Pain and Addiction

This week, an excellent article on the American Pain Foundation (APF) was brought to my attention. In it, the APF’s stance that “the risk of [opioid] addiction is overblown” is examined in light of the fact that the APF receives a great deal of its funding from companies that produce addictive painkillers.  I highly recommend you click that link; the article is thorough and well-researched, and provides a valuable perspective on the kind of misinformation that can harm patients when medical issues become overly profit-driven. The companies producing and promoting the use of addictive painkillers clearly have financial motives to conceal their potentially harmful effects, and they also have clear motives for funding institutions such as the APF, which can lend credibility to research that might otherwise appear “scant or disputed”. Whether or not the people working at APF believe what they say about the “low risk” of opiate addiction — and despite the real good that APF may have done in the realm of patient advocacy — maintaining that prescription of opiates should be uncontrolled is severely irresponsible.

Will Rowe, the chief executive of the APF, is quoted in the linked article as saying that “The problem isn’t opioids… It’s poorly trained doctors who prescribe them too easily or in excess.” That is certainly true. No drug in and of itself is “good” or “bad”; all treatments are appropriate in some situations while being inappropriate in others. But Rowe and others similarly associated with the foundation also express fears that regulation of physicians will “scare them away” from prescribing opiates, and induce “opiophobia” that will harm patients.

Even if the fear of “opiophobia” is legitimate, I have a hard time believing that encouraging doctors to be more conservative in prescribing highly addictive drugs will cause more harm than it will prevent. What pain management doctors don’t seem to realize is that addiction is a distinct disease, and that some symptoms of what they think is “chronic pain” are, in fact, symptoms of addiction. Some patients absolutely do have chronic pain that requires long-term opiate treatment, but I would argue that many more patients have “chronic pain” which is actually chronic withdrawal. I have had more patients than I can count who, after a few days on buprenorphine, tell me that the underlying cause of their opiate use (back pain, joint pain, or other common pain conditions) has disappeared. In these patients, the initial problem that caused them to seek treatment for pain probably cleared up long ago, and that the pain they had been self-medicating was in fact withdrawal.

Patients who are addicted without knowing it, and who self-medicate for withdrawal, are among those most harmed by the APF’s insistence that opioids have “low risk” and must be protected from regulation. These substances are absolutely, unequivocally addictive, and downplaying that risk is an appalling betrayal of trust on the part of the APF and all similar institutions. Whether patients are willing to take that risk is a matter to be decided with their physicians, but that decision cannot be made well if both physicians and patients are assured that there is no risk.

I’ve written before about how more regulation on the prescription of pain pills could very easily decrease addiction (and its associated costs), choke off the supply of narcotics being sold illegally, and improve pain management by not compounding pain with further addiction-related problems. The APF’s stance against such regulation seems to me to be blatantly self-serving, which undercuts their claim to be focused entirely on patient welfare.

The Gold Standard

On this blog I tend to talk about opiate addiction more than any other kind, mostly because opiate-addicted patients are the ones I most often see and treat. Of course, we can still learn from other kinds of addiction — in fact, if we really want to look at a powerful model for the disease of addiction, we need to look back at the gold standard: smoking.

There is very little actual advantage to smoking a cigarette, not in the way that there is for other drugs. It does not give you a lasting or euphoric high; it is not a great way to party or relax after hard week at work; it does not have nearly the psychoactive effect of any other typically abused drug. It can be a social activity, but more and more restaurants, hotels, and even public parks and bars have been banning smoking in recent years; smoking is becoming less and less feasible as a means of social connection, like alcohol is. The nicotine itself, apart from its addictive effects, provides a minimal amount of relaxation or stimulation (depending on how it is smoked) that literally lasts only for seconds.

So why do people smoke, and why do they continue to smoke after it becomes costly, inconvenient, and even life-threatening? The answer, of course, is because of nicotine’s addictive effect on the brain’s reward system. People become so addicted to this short-lived effect that they find it necessary to reproduce it hundreds of times per day. A one-pack-per-day smoker is smoking 20 cigarettes each day, perhaps taking between 10 to 15 puffs per cigarette. That equals 200 to 300 hits per day. The effect on the brain of a single hit of nicotine lasts about 4 seconds. 250 hits per day gives 1000 seconds, or slightly less than 17 minutes of nicotine-stimulated brain activity per day. If someone smokes their one pack a day over a typical 16  hours of being awake, each day they are providing nicotine to the brain for only 2% of their waking hours.

Now think about the cost that society and individuals pay for this addiction in years of life lost due to cancers, chronic lung disease, premature heart disease, etc. On average, smokers die 13 to 14 years earlier than nonsmokers. (You can check out some of the tobacco statistics here.)

Smokers are exactly like anyone addicted to any other drug. They aren’t weak, and they aren’t bad people. To non-addicts, it looks like they are constantly, continuously making an irrational choice, but that’s not the case. Their brains have simply become so dependent on those little bursts of nicotine that it is incapable of putting any long-term health or financial consequences before getting the next hit. The very fact that it’s not so obviously harmful, and that it generally takes years to start showing negative health consequences, allows smoking to escape a great deal of the stigma of other addictive drugs. While it’s true that no addict should be stigmatized for their illness, that also doesn’t mean that smoking should get a pass, or be considered ‘not a problem’, when it can be just as powerful a controlling force in an addict’s life as a stronger opiate.

Cigarette smoking is less extravagantly destructive than heroin or methamphetamine, but it follows the same pattern of all other addiction. These are all different forms of a single disease. Our current scientific advances in the treatment of addiction notwithstanding, the best way of dealing with addictions is still with education and prevention, so that they never start in the first place.