How It Felt to Stop Breaking the Law, Even Though I Was Doing the Same Thing
At work, my nickname was “Goody Two Shoes”. When I was eight, I wrote a letter to the Mayor of NY requesting funding of after-school programs. That gives you a flavor of the type of person I am.
I’m also that person who’s lived with orthopedic pain, arthritis and inflammation for years — often a combination or all three, hitting the same area. I sought relief from smoking pot, after experiencing it when I was younger. I was never — and am still not — a drinker, but I liked pot.
After having shots to my knees and hip, taking pain meds, and having numerous physical therapy and ortho therapy rounds, I realized they are not long-term solutions. And even for the short-term, the relief is not great. While pills work, why would I use addictive medication when there are non-addictive medications that are as, if not more, effective?
“Goody Two Shoes” Lights a Joint
Even though it was illegal and I’m Goody Two Shoes, I found I’d consider anything to manage the pain. That’s how I came to return to pot — I used it as one of the tools to deal with body pain.
I smoked in my adulthood after a fall that caused spinal vertebrae damage. Another fall damaged my ankle, tore ligaments and left me hobbling in a boot for months. A hip defect from birth got so bad, that I got a total hip replacement. I’ve also had surgeries that had long and painful recoveries.
Pot helped me return to a calmer state, since the pain had me worked up. Pot helped reduce my inflammation, so I hurt less and was better able to deal with the pain. I worked throughout all these events because pot helped me to stay calm and concentrate. My employer and peers depended on me to produce quality work and I worked long hours to meet that expectation.
You Want to Smoke Pot? That Could Hurt!
When I was buying pot on my own, I felt like a criminal. If I smoked in my own house and someone rang the doorbell, my stomach would tighten. I would shoot a look at my husband and shake my head no, to not answer the door, because I was concerned it’d be a neighbor who’d smell the smoke and assume the worst of us. (I realize it could also be a neighbor who smokes too who is glad to meet a neighbor “who’s cool”.)
I felt so ashamed and guilty for being such a terrible person as to use drugs. Knowing that each time I bought pot or used pot, I was risking arrest and prison time because I didn’t want to live in pain.
When the Covid pandemic started, I stopped using pot. I didn’t want to meet with anyone, anywhere, for any reason. I didn’t want to risk my family’s health so I ate a lot of Tylenol and limited my activities.
You Want to Smoke Pot? That Could Help!
Then, at the end of June 2022, I met with my doctor, and we talked about my pain. He said he supported me trying pot to see if it helped. Two days later, I had an appointment with a physician who would assess me for a Medical Marijuana card. People can’t just get a pot card — they ask for medical documentation. I scanned and emailed my medical history (radiology reports, CAT scans, surgical info, etc.) prior to the appointment.
The doctor assessed me and solicited the State for a Medical Marijuana card for me. The woman at the front desk told us to await an email from the State with a link to pay the fee for a Medical Marijuana card. I said I’d look for the email while my husband drove us to the dispensary. I couldn’t help but think about people who used to drink at speakeasies, suddenly being invited into bars. It’s odd. It’s wonderful but it feels surreal. Something done in the shadows now a transaction at a storefront dispensary. That’s a leap!
Pressure-filled, Edge-of-Your-Seat, Cliffhanger
We were already at the dispensary when the email arrived. The form is hinky and rejects info without explanation. I finally figured it out. So, now we’re sitting in the car, awaiting the Medical Marijuana card number so we can go into the dispensary. Instead, I get an email from the State, advising they have my application, and it can take anywhere from 7 to 10 days to get the card.
Dejected, I sank down into the seat. I thought, this is crazy, I’m parked in front of a store — on the other side of the store’s door, there is what I want. But instead of shopping, I’m in my car trying to deal with the fact that I’m so close but its still out of reach. Anyone who has ever experienced a “dry summer” of pot, when no one seems to have anything, knows the pain of knowing that someone near must have some, but how do you get it?
My husband suggested that we walk into the storefront and ask if they would let me in based on the State’s email. I had doubt because the email states that the application is not an approval. It stated that they’re conducting a records search to determine approval. But that door, it was right there. Ah, I can’t just leave. I have to ready myself for the disappointment of being escorted out because I don’t have credentials. Ok, let’s go!
We walked into the storefront and there was a waiting room with chairs spaced three feet apart from one another. Across from the chairs was a long reception desk, with a greeter, a security officer, and another employee in a company shirt. We approached the greeter and told her our story. She said that when she applied for a card, it took a week, so we’ll have to wait. I asked her if the email from the State would help. She asked to see it. She started typing on her computer and said that she could see my card number! It was in the State’s system already even though I hadn’t received an email. She said I could shop if I wanted. Of course I did!
The Showroom — Pot Paradise?
An employee ushered us into another room that had a row of display cases on each side that went the length of the room. Employees were standing behind the display cases. There were a few shoppers at each of the counters.
So, what do you think was in the display cases? Glass jars filled with large “flowers” (buds), with a few tumbling out onto the display case floor? Footed cake platters filled with pot brownies and warm cookies? A free Costco-like sample platter with a quarter of a gummy in each paper cup? Wall displays of their products, spilled out onto trays behind the employees?
Ha! I did too. It’s not Shangri-La, or Charlie’s Chocolate Factory for marijuana. That’s not allowed here. Instead, the display cases have white boxes and white jars that look like old cold cream containers. Most have bright colored labels, but the flower packed in cold cream containers have white labels. The most unexciting store ever except for the fact that — omg — I can buy pot here like its nothing, the same way I’d order deli or buy jewelry. Except I can’t examine anything.
I can only read the label of the product to see the pot name, type (Indica or Sativa), and THC/CBC percentages for that crop. No dealer ever asked me my preferences. Our conversation was something like the dealer saying, “I have something very nice” and me saying, “ok, let’s meet”.
So, I left the store with a couple of types of items. Flower is only sold in 3.5-gram jars — that’s an eighth of an ounce. I did my best to select the marijuana types known to provide anti-inflammatory and pain management relief. The doctor gave me a chart that categorized pot types by what they are best able to help with — for example, Indica marijuana helps with anxiety and insomnia. Sativa marijuana helps manage pain without making you sleepy.
The Consumer Experience, Hi High
What was it like to take out my old paraphernalia and smoke a joint after years of not smoking? It was great! I didn’t feel like a criminal. I didn’t feel like I had to worry if someone smelled it. I wasn’t a bad person just because I wanted to have a couple of hours without focusing on what hurt.
I was doing the same thing I used to do (smoke), for the same reason (pain management), and all of a sudden, I wasn’t a terrible human being.
I went to a dispensary instead of meeting with someone who I hoped the cops hadn’t followed. I know and like several cops, but pot made me feel like a bad guy and them, people to be avoided. Now the same thing, pot, is a non-issue. Amazing.
The dispensary takes online orders and delivers at a fee, so while I’ve made two visits there (there’s a 35-day minimum period between visits), I plan on having it delivered, as I do other meds and groceries.
My husband is an IT wiz and made a spreadsheet for me to have graph and table charts detailing product name, type, effect on pain, etc. This way, when I reorder, I can look at the spreadsheet to identify my favorites. If they’re out of one, I’ll know which ones I liked after that one. Yes! I married a nerd like me!
Legal For Some, Sometimes, and Illegal for Others, All the Time
Pot has been legitimized so many times over, how can it be legal for me to buy it to help manage my pain, but when I did so before I had the Medical Marijuana card, I risked arrest?
How can the U.S. kinda-sorta recognize the value of marijuana but still categorize it as an illegal drug?
How can we recognize the value of relaxing or celebrating over a glass of wine but not marijuana? They provide similar effect, but one is only legal through the narrow allowance of some U.S. states. We really could benefit from the Federal legalization — and tax revenue — of marijuana. Neighboring countries, Mexico and Canada, did so without negative impact. So, at this point, why not?
My 83-year-old mother is happy that I got a card. She never cared that I smoked pot because I’ve always been accountable, either in school or work. She just wishes I could buy bigger face cream jars. Me too, Mom.
