A jail where women go willingly to break heroin's grip

NEWPORT - They almost look like members of a club, all wearing fitted khakis and red polo shirts. They like to sit in a circle to talk, to laugh and to cry. Every morning, they get up and get dressed for their day. And every so often, to kick back and relax, they'll be treated to pizza and a movie.

These half-dozen women, ages 18 to 38, are in jail for six months each. But they all want to be here. And once their sentences are over, they will continue being helped for as many as two more years with their addiction recovery. 

Welcome to the Recovery Unit of the Campbell County jail, a new addition, fashioned by social worker Kristie Blanchet, the jail's new chemical dependency program manager.

The unit is her creation, based on evidence-based research along with jail and community services support. Campbell County specifically planned for the treatment wing, which for now is solely for women, with its $7.5 million jail addition. The addition includes 24 beds specifically for those with addiction.

Years into the clutches of a nationwide heroin epidemic, Campbell County's is just the latest jail in the Cincinnati region to host an addiction program. But the Campbell County program is unique in that it will not end with the release of its participants. The women in it will get up to two years of help outside from social service agencies that are part of a wrap-around team to break the grip of addiction.

So far, every woman in the recovery program is fighting heroin addiction, and some of them have been struggling with it for years.

"I knew I had to be locked in," said Misty Adams, 38, who's been addicted to heroin for 10 years. "I knew that I would continue to run, continue to use, if I wasn’t. I'm a runner."

Adams, of Over-the-Rhine, said she can experience feelings now; just a few months ago, she did not even know how to communicate with others.

"Heroin is the devil," said Adams. She came to the program when it opened, having been jailed on a drug possession charge in November after she overdosed on the 11th Street Bridge. "Heroin has destroyed me. But me going through this program is helping me build my self-confidence."

She added, "I'm scared to leave."

Blanchet said that such fears will be alleviated in part from the help women will get on the outside.

She's working on securing a grant to get coverage for a shot of injectable naltrexone, a medication that blocks the effects of heroin and opioids, for women before they leave the jail. She'll connect the women to medical services to continue that medication assisted treatment.

The nonprofit Brighton Center, a Northern Kentucky community services hub, has partnered with Blanchet to guide women for up to two years after they're released. Case managers will help women get links to housing, clothing, food, education. The Northern Kentucky Health Department will provide weekly nurse visits to the women and their children. Spokeswoman Emily Gresham-Wherle said the health board approved $50,000 in start-up costs and is checking whether Medicaid can help cover costs. Greater Cincinnati Behavioral Health is on board, too; it will help counsel and educate the women's families. And, for those who need its services, the Women's Crisis Center will be called upon to help, Blanchet said.

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Brighton Center President and CEO Tammy Weidinger and Blanchet received a $200,356 R.C. Durr Foundation grant for 28 months. Once it runs out, they'll seek more funding.

"We're really very hopeful that this will make the difference," Weidinger said.

The wrap-around services are among reasons the recovery program received the help, Blanchet said.

So is the way people are treated. 

"They are in recovery. They need to be recovery-focused," Blanchet said. "You need to be able to treat somebody with dignity."

That's why the inmates in her wing do not wear striped jail scrubs. They are severed from the general inmate population. They are expected to be ready for classes, which range from therapeutic counseling to GED preparation.

Along with that comes responsibility, Blanchet said, such as "getting up every morning and getting ready for the day."

"They need to look nice, and presentable," she said. "We're trying to help people instead of looking at a punishment. We have recognized that people need treatment."

The approach suits Destinee Antoun, 27, of Covington. She's been in the program since Jan. 3 after she slipped from a five-year recovery period.

"II will do anything to get that back," Antoun said.

She cried as she told of her fall into heroin, saying she's disappointed her children and her grandparents. But now, Antoun said, she is beginning to realize that there is hope.

"I'm not a bad person. I'm not a bad mom," she said through tears. "I'm a sick mom."

"I chose this program."