CINCINNATI — Donivan Dowell is standing outside the Hamilton County Justice Center. One year ago, he woke up inside a cell there every morning. He remembers the smell. The trays of unappetizing food. One day after another.
It’s why he’s laughing now.
He’s thinking about terrible seizures from withdrawal that sent him to the hospital multiple times. About waking up chained to a bed. About memories that include his dad dying from an overdose.
He believes this is all behind him.
Outside the jail, Dowell pulls a piece of paper out of his wallet. It’s something he hasn’t had for almost 20 years: a driver’s license. It’s so new he doesn’t even have the official card. It’s still in the mail.
“I feel like a civilian again,” Dowell said, unfolding the documentation. “I feel like I’m becoming somebody.”
Dowell is 10 months sober. And he says his recovery started somewhere you might not expect.
“If I hadn’t got locked up that day,” Dowell said, “I’d be dead.”
At any given time, there are more than 1,000 people incarcerated at the Hamilton County Justice Center. Just like Dowell, a lot of them suffer from substance use disorder, according to the jail's medical director.
And that's what led me there, because WCPO 9 News is committed to finding solutions to the incredibly complex topic of addiction. And what experts have told us is that the work being done at the jail could be a solution for our entire region.
I spent months trying to get a first-hand look at the way they've changed how they treat addiction.
Exclusive: Go inside the Hamilton County Justice Center to see a treatment pod
Ultimately, it led me to nurse Sam Oney. She runs the jail’s medication-assisted treatment program. Her job is to provide medication like Suboxone for people suffering from opioid use disorder.
"With fentanyl withdrawal, people can die,” Oney said. “They die in jail.”
The hope is that by starting medication, the people who are incarcerated will have a better chance at recovery once they're released.
“Sometimes people need help,” Oney said of the medication she prescribes. “It quiets the noise in their brain so they can begin the healing process.”
In America, two in three people in jail suffer from opioid use disorder, according to the National Institute on Drug Abuse. But the organization says less than half of U.S. jails provide medication to treat it. The Hamilton County Justice Center didn’t always provide that medication either.
Captain Scott Kerr has worked in the jail for two decades.
“We used to just have people go off opioids cold turkey,” Kerr said. “It’s a culture shift.”
Kerr walked me through the jail, telling me he expects legislation to eventually mandate medication-assisted treatment in prisons and jails.
“We have a huge pharmacy downstairs. We give medicine out for all kinds of stuff,” Kerr said. “If they’ve got an infection, I can’t be like, ‘Well, that’s your fault — so we’re not going to give you the antibiotic.’ You can’t do that.”
But he acknowledges it wasn't always like that. The change stems in part from statistics like this:
Seven out of every 10 people who overdosed and died in Hamilton County in 2023 spent time in jail, according to the county’s Office of Addiction Response. Research shows that starting medications for opioid use disorder prior to release can reduce the risk of overdose death by 75%.
Last year, overdose deaths in the county were the lowest they've been in a decade.
Inside the Justice Center, I spoke with a woman incarcerated in what officials call the jail's Capacity and Recovery Expansion (CARE) Pod. It’s essentially a treatment program.
“My addiction looked like losing my children, my family, losing everything,” she said.
We decided not to reveal this woman's identity because of the stigma that still surrounds substance use disorder. And because we would not typically report on the level of crime she is charged with. She told me the care pod inside the jail has given her hope again.
“It’s like a big family,” the woman said. “And it's taking me everything to hold back tears.”
We talked for a little bit more until she could no longer hold them back.
“I have a chance to be a sober, successful member of society,” she said. “And not just another addict.”
After our interview ended, the rest of the women in the CARE Pod applauded her.
In one year since starting this treatment program, which offers peer support and other access to recovery services, only three women have returned to prison after being released, according to Elizabeth Harris, addictions coordinator for the sheriff’s office.
For Oney, this is the most rewarding work she's ever done. Even if it can be hard. In her office, she places a toy animal on her desk. She winds it up, and it walks by her keyboard.
“It’s for the bad days,” Oney said. “Don’t make fun of me.”
When a man walks in, she asks him a series of questions.
“What does withdrawal look like for you?”
“Does anything help?”
“Do you know the last time you were sober off of anything for seven days?”
The man shook his head, no.
“And that’s OK,” Oney said.
The nurse does this multiple times every day. She told me about 230 people are prescribed medication through her program. Later, I asked her why she does it. The question seemed to take her by surprise.
“What do you mean, why do I do it? They deserve a second chance,” Oney said. “By the time they are here, they don't have anybody or anything, so why would they get sober?”
She’s almost shaking.
“That’s why I do it,” she said.
For people like Dowell.
Outside the jail, he pulls out his driver’s license paperwork again. He's already showed it to me, but he’s excited to show it to Oney, too. When she walks outside, she gives him a hug. Then, she tells Dowell she’s proud of him.
He laughs.
“This place saved me,” said Dowell.
