The message from dispatch came in as I was driving east along Nova Scotia’s Highway 103, returning to Halifax after a week-long reporting trip in Cape Breton. “Urgent drug alert issued—multiple overdoses reported downtown.”
When I arrived at the emergency department of the QEII Health Sciences Centre two hours later, the waiting room was crowded with worried family members. Dr. Leah Richardson, an emergency physician who had been on shift for nearly 12 hours, agreed to speak with me between patients.
“We’ve seen 14 overdoses since midnight,” she explained, dark circles forming under her eyes. “The pattern is different—these aren’t just opioid overdoses. We’re seeing unusual symptoms suggesting a toxic mix of substances.”
This scene from June 2025 represents the latest chapter in Nova Scotia’s ongoing struggle with a toxic drug supply that continues to claim lives across the province. Yesterday, Nova Scotia Health issued its most comprehensive drug alert to date, warning of a dangerous batch of substances circulating in the Halifax Regional Municipality.
The alert came after paramedics responded to 27 overdoses in a 48-hour period, with three fatalities confirmed. Preliminary toxicology reports indicate the presence of a potent synthetic opioid mixed with benzodiazepines and an unidentified stimulant—a combination that makes standard naloxone interventions only partially effective.
“What we’re seeing now is unprecedented,” says Sara Williams, harm reduction coordinator with Direction 180, a community-based methadone program in Halifax’s North End. “People can’t possibly know what they’re consuming anymore, and that unpredictability is what’s killing them.”
Williams shows me their supply of test strips and other harm reduction materials, which have been depleting rapidly. “We’ve distributed over 400 naloxone kits this month alone, but when benzos are involved, naloxone only addresses part of the problem.”
For Chris Lively, a 42-year-old carpenter who lost his younger brother to an overdose last year, the cycle of drug alerts feels painfully familiar. “My brother survived three overdoses before the one that took him,” Lively tells me as we sit in a coffee shop near the Halifax Commons. “Each time, he’d wake up in hospital, terrified, promising to get help. But the waitlists for treatment were months long.”
Data from the Nova Scotia Department of Health and Wellness shows that the province recorded 192 confirmed drug toxicity deaths in 2024, a 26% increase from 2023. The first five months of 2025 have already seen 87 confirmed deaths, suggesting this year could be even deadlier.
Dr. Robert Strang, Nova Scotia’s Chief Medical Officer of Health, points to several factors behind the worsening crisis. “The drug supply has become increasingly unpredictable post-pandemic,” he explains during our phone conversation. “We’re also seeing the impacts of the housing crisis, inflation, and mental health challenges driving substance use in new demographics.”
Indeed, recent provincial data indicates that overdoses are no longer concentrated among long-term substance users. Nearly 30% of this year’s overdose deaths have involved people with no documented history of substance use disorder—suggesting experimentation or occasional use with an increasingly toxic supply.
The current alert also highlights geographical spread. While previous overdose clusters were often contained to Halifax’s urban core, paramedics are now responding to calls throughout Bedford, Dartmouth, and as far as Lower Sackville.
“Five years ago, we might see one or two overdoses a week in our area,” says Constable Melissa Chen of the Halifax Regional Police. “Now we’re responding to multiple calls daily, and they’re coming from everywhere—university residences, suburban homes, business bathrooms.”
At the Direction 180 clinic, I meet Darlene Peters, an outreach worker who has been in recovery for six years. Peters notes that Indigenous communities have been disproportionately impacted. “Our people are dying at twice the rate of non-Indigenous people,” she says, referencing a 2024 study from Dalhousie University’s School of Public Health. “Historical trauma, poverty, and lack of culturally appropriate services all play a role.”
The provincial government announced a $12.8 million investment in harm reduction and treatment services last March, but frontline workers say the funding hasn’t translated to immediate help. Wait times for opioid agonist therapy still average 6-8 weeks in Halifax and can stretch to months in rural areas.
Matthew Davidson, who runs a peer support program for people who use drugs, believes the latest alert demonstrates both progress and persistent gaps. “At least we have a formal alert system now,” he says. “Three years ago, people were dying without any warning mechanism. But alerts without accessible services aren’t enough.”
The recent implementation of the SaferSupply program at two Halifax clinics offers some hope. The program provides pharmaceutical alternatives to toxic street drugs for people at high risk of overdose. Early data shows a 60% reduction in emergency department visits among program participants.
Dr. Richardson believes these programs need rapid expansion. “We can’t just keep reviving people in emergency departments and sending them back to the same toxic supply,” she says. “We need a comprehensive approach that includes prevention, harm reduction, treatment, and addressing root causes like trauma and housing insecurity.”
As evening falls over Halifax Harbour, I join a mobile outreach team making rounds through downtown. In a small park near Barrington Street, they hand out naloxone kits, clean supplies, and information about the current alert to a group of young people.
“Be extra careful right now,” outreach worker James Thompson tells them. “Use with someone nearby, start with a tiny amount, and carry naloxone.”
One young woman approaches him hesitantly. “My roommate has some stuff she bought last weekend. Should she throw it out?”
“If she’s going to use it, she should definitely test it first,” Thompson replies, handing her several test strips. “And make sure someone’s with her who knows how to respond if something goes wrong.”
As I prepare to leave, my phone lights up with another alert—four more overdoses reported in the last hour. The cycle continues, a reminder that behind each statistic is a human story, a family left grieving, and a community searching for answers that seem increasingly elusive in the toxic drug landscape of 2025.
