Health experts issue new warning over synthetic drugs
Nitazene-type opioids are often found in drugs sold as heroin, benzodiazepines and oxycodone and have been in Scotland since 2022.The report noted an increase in reports of heroin overdoses in recent months, suspected to involve these synthetic opioids.
As well as a rise in suspected deaths, there was a 45% increase in the administration of naloxone, which is used as an emergency antidote for opioid overdoses. Attendances at hospital emergency departments also rose by 19%.
Toxic combinations
Dr Tara Shivaji, consultant in public health medicine at PHS, said: "There are complex reasons for the increase in harms we're seeing. "Scotland has an evolving drug supply, which is often contaminated with toxic substances. "Most of the harm also involves the use of more than one substance. We urge caution to all people who use drugs. There's no way of telling which substances may be contaminated or what the combined effects will be."Scotland continues to have a far higher rate of recorded drugs deaths than other European nations, including other parts of the UK.PHS suspected drug death data is based on police reports and is different to the finalised annual figures published annually by National Records of Scotland (NRS). The most recent NRS figures showed there were 1,172 drug misuse deaths in Scotland in 2023,an increase of 121 compared with 2022 which had seen the first fall in fatalities in several years. A new set of official NRS statistics is due to be published in September.
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The Sun
6 minutes ago
- The Sun
I took sleeping pills to escape ‘half-life' after losing use of my legs… but now I've found a reason to live
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That this has happened to tall, swaggering, swashbuckling me in particular is a delicious irony; I often 'looked down' on people and used to occasionally pat short friends on the head. It does seem like some sort of lesson. 'Would you like to talk to one of our mental health team?' a young woman at the hospital asked me. 'Will it make me walk again?' I snapped ungraciously. By trying to end my life - after an extremely good innings, having had enough fun, love and money to fill nine lifetimes - I was reacting in a very straightforward, un-mental way to having my capacity to be a fully-realised human being snatched away from me at the age of 65. It's like grieving the death of my old self the way one would grieve the loss of a loved one - and my goodness, I loved myself very much indeed - and am moving in a very predictable way through the fabled Seven Stages of Grief. I've done Shock, Denial, Anger, Bargaining and Depression. When I took those sleeping pills in May - a month's supply handed over in all innocence by the rehabilitation centre when they discharged me on the last day of April - I sincerely wanted to be done with my half-life, simply because I had loved my life as a flawed, fallible, whole human so very much. I didn't recognise myself; I'd aged decades in months. It was as if while I'd kept moving, I kept age at bay. Bring on ageing After five months in hospital beds Mother Nature, of whom I had once written so blithely 'One of the best things about being a feminist is showing that bitch Mother Nature who's boss', had doled out a proper punishment-beating. I was suffering from extreme 'Telogen Effluvium' - hair loss which can follow the shock to the body caused by severe physical injury. My splendid rack has shrivelled and shrunk; my stomach is scored and seamed in the way which often bears witness to rapid weight loss; my once-perky bum resembles a beach ball with a slow puncture. 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I refused to be co-opted into this and would announce clearly: 'I'm so sorry, but my nappy needs changing.' 'PROBLEM DRINKER' The staff were lovely, but a couple could be condescending: 'Shall we pop a cardi on you and sit you in the fresh air?' one youngster suggested. I don't think I've ever been so insulted, not even when some magazine published a photo of Jabba the Hutt and said it was me. I was going to draw myself up to my full height (3ft now I'm on wheels) and declare in a Lady Bracknell/Duchess of Downton manner: 'CARDI? What is this CARDI? I AM JULIE BURCHILL - I do not wear a CARDI!' Until rehab, I hadn't realised I was a 'problem drinker' as my life was so industrious and social. I was up writing by 5, in the charity shop by 9, lunching by 12, back to work writing in the afternoon most days, very fond of early nights. Most of my adult life, I was anticipating, having or recovering from sex; now I'm anticipating, having or recovering from constipation. 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But I'm reluctant to do so - while totally getting why they do - if I can possibly avoid it, as I'm wary that they'll make me a less good writer. 'Ready to go home?' asked my husband, 24 hours after my suicide attempt. I nodded, too sad to speak as I slithered from gurney to wheelchair. A month on from my little 'hiccup', it looks like I've moved onto Acceptance & Hope (Stage 6) and Processing (Stage 7). When I was first told last Christmas I'd be dependent on a wheelchair (who I have named Wendy) I was naturally dismayed to the point of self-dispatching, but over the past six months I've become dependent on Wendy and to some degree she's helped me become independent. 4 I get excited about everything: 'LET ME PUSH THE BUTTON!' I yell as we approach street crossings. I can hop from wheelchair to toilet by myself; I can wash most of myself, feed and clothe myself. I can't get into the bath, and thus I need my husband's help in my bathing chair (very Regency) every few days - but we tend to have a laugh while doing this. I don't have a *carer* - unless you count him. People sometimes drink to celebrate the moment, as I did in my previous incarnation; people drink to escape from themselves, as I do now. Sometimes I simply cannot stand the slowness of my life; only alcohol takes me out of my head. I'd be an idiot to say that what happened to my spine and put me in a wheelchair - probably for life - has left me unharmed. 'MISS MY OLD LIFE' But I don't feel dead because my brain still works; I can earn my living from my wheelchair and don't plan to give up until I lose my mind or drop off my perch. The difference is that I go in a wheelchair rather than a taxi to lunch. When I see in peoples eyes an almost parasexual desire to pity me, I know how they must have envied me before, and how they're really quite enjoying this happening to me. How to get help EVERY 90 minutes in the UK a life is lost to suicide It doesn't discriminate, touching the lives of people in every corner of society – from the homeless and unemployed to builders and doctors, reality stars and footballers. It's the biggest killer of people under the age of 35, more deadly than cancer and car crashes. And men are three times more likely to take their own life than women. Yet it's rarely spoken of, a taboo that threatens to continue its deadly rampage unless we all stop and take notice, now. If you, or anyone you know, needs help dealing with mental health problems, the following organisations provide support: I miss my old life terribly; I hate the modern habit of calling a disability a 'superpower' but I am by nature a perky person and I can't pretend to experience a level of tragedy I don't feel. Even now, writing from my room in the hospital where it all started in December, I try to find the bright side. 4 I'm back here because I have a grade 3 pressure sore which can take months to heal but for the first time, I've got my own room. I don't feel like an Undead - neither a zombie nor a vampire. I define myself as a writer and losing the use of my legs hasn't affected my ability in any way whatsoever. I've been paying tax since I was 17 and I plan to keep working until I drop dead, (and if my sore turns into a grade 4 I'm probably not long for this world) something many thousands of able-bodied people certainly can't say. I'm hoping that the theory of bouncing back to baseline happiness holds true for me; research indicates that miseries who win the lottery soon go back to being miseries while cheery types who lose the use of their legs go back to being cheery. I feel like a 'Halfling' as I'm half the height I was - but I don't feel like a Poor Old Thing.
Daily Mail
3 hours ago
- Daily Mail
Scientist reveals why we should quit or cut down on burgers to save the planet
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BBC News
3 hours ago
- BBC News
NHS plans Bradford hospital facility for parents of ill children
A new development at Bradford Royal Infirmary would create a "home from home" for families of babies in intensive care, according to the NHS.A planning application revealed proposals for a new accommodation block at the hospital's neonatal facility that will allow families "to stay close to their babies during an incredibly challenging time".The development is expected to cost £3m, with the Bradford Hospitals Charity working with The Sick Children's Trust to raise the required funds for the completed, the facility would be run by the Sick Children's Trust charity and would double the amount of neonatal unit beds in the hospital. If plans are approved by Bradford Council, the facility would be built on vacant space at the Smith Lane side of the hospital next to the maternity the need for the accommodation, the application reads: "The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit provides expert clinical care to babies born at the extreme limits of gestational age and those born critically unwell."On average the unit admits around 500 babies per year."The building would include five en-suite rooms for relatives, a family room, dining area and a laundry for outside include a terrace with seating and an informal play to the existing neonatal unit would include a new rooming-in bedroom and end of life room, a consultation room, a prayer room and en-suite toilet.A spokesperson for Bradford Teaching Hospitals NHS Foundation Trust said: "This much-needed facility will help keep families together by providing them with a comfortable and supportive space to stay close to their babies during an incredibly challenging time."A decision on the application was expected in October, the Local Democracy Reporting Service said.
