancouver. Vancouver with the surrounding forest fires, some lightning, some terrorist was rated the worst air quality in North America. All outdoor fires were banned. 
Lots of folk who would normally come didn’t because of the fear of fires.Half the tents and campers normally there. I set up my little North Face in the head lights of the Ford truck.  Behind us was the new trailer of a lady with an endless group of young ladies she said.
Laura wasn’t happy with tenting as we’d planned to bring the camper.  Gilbert, the blind cockapoo, however, thought this was perfect. He involved himself directly in all dressing and undressing maneuvers since tenting we were always at his level. Through the night, I learned later, he fought Laura for her pillow while I snored.  
 In the morning we walked up to the communal septic system toilets. None broke down this year so no line ups. The shower system was equally successful with lots of hot water and everyone happy with the flow. Laura wasn’t enthusiastic with communal facilities and waiting in line for a shower. No training in military or prison with harsh memories of catholic school. She did meet a big dog and his lovely owner once when Gilbert accompanied her and the neighbours big dog wanted to play with Gilbert in her stall. 
Wanting to cheer her up, “I reminded her there were no bears tenting this year.” She found the grizzly warning signs disconcerting when I’d told her there were no bears where we were camping then. 
Personally I loved the coffee and muffins. After her shower and a muffin I could tell she’d moved forward at least to humming the Monty Python song, Always look on the bright side of life”
 I love holding hands in a large circle for those brief moments of communal prayer. It’s not something very popular in the DTES. But there we all were out in the country, no traffic sounds, birds tweeting and us all talking to God. In Government circles that’s a downright dirty word. Yet here we were all full of gratitude and praise.There’s so much to be said in touching hands and bowing heads.  I really am blessed to be a part of something as deep and universal. 
The speakers were the best too. Sharing their experience strength and hope while having us all laughing at the dastardly shenanigans we all got up to in some form or other. Egomaniacs with inferiority complexes. What inspiration. What tales of transformation. Caterpillars, butterflies and saints. 
I loved the music too, always an unforgettable part of the Salt Spring Island Rally experience.. The band was spectacular. How do young people get so accomplished so quick. The dance was fun. Laura had gone to bed not having slept the first night. I just looked on nostalgic for the years of dancing all night long, the television shows and competitions. Now It was past my bed time too.
Near our tent a group of musicians were jamming over the weekend.  At first I’d  wondered why someone  stopping the cd and playing it over again. Only when I looked to looked over did I  see these were real humans. What talent!Fabulous.  
What a fabulous weekend. So much talent and such comraderie.  Not only were Brian and Murray there but a whole lot of folk from up and down Island and Vancouver.  
When they did the countdown it seemed like half the place was over 20 years while the other half was under 2. Quite the spread.
Iloved meeting Zack who was at his first Salt Spring Rally.  Anne Marie and a whole group of beautiful women were there roughing it.  Lots of guys and couples on motorcycles.  We met Kate and she was just visiting Ganges never having heard of the great secret of the Salt Spring Island Rally.  She promised to come back next year if only because she’d fallen in love with Salt Spring Island.
The spiritual speaker was the best.  Wow!  She was from Winnipeg. She knew Rev. Bruce Myles.  Names from the past. Brian who was also in Winnipeg years back had the same nostalgic joy hearing her story.   Great names of people and places that touched her and all of us who knew that part of creation back in the day.  
Laura and I went into Ganges in the truck for hot dogs at the outdoor stand. Later I rode the electric bicycle in to pick up tent pegs, half of mine having gone awol with the socks from the laundry.The sun was surreal with the smoke in the air. 
I love the organizers of Salt Spring Island Rally. Every year they do this wonderful service to the community, organizing the place, ensuring all the permits are done, arranging for people and food to be there, then cleaning up.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.
The famous Salt Spring Island Farmer’s market was on on Saturday packed with tourists and locals. Laura got some rhubarb scented soap. Other years we have bought jewelry and art and tomatoes.  The town was packed with happy people. I love Mowats, where I got the tent pegs and Laura found a lovely nautical dress.  No time for our favourite Black Sheep Bookshop this visit though. Other times we’ve been lost for hours there.
Kirk, my friend from childhood, now lives on Salt Spring so lunched on the deck of the Oystercatcher overlooking the vast array of yachts docked and anchored in Ganges. My SV GIRI had been there dozens of times.
This day Kirk and I reminisced about Fort Gary after I told him our spiritual speaker had been from the Peg and knew Rev. Bruce Miles. We reviewed the lives of family, and some childhood friends. I was pleased to learn the Laidlaw’s still owned the Minaki cabin I’d been invited to as a kid. It’s funny to me to hear us now old guys talk about the nephews and neices of our our older siblings remembering events fifty years ago. Who would have guessed. Namaste.  
All round, as always, The Salt Spring Island Rally weekend was a truly wonderful spiritual experience. 
 When I am with so many people walking upright sharing in the celebration of wholesomeness,  I feel so much closer to my higher power. The laughter is infectious. All of this wonderfulness happening on Salt Spring Island my all time favourite of the Canadian Gulf Islands, itself a centre from creativity, artistically and musically. 
 Also the lamb and cheese. It’s a farming island and the lamb and cheese are the very best.  Our lamb roast supper was as always the best too. Talking with Brian about his retirement and spiritual journey was one of those unforgettable gifts, like Murray,  who shared his early days and later years and doing service volunteering in prisons.  
 I’ve know Brian and Murray more than a decade and we converse little different from the way Kirk and I talk and we’ve know each other half a century.  Childhood friends are so very special but in the spiritual programs of community we are blessed to meet some who remind one of loved brothers and sisters of family and child hood friends.That’s a part of the spirituality and the sense of synchronicity and flow. Living in the sacred.  Everything despite the smoke in the air a bit brighter and surreal.  
I love this and live for this sense of prescience.  The band played Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah in Ganges square that day.  That last Sunday morning we all sang, “Make me a channel of your peace” in unisonand harmony. Let me bring hope. Thanks to all.








































Friday, August 17, 2018

Friday Morning mid August

I am having peaceful warm inviting dreams.  Sometimes I remember them when I awake. Sometimes I don’t recall the detail. But the reassurance remains. Often their are family, friends, old dogs, kids I knew in the dreams. Often I’m on this peninsula with my sailboat or in a room with tables of ladies. There’s a good church feeling in the latter and a youthful adventurous feel in the former.
Today Gilbert woke me at 530 am wanting up on the bed to cuddle.  Since he hurt his back he can’t jump up like the cat.  I had a ramp for a while but it took up too much room. Now I’ve built a tower with suitcases but it’s not always possible for him to climb it.
“Who cares if Bill is sleeping. I want up on the bed now.” He says.  It’s also possible he wants me to come back to this dimension, these rooms.  It’s like I could die in my sleep or pass on and one day may but Gilbert isn’t ready for that. He’s just so excited to greet me in the morning like it’s not really a forgone conclusion that we’ll be together. Humans take so much for granted.  The cat is just pleased  he got me up so I will feed him. As I stumble to the toilet the cat rubs against my legs trying to trip me. I think he doesn’t care if he eats canned cat food or I fall and die and eventually he’d be eating me. Otherwise why else is he always trying to trip me?  Cats are devious.  Gilbert meanwhile is delighted to have the company and wants to play ball as if it were the most original idea ever. He has the ball in his mouth waiting when I leave the toilet and head downstairs to the kitchen to feed the scheming cat.
This morning Gilbert thought to help my meditation and exercise by lying against me.
Coffee is heaven.  I love brewing coffee and getting a taste of heaven.
On Facebook a friend asked if I believed in others visiting.  I recalled my mother in the taxi as I drove to my dad’s having been told his time was near. Then the two were there happy telling me they were reunited. I looked at the time and recalled it when I got off the plane and met with my brother.
What time did he die? I asked.
He told me the time.
I thought so. I’d felt so warm and at peace. like I do when I wake from dreams these mornings.
Last week the air smelt like toast. So many forest fires.  There was so much haze in the sky it looked almost like fog. This morning the sky is clear. I’ve a few patients to see at the clinic.  Then I’m off to the Salt Spring Island Round Up with Laura and Gilbert and probably the new KTM 690 motorcycle. We’d hoped to take the truck camper but logistics went against it.  We had to reserve the ferry and there’s too many moving parts in the plan to be sure we’d get on this evening.  Much to Laura’s chagrin we’re tenting. All the hotels and motels and B&B’s are full for this weekend. I even phone to rent a sail boat, as I’d so often sailed there. The cost of sailboat for the weekend would be $6000.
Meanwhile an email from Loyalist Marina came asking if I wanted to sail this summer or put the boat in storage another year.  Hard call. Of course I want to sail but I don’t want to quit working while I still can. So here I am enjoying the people I know here, the practice and the clinics but loathing the increasing corruption and incompetence of government more interested in broken fingernails and fat pay checks than youth dying.  It’s troubling to me to see so much waste and arrogance and death.  Yet I don’t want to quit and frankly enjoy being paid for my participation. I believe I can go another year. I had hoped for a decade even but the politics and those involved have descended to a primitive barbarism of swaggering baboons and their smug lying girlfriends.
I go to these round ups and meetings, these retreats and recovery weekends and people think of it as a  ‘holiday’ and I reflect that it is in a way, the R&R after a soldier comes out of the trenches, a break, mostly a wee bit of healing to face the ‘boss man’ and his and her ‘contempt’ for those they perceive beneath them.
I shoulder the load. I pray and meditate and ask God that I might know him more , that I might do his will. That I might be more hopeful, that I may rise above despair. I ask that I might help each one in their struggle with darkness. I keep leaving the light and coming down into the tunnel to guide the way out. But they can’t even acknowledge addiction because they don’t know their own attachments. Pointing fingers.  I have to look at my own too.  The evolution of spirt from blame to shame to forgiveness. I didn’t know. Now I do and I will change.  But to do this I must feel. I must have empathy and empathy is so frowned on in the cold blooded pursuit of power, sex and cash.
The sun is out. Laura said she smelt fall in the air last weekend. I”ve been putting on the heater when I wake but using the air conditioner in the day to keep the pets safe.  I sleep naked still but put on a t shirt and sweats in the morning.  In fall there comes a time when I need a night shirt.
Now it’s time to go to work. I take Gilbert the dog with me. He’s blind but has his favourite friends and loves to visit.  My constant companion. My therapy dog.  He’s certainly been a god send for those with PTSD.
Thank you for all the blessings. God is good. God is good all of the time. Help me to see your hand and be thankful always. Lift me up on eagles wings. Let me know you and serve you. Thank you.

Tuesday, August 14, 2018

Story - thriller, romance, aliens, train crash

The bomb exploded as she kissed him.  It was unforgettable. Her lips. The explosion.  The train derailing.The money fluttering down from the overhead bin like confetti. American hundred dollar bills.  The crashing tilting sideways motion. His body thrust hard against her. The feel of her ample breasts against his chest. The screams. The gunshots.

“My, Mr. Jones,  that was some kiss”,  she said, struggling to get out from under him. He moved aside too aware of the luxury of her beneath the gossamer white dress.  Standing and brushing himself off he couldn’t help but notice her pulling first a pistol then a silencer from the tops of her white stockings.  A glimpse of smooth white thigh. More shots from the corridor.  

“I think you’ll need more than that out there,” she said, eyeing the front of his trousers.  

“Of course,” he said, reaching under the mattress,  pulling out a large matt   black Defender.  All business now. His earlier mischievousness rapidly receding.  

The compartment  tilted sideways.  He lean forward and step up to exit. Paper money still fluttering down from the overhead. 
 “Shall we?” He said,  opening the compartment door, peering down the corridor.

A large multi eyed centipede scurried galumphing towards him.  The full stopping power of the 12 gauge buckshot changed it’s multiple minds for ever.  

“Let’s go this other way then,” he said.  

“I  think so. The acid in the beast’s juice would do havoc to my dress.”  She smiled flinging her raw hide tasseled purse over her shoulder.

On a slant as if running the length of a sailboat they hurried to the end of the car.  Indians were already riding across the sky to attack the infestation at the rear.  The new winged palomino horses perfectly suited to this task.  Flashes of laser fire streaked bright despite the mid day sun.    They  escaped off the train, jumping down to the gravel and climbing through the shrub into the  forest of  Canadian pine.  The giant pink Wasps  that invariably accompanied the multiheaded centipedes were engaged by the Indians. 

‘There,” she said, pointing to the glimmering orb high off the rear of where the caboose had been.  An Interdimensional shimmer pulsated hardly visible in the light.  

‘Right,” he said.  “But this won’t reach it.”

“This will,” she said, taking the gloss from her purse.  She pointed the lipstick directly at the orb. Pop. That tiniest sound  was immediately followed by a ear splitting blast as the machine at the edge of the rip in space exploded collapsing the filament.  Sparkles fluttered down. 

“Good shot,” 

“Thank you.” 

“What else have you got in that purse?” He said sitting to wait for the cavalry to finish up and the engineers to restore sanity.  

“A piece of white chocolate,” she said, sitting very close next to him.  It really was a beautiful day. 



Sunday, August 12, 2018

Summer Church

You know I’m sorry God that I’m not going to make it to church today. I know it would be good to congregate with other Christians.
I love the greetings and then sitting silently in prayer before the service begins. I love the collective singing, voices raised together in harmony, the songs of praise and thanksgiving. I love watching the little children gather before going off to Sunday School. I love the Bible readings and the sermons.  I love the architecture and meeting with friends and lunch after. It’s what I do.  There are two things one definitely can’t do alone, be married, or be a Christian.
I love the Christian fellowship and yet, Laura and I and Gilbert have just woken. I slept in. She’s walking Gilbert and we’re both still recovering from the assembly line natures of our individual works.  So much on the clock. So responsive to constant demands.  So thrashed by time.
Now Sunday morning in the summer, I’ve prayed and meditated. I sit as long as the dog and cat allow me to wait on you.  Our Father. Lord Jesus Christ. Today I found my mind singing George Harrison’s song, My Sweet Lord.  I really want to know you. I pray for conscious contact and to know your will. Thy will be done not my will. Guide me. Let me follow you, Lord.  Help me and heal me. Mould me. Thy will be done. Thank you Jesus.
Now I’m drinking coffee and thinking of making another.  To get to church would be a rush.  Laura really does take longer in the morning than me or Gilbert to get ready for anything. The fact is, I’m slower than Gilbert whose very enthusiastic about most everything and always ready to go.  There’s just not time to go slow and be at church too. I would like to go slow today.  I’d like to enjoy Laura puttering about with the dog and cat.  Breakfast is a treat together, so often bacon sandwiches or eggs, as during the week neither of us has time for such luxury. 
We love to go to church with the god kids too and they’re out camping and fishing so won’t tell on us playing church hookey..  We’re here God. Laura is quite devout and prays daily as I do. Our friends are mostly spiritual and we often talk of you.  You did say, ‘where two or more are gathered in my name, there too shall I be.”  We are never far from you and you are here with us. Thank you Jesus.  Be with us always. Here in our summer church. Thank you Jesus.  








Saturday, August 11, 2018

Harm Reduction Good; Harm Reduction Bad

Harm Reduction Treatment is a term which is used commonly in Addiction Medicine. It followed “abstinence based’ treatment.  In other areas of medicine the term ‘palliative care’ is an equivalent expression.
The positive aspect of “Harm Reduction’ was that it provided care specifically for those who were not ready to embrace ‘abstinence based’ treatment or for those who had failed, even repeatedly failed, conventional abstinence based therapies.  
Historically ‘abstinence based’ therapy for alcoholism was exemplified by the Gold Standard , Navy Pilot program. Navy pilots cost millions to train and flew jets worth even more millions.  When they developed addiction as they did, grounding them caused  a major loss, often involving suicide, while letting them fly, was obviously dangerous. The treatment which followed included a 30 day inpatient treatment, followed by 3 meetings a week of AA (Alcoholics Anonymous), weekly drug and alcohol counselling and monthly visits to see a psychiatrist. At 5 years 80% of pilots were abstinent and flying.  A major success.  
This treatment with some variations is the treatment principally used for judges, doctors, other professionals, union members and all those ‘contributing citizens’ who individually or by insurance can afford the ‘best’.  It is well known by the advocacy of such distinquished treatment programs as Betty Ford, Talbot, Homewood, Edgewood, Orchard etc.  Often patients begin with a period of detox and follow up today can include SMART, a cognitive behavioural group therapy.  Group therapy is the cornerstone of abstinence based therapy.  A fundamental principle of addiction treatment in this model is that substance abuse compensates for relationship deficits.  Accountability and support come through fellowship and community.  Isolation begets addiction, participation treats addiction.
By contrast Harm Reduction Treatment has tended towards maintaining the substance use with a view to control. Originally the World Health Organization validated the Harm Reduction Programs only as they ‘lead to abstinence’. Abstinence is the ‘cure’ per se for addiction.  To this end methadone, suboxone, Kadian and now Heroin are used as Opiate Replacement Therapy.  Eventually patients were weaned off opiates however where in the abstinence models this occurred in weeks, in the Harm Reduction Model this might well take years.  
Alcohol is provided in a controlled fashion on the hour for chronic alcoholics, maintaining the steady state alcohol level and avoiding withdrawal as well as the revolving door detox, hospital and jail scenarios.
There is no doubt that harm reduction is good Community Medicine. 30 years ago when I was doing a Community Medicine Residency I studied the Swiss Methadone Maintenance programs of the day, showing then as they do today, that providing methadone, reduces the spread of diseases associated with needles, like infections, most importantly hepatitis and HIV.  They also dramatically reduce the cost of revolving door hospital, detox and jail scenarios. The legal cost alone for the theft associated with heroin use is horrendous and methadone simply dramatically reduces this.  
Harm Reduction Treatment is very good for the community when it is approached responsibly and it’s fiscal benefits are understood.
 Locally the Portland Hotel Society was a scandal with all manner of corruption and devastating failure as their Harm Reduction Model became dominated by crime and a ‘better living through chemistry’ attitude which indeed promoted drug abuse as opposed to treating it. The Portland Hotel Society has since modified it’s approach. 
For individuals as opposed to the community, harm reduction can be very good.  Methadone and suboxone specifically impressively reduce the use of needles and help individuals get free from the life of servitude supporting the criminal drug dealer factions and associated crime.  Eventually patients who might otherwise have died often have the time to move on to abstinence based therapies.  When the patients come for methadone or suboxone their other physical and mental health needs can be addressed.  Otherwise they might well avoid health care.  Housing, food, health care are all available as part of the a good methadone program.  Certainly we encourage participation and provided biopsychosocial interventions to the patients on methadone. The College of Physicians and Surgeons of BC like other College programs across Canada and similarly in other civilized first world countries,  historically managed the methadone programs and encouraged they take a wholistic approach to the patient.  Opiate programs required a federal government waiver given that the laws against drugs like heroin were nation wide. Locally the addiction treatment has been transferred mostly to Province or State and University care. 
Harm Reduction Therapy could well be seen as bad if all the doctor was doing was being a ‘drug pusher for the multinationals’ rather than using motivation therapy,   12 step facilitation therapy and cognitive behaviour therapy to move patients along the spectrum of motivation to change as laid out by Prochaska.  The preventative medicine aim was through relationship therapy with the physician , psychiatrist, pharmacist and overall treatment team aiming to ensure the patient’s self esteem and health indices  improved.  These indeed do and for many individuals the methadone and suboxone treatment have been life saving.  Heroin and other ‘needle maintenance programs’ are early ‘add ons’ whose value is not nearly as evident given that the key feature of methadone was that it moved patients off needles with the community risk inherent to methadone or suboxone, oral medications.
The alcohol therapy has been an end stage treatment model for chronic alcoholics who have failed all other programs and whose lives are more manageable without the drunk then withdrawal roller coaster broken by relationship with health care and managed hourly alcohol intake.
Champix  and bupropion, nicotine replacement gums and patches, and vapes are all Harm Reduction Therapies which have had proven success in helping people become abstinent for nicotine and smoking.
Revia (naltrexone) is a medication which reduces craving for alcohol and empirically reduces alcohol intake in those who abuse.  Acamprosate is another such medication. 
Narcan kits which reverse overdose are definitely a harm reduction strategy especially when put into the hands of first responders.  They are a simple preventative medicine strategy for those of my patients who I encourage to have on hand when they are using with family or friends trained to know how to use them. 
The safe injection site is obviously another  harm reduction strategy.
Needle Exchange programs are proven harm reduction therapy where the patient exchanges a dirty needle for a clean needle. Unfortunately locally the needle exchange program devolved into a ‘free needle’ program with needles being tossed out of a basket in the local park. 
A variety of medications have been used along with diets to treat obesity and overeating, sometimes call food addiction. At the extreme, when behavioural change fails, surgical interventions such as stomach stapling have been long acknowledged as life saving.
So why is Harm Reduction Bad?  Obviously it isn’t of itself.  Reducing harm is good and the use of this marketing term is very seductive indeed. Unfortunately it can be ‘enabling’ and can cause the disease to persist given the huge element of denial involved in addiction.  Further the Harm Reduction Therapies tend to be pharmaceutical or medicalized  and costly compared to the low cost equivalence of the more labour intensive approaches of treatment centres and frankly almost cost free community support programs.  Often all the high cost and front end approaches are used and use up the patients resources while in the end the recommendation is to continue in AA/NA or SMART as this is a chronic disease process and unfortunately the real issue is prevention of relapse.
When patients have work and family and community relationships still in tact they are most likely to benefit and succeed with the conventional abstinence based programs, detox, treatment centre, and group therapy. In traditional medicine this is considered the ‘primary’ care model and harm reduction therapy is considered ‘secondary’ or ‘tertiary care’.
Harm Reduction becomes ‘bad’ when judges and doctors and the wealthy are given the abstinence based approach while the poor are ‘maintained’ on their drugs without giving them the opportunity of ‘cure’ which comes with abstinence based models.
Further, the harm reduction models can contain an inherent negation of the patient’s capacity to change.  Seminal studies have shown that a patients capacity to change and get well depends strongly on the therapists belief in their capacity to do so.   If the therapist doesn’t believe the patient can overcome their addiction to heroin the therapist will indeed prove to be the rate limiting step. The success of AA and NA is that the rooms are simply full of individuals who have indeed climbed the Mount Everest of Recovery and encourage others to believe they too can succeed.  
Both models have their naysayers and both models have their glorious success stories. The social justice warriors often argue that the addict and alcoholic should have ‘free’ stuff , in this case ‘free drugs’.  Unfortunately the disease of addiction is one of ‘more’ and there simply isn’t enough of whatever to suit the active alcoholic or addict who will die or commit crimes to persist in his or her narcissistic hedonistic pursuits.  
Should society pay to increase the risk to itself.  Part of the difficulty today is that there are increasing numbers of those who feel society should allow them to ‘spread their disease’ , a group of HIV positive individuals having parties with ‘non infected’ but those seeking “solidarity”.  
In the best of possible worlds when physicians, psychiatrists and other care givers are seeking what is best for the patients ,understanding the severity of the disease, the limits of resources and looking at each case individually there is rarely any conflict between the models .as in the individual’s life and care both models are at different times and sometimes together  being used.  
Politically, Harm Reduction Therapy has, I believe, a great deal more potential for harm than traditional abstinence based therapies.  Naturally there is a concern that the rise in addiction and death has been parallel to the increase in Harm Reduction Programs. Is this an association or is some of this cause and effect.  Changing the ‘drug dealer’ from the street criminal to the State has sent a different message. Legitimizing drug and alcohol abuse can be problematic.  Promoting marijuana use for profit just like promoting alcohol for profit may cost individuals and communities while a few profit.  
What is best for the individual, what is best for the community and what is best for the State and treating services are great when they all work together. Historically, the individual has been lost in the demands of community and State and those that ‘profit’ from individuals with disabilities such as addiction.  
We have always done ‘Harm Reduction’ as doctors. My concern has principally been individuals get the best care. The group “Like Minded Doctors” developed in part to discuss these concerns.