I am more than 6,000 days clean from substance abuse. My last day was the culmination of many overdoses, ending in one harrowing trip to the emergency room. That story is for a different column.
That does not make me an expert, but it does give me perspective. I know how easily things can slide from curiosity to dependence, from control to chaos. I also know how quickly the wrong substance, or the wrong dose, can end a life before anyone has time to intervene.
That history is why the recent spike in overdoses in Lloydminster matters so much.
It should concern everyone. But what should concern people just as much is how quietly it often happens.
Across Canada, the scale of the crisis is no longer theoretical. According to Health Canada, more than 50,000 people have died from apparent opioid-related toxicity since 2016. In just the first half of 2025, nearly 2,800 Canadians died from opioid overdoses, most of them accidental.
Emergency responders see it every day. Health Canada data also shows more than 10,000 emergency department visits and more than 16,000 EMS responses for suspected opioid overdoses nationwide in the first six months of 2025 alone.
Those numbers do not belong to one city or one province. They reflect a national pattern driven by an increasingly unpredictable and contaminated drug supply.
Yet in Lloydminster, public overdose warnings are rare.
Unlike other parts of Saskatchewan, this community does not consistently see alerts when dangerous substances begin circulating. On the street, information often travels faster than official channels. People using substances talk to each other. They notice when something feels different. They notice when someone does not wake up. Sometimes law enforcement is aware as well, long before anything is said publicly.
That delay matters.
According to Statistics Canada, accidental drug poisoning deaths remain historically high, with more than 7,100 deaths recorded nationally as recently as 2023. This is not a problem that waits for perfect messaging or press releases.
So why the silence?
Part of it comes down to how we still view people with substance addictions.
There is a lingering belief that addiction belongs to someone else. Someone homeless. Someone criminal. Someone lesser. That belief makes it easier to look away and easier to stay quiet.
The reality is far less comfortable.
In my past, I have seen factory workers using substances on lunch breaks and returning to work without anyone noticing. I have known people who drink every night and do not consider it a problem because it looks normal.
Alcoholism is not a moral failure. It is simply a socially accepted form of drug addiction.
The same pattern exists with caffeine. Multiple coffees. Energy drinks stacked through the day. We joke about it and normalize the dependence because it looks productive and familiar.
The substance changes. The pattern does not.
Addiction becomes easy to ignore when it does not match the image we fear. Silence becomes easier when acknowledging the risk would force us to examine our own habits and where we draw our lines.
That silence allows us to believe overdose warnings apply only to “those people.”
They do not.
Talking does not equal approval. Sharing information does not encourage use. It recognizes reality. People are already here. People are already using. People are already at risk.
Among people on the street, warning each other about a bad batch can mean the difference between life and death. Among friends, checking in can save a life. Among institutions, waiting for perfect messaging often means arriving too late.
Local overdose numbers for Lloydminster will be shared in the coming days. They deserve to be seen clearly and honestly.
Until then, silence is not protecting this community. It is costing it.
Read more: RCMP confirm multiple people transported to hospital after Jan. 1 incidents
Very well stated. Thank you for sharing your thoughts.