Joe and Nick: Teen addicts struggling to stay clean

Editor's note: This story originally ran on April 25, 2002 as part of the Daily Herald's "Hidden Scourge: Heroin in the Suburbs" series.

Though they lived three doors apart for most of their childhoods, Joe McKirchy and Nick Blasucci were never really friends.

A year's age difference - an often unbridgeable gap in grade school - kept them in different social circles. They remained strangers until high school, when a dangerous love for heroin brought them together.

"I remember him from, like, when I was in the third grade," says Joe, now 17. "But I didn't hang out with him until someone told me this kid on my street was doing it, too."

The two Glendale Heights teens soon began driving into the city together to buy drugs. Together and separately, they created a deceptive world that included stealing from their parents to finance their addictions.

As quickly as their addictions took hold, their lives began to unravel. Joe's parents had him arrested after they found heroin in his car. Nick's problems became neighborhood fodder when he overdosed one summer afternoon.

In the year since admitting their use, each teen has been on a roller-coaster recovery track. They both have relapsed, battled depression and disappointed themselves. Their paths so far have not been easy. Nor have they seen equal progress.

At their parents' urging, the boys agreed to talk about their ongoing fights. They say they want to save others from heroin's grasp, even if they still have doubts about saving themselves.

"On a good day," Joe says, "I am 95 percent sure I am never going to use again. I am going to try my hardest not to go back. I'll do whatever it takes."

Joe's story

Less than 50 percent of heroin users successfully recover from their addictions, according to government studies. It's statistically possible that neither Joe or Nick will overcome their deadly habit. And they both know it.

Of the two boys, Joe was the first to be caught using heroin. An anonymous caller telephoned his parents last April and told them their son was snorting.

"There's no way," his father, Danny McKirchy, told the caller. "I know my son."

To prove his point, McKirchy paged Joe and told him to come home immediately. When the teen arrived, his parents, Danny and Diane, could tell he was high.

Sickened and scared, they summoned the Glendale Heights Police Department. The responding officers asked if they could search the family car.

McKirchy consented, knowing his son would be arrested if they found anything. He felt he had no other choice.

"A lot of people worry about what their neighbors will think, and I guess I worried about that a little," he says. "But I would do it again if I had to."

Three months later, Nick overdosed in his bedroom after getting high with two adult friends. As he slipped into unconsciousness and began hemorrhaging from his nose, his friends fled the house. One stopped to call 911 before leaving.

"It felt kinda good," Nick says. "Everything was OK until I passed out. Then the paramedics and cops were there and I was (angry)."

By the summer of 2001, both Joe and Nick - baby-faced teens from the same tree-lined street - were in rehabilitation programs.

Shortly after Joe entered a treatment center in Woodridge, he returned home on a day pass. The teen persuaded his parents to give him an hour alone with his friends.

He returned to the rehabilitation facility that night with heroin sewn into his underwear waistband. The ruse didn't work. He was caught, kicked out of the facility and sent back to his parents' house.

Joe's father quickly arranged for him to be sent to Rosecrance Substance Treatment Center in Rockford. Facility administrators, however, said a bed wouldn't be available for months.

While they waited, Danny kept a close eye on his son. He took him to work with him each day and constantly searched for signs of drug abuse.

Despite his father's efforts, Joe began using heroin again. The teen always had snorted the drug, but he switched to shooting up to deceive his parents.

"They knew the signs of snorting," he says. "They didn't know what to look for with needles."

Joe's deceptions didn't last long. On Dec. 12, he tried to shoot up while at work with his father. Danny found the teen in the garage getting ready to plunge a syringe into his arm.

Danny grabbed the needle and expelled its contents onto the floor. He called Rosecrance and begged them to take Joe two weeks early.

The facility agreed. Joe has been there ever since.

"I was just so tired when he caught me," Joe says. "I was sick of getting high. I was sick of not getting high. I didn't know what to do anymore."

Joe's treatment program ends in a few weeks. He'll leave Rosencrance as only the second patient to ever earn his high school diploma while undergoing treatment.

His father visits him each Tuesday, and Joe comes home each Saturday on an eight-hour pass. He admits to feeling a bit smothered by his parent's watchfulness - and by their enthusiasm for his sobriety.

"I'm only home for a short time, and I can't do anything," he tells a reporter on a recent Saturday afternoon. "I mean, I only have a few hours here and they want me to spend it talking to you."

Joe explains his frustration with the scheduled interview as politely as possible. He is worried about his pending graduation from drug treatment, he says. He has stayed sober while in the facility, but he wonders how he'll do on his own.

His doctors recently prescribed anti-depressants to help him cope with the upcoming changes. Joe also has asked to be placed in a halfway house after he is discharged.

There are too many temptations in his old neighborhood and circle of friends.

"I just don't want to be sucked backed in," he says.

After his release, Joe intends to work at his father's construction supply business. He eventually would like to work with cars, a passion that dates back to his childhood.

Nick's story

As Joe describes his future, 16-year-old Nick Blasucci watches him with a blank expression. He's reluctant to join the interview, but courteously - and candidly - answers any questions asked.

Nick has refused to enter an inpatient program, opting instead for family counseling and weekly drug testing. His parents have become his wardens, confining him to the home whenever possible and rarely allowing him out of their sight.

Nick goes to a neighbor's house every day before and after school. He jokes that it feels like day care.

"I'm never alone," he said. "It gets boring after awhile."

The few times Nick has escaped his parents' clutches, he has relapsed. In the nine months since his overdose, he has used Ecstasy, marijuana and crack.

He has been sober for almost seven weeks now. He shrugs when asked if he thinks he'll stay that way.

"I don't know," he says, rubbing his eyes. "I still want to get high all the time."

His parents, Theresa and Rick, acknowledge their son's fragile state. They sense Nick is growing depressed as their efforts to keep him off drugs deny him such rites of passage as dating and driving.

"He's so far behind where he should be," his mother says. "We should be looking for colleges right now. Instead, we're going for drug tests. I know it's very hard on him."

The Blasuccis are desperate to save their only child before his 18th birthday, when they lose all legal control over his life and whereabouts.

Even if they're successful, they worry about Nick's future. The couple has exhausted his college fund to pay for his medical bills and counseling.

"I can tell he is depressed," Theresa says. "I don't want him to lose hope."

At times, it's difficult to tell if Nick has any hope left to lose. An honor roll student until he started doing drugs, he says he doesn't think about the future or what he'll do after high school.

Joe asks about the graphic arts courses Nick is taking at the local vocational high school. He suggests perhaps pursuing something in that field.

Nick just shrugs again.

"I don't know anything anymore," he says.