Senator gets First-hand Look at New Hampshire`s Heroin Epidemic

Sept. 13--U.S. Sen. Kelly Ayotte wanted a first-hand look at the challenges police officers face as the city and state grapple with an opioid epidemic.

So at the invitation of Manchester Police Chief Nick Willard, Ayotte went on patrol with a city officer Saturday evening.

There were two overdoses in the first 90 minutes of his shift.

Officer Derek Feather starts his patrol with a quick stop at 7-Eleven for an energy drink and a protein bar. Then he cruises the section of the center city that's his assignment for the night.

"What's the worst block?" Ayotte asks him.

"Us," he replies.

Feather is 37; he's been a police officer for nearly 11 years.

Ayotte asks what he's seeing on the streets and he talks about the huge increase in drugs and crime in the past five years. How often does he see the same people, she asks? "Constantly," he says.

Feather points out where a woman was stabbed a few years back, where a man got shot. He shows Ayotte the street where the "girls who walk" hang out. "They perform their acts to get enough money to buy drugs, to not be sick again," he says.

A lot of the drug users he sees started with prescription drugs, he says. But pills cost $20 to $30 each on the street. "You can get three times as much heroin for 20 dollars," he tells Ayotte.

Within minutes, the first overdose call comes in: a 30-year-old man who's taken a combination of heroin and suboxone. It's on the West Side but Feather heads there, flying up Canal Street with lights and sirens on.

At an Amory Street high-rise, they head to the second floor. EMTs have already arrived and are performing CPR on the man, who lies sprawled on the floor, wearing a tank top and boxers.

They administer Narcan, the drug that reverses the effects of an opioid overdose, and the man stirs and tries to get up.

"You overdosed, bro,'" one of the EMTs tells him.

Feather interviews a woman who lives in the apartment. "Let me see your arms," he says. "I'm not using. I'm clean," she insists.

As a neighbor watches, both hands clutching her throat, they help the man onto a stretcher; they'll take him to Catholic Medical Center.

Manchester Fire Lt. Steve Desruisseaux said responding to overdoses is now a daily occurrence for his crew from Station 6.

"Thank you for what you do," Ayotte tells him.

When she was Attorney General, Ayotte says, the state was dealing with a methamphetamine crisis. Now it's heroin and other opioids, including fentanyl.

The drugs that end up in Manchester are funneled through Massachusetts, Feather said. But they're coming into the country from Central and South America, Ayotte said.

Ayotte is chairing a field hearing of the U.S. Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee Monday in Manchester. She plans to share what she saw on her ride-along.

Back on patrol, Feather makes a motor vehicle stop, responds to a neighbor complaint about a fight and arrests a man for violating his bail conditions.

He drives through an alley, and calls to a woman by name. "I just got out of the hospital," she tells him. "I'm staying out of trouble, don't worry."

She's probably 25, Feather tells Ayotte. She looks much older, and unwell.

Another report of an overdose comes in, this one on Clay Street. In an upstairs apartment, EMTs are performing CPR. "Let's do another Narcan," one says.

They check for a pulse. "We got nothing. Continue compressions."

There's a woman in a bedroom, weeping. Another woman comes to the apartment door. "What's going on? Is he OK?" she asks.

Police send her into the bedroom to comfort her friend, who asks tearfully, "Is he gone?"

"They're still working on him," a young police officer tells her gently. "We're doing everything we can."

On the wall of the apartment is a wooden plaque: "Grace is not a little prayer you say before receiving a meal. It's a way to LIVE."

The woman told the EMTs she had come home to find the man unconscious. She knew he used to have a drug habit but she thought he'd kicked it, an officer says.

These are the dangerous overdoses, when the victim is alone, says Sgt. John Cunningham, the patrol supervisor for the night, who's responded to the call. There's no one who can call for help.

The EMTs keep doing CPR; the man appears lifeless. Then suddenly: "He's got a good carotid" pulse, an EMT reports.

The pace quickens as the team prepares the patient for the ambulance ride to Elliot Hospital.

"Thank you, guys," the senator tells the first responders. "You saved another life."

It's the second miracle of the day. And it's only 5:30.

swickham@unioleader.com

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