Saturday, April 8, 2017
OFF PAGE ONE
DRUG COURT: It took DeBord three years to embrace, complete the program
Page 12A
East Oregonian
Continued from 1A
and center in an attempt to
keep the program alive. She
is helping spearhead a group
of advocates, including
former drug court employees,
meeting with state lawmakers
and circulating an online peti-
tion to raise public support.
Perhaps more importantly,
DeBord is encouraging her
fellow drug court graduates
to speak up, share their expe-
riences and put a human face
on the program.
“I think humanity is the
most important part of this,”
DeBord said. “I need to share
that wisdom. I need to get that
story out there.”
For DeBord, the photos
she keeps are a sobering
reminder of her own journey.
It has been two years since
her last hit, and she plans to
graduate from Blue Moun-
tain Community College
this winter with majors in
sociology and anthropology.
None of that would be
possible without the structure
and support provided by drug
court, she said.
“It did change me. It
changed my life,” DeBord
said.
‘I couldn’t do it anymore’
Growing up in Pendleton,
DeBord was one of five kids
raised by a single mother.
They were poor, and the
stress at home ultimately led
DeBord to drop out of high
school when she was 15 and
move in with a friend.
Around that time, DeBord
said she began experimenting
with drugs and alcohol. Four
years later, she met Christian,
the man she would marry
and who convinced her to go
clean.
Slowly but surely, she said
they got out of poverty and
had two kids together — son
Bailey and daughter Addison.
“It was wonderful,”
DeBord said.
Things changed, however,
after the couple was injured
in a hit-and-run car crash.
They became addicted to
opioid painkillers, and on
April 1, 2002, Christian died
after mixing Valium and
OxyContin, which caused
him to lose consciousness and
asphyxiate. He was 27.
The death was especially
damaging for DeBord.
EO file photo
Former Umatilla Circuit Court Judge Ron Pahl presents a certificate of graduation to Spring Stevens during the
Umatilla County drug court graduation in Pendleton in August 2012.
“I fought all my life to find
the stability we had,” she said.
“I couldn’t do it anymore. I
didn’t want to do it anymore.”
In her grief and guilt,
DeBord turned to heroin
to blot out the pain. In the
short term, she said the drugs
helped her to function. But in
the long term, they consumed
her life.
DeBord sold everything
she could — her furniture,
her kids’ belongings, her
wedding ring on more than
one occasion — to buy
heroin, running with a group
of 11 other addicts. Bailey
and Addison were eventually
adopted out to DeBord’s
parents in Milton-Freewater,
and DeBord gave birth to her
third child at a methadone
clinic in Eugene. She did not
even know she was pregnant
until 24 weeks.
“Heroin keeps you so
numb, you can’t put it
together,” she said.
Over the years, DeBord
cycled in and out of 13
different rehab centers, but
none worked. In hindsight,
she said she did not want
them to work.
In 2012, DeBord was
convicted of felony assault
of an officer while high. The
incident took place during a
welfare check at her home.
The court sentenced her to
three years probation and
more than 300 hours of
community service.
As part of Measure 57,
DeBord’s probation officer
also got her into drug court,
despite not having a drug-re-
lated charge.
“I fought it for a long
time,” she said.
The fate of drug court
Umatilla County Drug
Court was established in
2006 as an intensive treat-
ment program that blends
counseling, group treatment
and community service to
put medium- and high-risk
offenders on the right track.
Participants also need to have
a job or be enrolled in school
full-time to graduate.
At the time, the county
Local Public Safety Coordi-
nating Council applied for
and received a grant from
the Oregon Criminal Justice
Commission that covered 100
percent of the program cost.
Since then, state funding has
declined to the point where,
next biennium, the program
would be $516,000 in the
hole.
The county says it cannot
make up that gap, and the
public safety council decided
to ax the program in its
current form. However, the
council will meet Tuesday
at the county courthouse to
discuss potential alternatives
for providing drug court
services.
Dale Primmer, director of
Community Corrections and
a Pendleton city councilor,
said that could take a number
of forms, depending on size,
scope and funding.
“It all comes down to
what model we can afford,”
Primmer said.
The big question now,
Primmer added, is what
exactly the state budget will
include for justice reinvest-
ment. Currently, Gov. Kate
Brown’s proposed budget
calls for $32 million state-
wide. But if the Legislature
can agree on a plan to stave
off the opening of a second
women’s prison, it could
bump that number up to $50
million.
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DeBord said she plans to
get as many drug court partic-
ipants as possible to attend
Tuesday’s meeting, which
begins at noon in room 114 of
the courthouse.
“This is something that
can’t be overlooked,” she
said.
Nicole Morris, a drug and
alcohol counselor who began
working with drug court
last year, said the program
not only provides steps for
offenders to succeed, but
gives them a safer place to
fail. Offenders tend to be very
artistic and intelligent, Morris
said, but just haven’t been
shown a better way to live.
“We were able to be there
for them, and advocate for
them,” Morris said.
Mike Breiling, a Pendleton
attorney and former public
defender, said drug court can
be beneficial for addicts who
need that level of care and
intervention. The program is
cheaper than putting offenders
in jail for six months or a year,
he said, and no less effective
in getting them clean.
Breiling does, however,
caution against overusing
the system.
“I have seen, in the past,
people who would seem to
me to be a poor fit,” he said.
“We should really reserve it
for people who truly need it.”
‘I would choose life, too’
It took three years for
DeBord to embrace and even-
tually graduate from drug
court. The biggest wakeup
call, however, had nothing to
do with the program.
Two years ago, teenage
daughter Addison was flown
to a Portland hospital with a
life-threatening condition that
affected her pancreas. DeBord
said it reached the point where
doctors said there was nothing
else they could do.
“I’m just out in the parking
lot, screaming at God,” she
said. “I said if she dies, I’m
going to lie on this floor
and die too. I’m not leaving
without her.”
Addison did not die, but
spent three months in the
intensive care unit before they
were allowed to return home
on Christmas Day 2015.
DeBord swears that, in the
face of death, her daughter
chose to live.
“I decided that day that
I would choose life too,”
DeBord said.
DeBord said she has not
touched drugs since that time.
Meanwhile, drug court staff
stuck with her throughout the
ordeal, and helped her to see
a life outside of addiction.
She hangs her framed drug
court diploma proudly on her
wall, among her paintings and
family portraits.
“I never want to forget
that,” she said.
DeBord now lives in a
home with her sister and
2-year-old niece. Bailey, now
18, graduated last year from
McLoughlin High School and
Addison, 17, will graduate
later this year.
Drug court affects more
than just participants, DeBord
said. It also has a profound
impact on children, families
and loved ones.
“I want them to look at
$516,000 as 516,000 people,”
she said. “You can’t put a
price tag on a life.”
———
Contact George Plaven at
gplaven@eastoregonian.com
or 541-966-0825.