‘We were blown away to see the success’
Kane County Jail drug treatment program slashes post-incarceration overdoses
Mason is only 30, but for nearly half his life he has been using hard drugs, including heroin. The petty crimes that came with his habit landed him in jail a few times, where he’d be on his own to deal with withdrawal and everything that followed.
“For the first two weeks I’d be sick,” he said. “After that I would just be cringing at the teeth to get out and do what I had to do.”
Mason’s latest return to incarceration came a month ago when he landed in the Kane County Jail on an assault charge, but this time would be different.
The jail has a voluntary in-house drug treatment program that includes a still-rare feature: Inmates who are addicted to heroin, OxyContin and other opioids can receive buprenorphine, a medication that is itself an opioid and can stave off withdrawal, lessen drug cravings and protect against overdose.
Sheriff Ron Hain said that since he began the program in 2019, a few months after he was elected, post-incarceration overdose deaths have plunged from 15 in 2018 to just one last year, even as opioid-related deaths overall have skyrocketed during the pandemic.
“We were blown away to see the success rate,” he said.
Medication-assisted treatment in jail is still unusual despite ample evidence that inmates who come in with an opioid addiction are at heightened risk when they leave. The typical jail regimen calls for detox, which puts inmates through a painful withdrawal and lowers their tolerance to the drugs, leaving them more likely to overdose if they resume their use upon release.
Hain said he came into office determined to change that paradigm: He had seen inmates go into withdrawal with nothing but Tylenol to ease their discomfort, and knew the risks they would face on the outside.
“Given zero treatment while in custody, they are 74 times more likely to overdose and die upon release,” he said. “That to me is the No. 1 statistic that points to every single jail absolutely having to have some sort of (medication-assisted treatment) program in place.”
He set up a pod within the jail where inmates who wanted to participate in the program could live and have counseling sessions. Not all are addicted to opioids, and not all who came in opioid-dependent choose to receive buprenorphine.
“I don’t want to get too (dependent on) the meds because that might trigger me,” said a man who used OxyContin and codeine before being jailed. “I don’t want them. I’ll just keep doing meditation and other things that I do.”
But 14 of the 72 men and women in the program do receive the meds, taking a daily pill that has been crushed to minimize the chances of diversion.
Mason, whose last name is being withheld at the request of program officials to protect his future job prospects, never received drug treatment before getting locked up in Kane County. He said buprenorphine has been a help, and not just because it fends off dope sickness.
“I can think clearly, remember things,” he said. “When I was out there (using heroin) I couldn’t remember jack crap.”
Medication aside, Hain said he thinks the counseling is the program’s most critical piece. Led by Nate Lanthrum, clinical director of the Lighthouse Recovery treatment center in St. Charles, the sessions are based in cognitive behavioral therapy, not the traditional 12 steps, and aim to explore the roots behind the inmates’ substance use.
“Incarcerating people doesn’t fix anything,” Lanthrum said in an interview. “The state of Illinois does a fantastic job of warehousing people and not providing services. That doesn’t help anybody. It doesn’t keep the community safe or help the person suffering the disorder.”
During one recent counseling session, held in a small room off the cell block, a dozen men in orange jumpsuits sat in a circle as Lanthrum and trauma specialist Rehna Becker led them through a fast-paced, occasionally salty discussion about the negative emotions that can drive drug use.
After one man celebrated his transfer to drug court, a move that would prompt a quicker release from custody, he expressed concern about staying on the right path. A fellow inmate jumped in.
“You’re not letting anybody down because you’re in (the treatment program),” he said. “We’ve seen the growth. Don’t let the person in the mirror be your biggest adversary. You got this, bro.”
But not all the program’s participants are looking forward to the outside. One 31-year-old man who awaits trial on an armed robbery charge said he faces decades in prison if he is convicted, but added that he still gets value out of the sessions.
“I feel like being in this program helps me elevate,” said the man, who used cocaine, alcohol, marijuana and other drugs before his incarceration. “I’m still growing, I’m still learning, and I want to continue to teach myself to keep going forward. That’s why I wake up each day with a smile. … I’m ready for all the positive things ahead of me.”
Hain said Lighthouse keeps working with inmates after they’re released from jail, or even from prison: One man, he said, immediately asked for help once he got out of a state facility.
“This is historic and groundbreaking,” Hain said. “It’s recognizing that people can reform themselves and that a proper rehabilitative structure inside of a jail can completely turn people’s lives around and even save lives.”