Dodd from the Mayo Clinic says she has received some criticism regarding her study. That people who exhibited such behavior on Mirapex made decisions and must account for their actions. It's the typical you-make-your-bed-you-lie-in-it argument.
"I believe people have free will," Dodd contends, "but I also believe people are driven to do things that they're not necessarily wanting to do."
Daniel Kramer
Wayne Kanuch estimates he gambled away $250,000
after taking Mirapex.
Daniel Kramer
Kanuch spent much of his time betting on the
simulcast races at Sam Houston Race Park.
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Dr. Timothy Fong, associate professor of psychology at UCLA's Neuropsychiatric Institute, likens Mirapex to cocaine, which "releases a huge outpouring of dopamine levels," thereby causing an intense heightening in the brain's pleasure senses. Mirapex, he says, "increases the sensitivity of dopamine receptors," creating a similar sense of euphoria.
The Dodd and Stacy studies likely won't lead to new frontiers in understanding Parkinson's disease. But experts such as Fong say they "open a window into the world of addictions in general."
"These people were chemically induced to have compulsive behavior," says Fong, who is also co-director of UCLA's Gambling Studies Program. "When we can manipulate that kind of chemical, then we can really begin to understand compulsive behavior."
Fong says that researchers are now seeking to understand why some people suffer these side effects on Mirapex, while others do not. In the meantime, he hopes the studies help to legitimize pathological gambling as a psychiatric disorder in the eyes of the federal and state governments -- which provide scant funding to treat and research the illness.
"Behavioral addictions are not bullshit," Fong says. "They can be neurobiologically driven."
Back at Sam Houston Race Park, Wayne Kanuch complains of feeling claustrophobic. He says his stomach is in knots.
A man takes him by the arm, asks where he's been, why he doesn't come around anymore. Kanuch shrugs and turns away.
Kanuch walks outside to the track, passes a barbecue stand and leans against a metal fence.
"Right now the idea of gambling is foreign to me," he says. "I have no interest in it."
Kanuch hasn't gambled since he was taken off Mirapex a couple of months ago. His libido, too, has returned to normal. This is affirmed by people close to him.
"The change in him has been astounding," says Tammie Davenport, a friend. "He thinks more clearly, more rationally. He thinks, period."
Today Kanuch is homeless. He crashes some nights at Davenport's home, others at his girlfriend's place in Katy. His unemployment checks have run out. He's had no health insurance since last June, and relies on the nonprofit Houston Area Parkinson Society for free Parkinson's medication. He lives on food stamps and small loans from friends.
Kanuch remains haunted by his experiences from the last few years. But he's fueled by a desire to help people. Poverty has humbled him, reminding him of his youth spent in a public housing project in Austin.
He's dedicated to regaining his self-respect, a meaningful job, forgiveness from friends and lovers. In short, he wants his life back.
"I feel ashamed of much of the stuff I've done," he says. "I'm ashamed of having been a gambler. I'm ashamed of having been persistently sexually compulsed to do things. I'm ashamed of my job performance."
He's particularly troubled by the attempted rape, which he "vaguely remember[s]."
"I was cold, I was hurting," he says. "I was desiring warmth and human touch."
Many friends have turned their backs on Kanuch. They accuse him of making up excuses for his behavior.
He's tried to respond to their skepticism. To explain what it was like being on Mirapex. But he can't find the words to persuade them.
He hasn't yet been able to forgive himself for his behavior. But he trusts that will happen over time.
"I don't feel entirely responsible," Kanuch says. "I was being changed by something out of my control."
