Medical Marijuana and
Me
By Rosemary
Rains-Crawford
After my
sister told me marijuana could help with arthritis pain in my right wrist and
left knee, I decided to investigate. I
had managed to avoid exposure to it as a recreational drug through my
childhood, adolescence, and my adult life. I decided that if it indeed had
medical properties, I deserved all that saved usage for when I needed it as I
suffered aches and pains in my geriatric years. Since I don’t operate heavy machinery, work for wages, or even
drive myself much anymore, I couldn’t see how it could hurt anyone else.
Even though marijuana for medical
use had been legal in Washington state for several years, I had no idea what
that involved. Was it a license through
the state? Was it just a prescription
from a doctor who was willing to write it?
Where did I get the product once I had the authorization? Was it possible for me to grow it
myself? The last question was of most
interest to me as I have a large garden, love plants, and didn’t want to be
involved with the druggie type people who had it for sale. My only source of information on marijuana
was my younger sister who had used it since she was a teenager for recreational
purposes. She lived in a different
state, so she had no idea how to make me legal with the State of
Washington. I had seen ads in the
“Little Nickel” throw-away newspaper for “guaranteed marijuana license”, but
that seemed like just another way for recreational users to get their drugs.
“I am going to grow a marijuana
plant or two.” I announced to my husband, Ron in the spring. “Luna gave me three seeds, and I am going to
try to grow them.”
“Doesn’t that put our whole life at
risk?” he asked reasonably with some alarm.
“I don’t actually think so. I may not even be able to make them grow,
and I will make sure they are hidden in the far reaches of the garden if they
do grow.”
“Well, I don’t think it is a very
good idea.”
“If they grow, I promise I will
figure out how to get a license.”
He reluctantly agreed to that, and
I immediately put my three seeds into a wet paper towel to see if they would
sprout. Four days later, they all had
nice sprouts, so I potted them in a small flower pot and left them in a sunny
window, where I tended them carefully as they poked through the soil.
Within two weeks, the plants were
becoming a bit ungainly and the weather had warmed. We were past danger of frost, and the soil felt good in the
garden, so I picked a sunny spot that was shielded by the grape arbor inside my
garden fence. Soon, the plants were
growing literally “like weeds”. I knew
I had to figure out the license thing.
Coincidentally, an old friend from
high school and I reconnected and began to share our love of plants and all
things do-it-yourself. I finally felt I
had someone I could trust to show off my beautiful plants.
“I just have to figure out how to
get a license. Ron is getting anxious
having them on our property.”
“You know, I have a friend who has
a license.”
“Really? Do you know how she got it?”
“I’m not sure. We were up visiting and Lonnie saw a plant
when he was out looking at something in the barn with Bob. Bob told Lonnie that his wife Sandy had
arthritis really bad and she had a license to use it and to grow it. Do you want me to see if they will give you
some information about it?”
“Oh, boy, do I ever!”
A couple of days later, Karla
called to say she had set up a meeting with her friends at their place up by
Mt. Vernon. “We can go on Tuesday morning, but Sandy has a doctor’s appointment
in the afternoon, so they have to leave the house around noon.
“Let’s ride together, and we can go
out to lunch after we meet them.”
Tuesday morning found us on the
road to Mt Vernon, and we arrived at Lonnie and Sandy’s farm around 10 a.m.
“Want to see my operation?” Bob
asked as soon as introductions had been made.
“Yes!” None of us realized they had an “operation” going on. Lonnie had seen only one plant and assumed
that was the extent of their growing.
“This used to be our kiln,” Bob
said as he unlocked the door of a square building with no windows and only one
door that had been fastened securely with a padlock as well as a door-handle
lock.
The first thing that struck me as I
entered the brightly lit room was the smell.
Even with my limited experience with marijuana, I immediately recognized
the overpowering spicy smell that hung over the room like a blanket.
As we walked through the aisles
between rows of plants, Bob expounded on the virtues of each different type of
plant. My head was spinning – partly
from the smell, but also with the amount of information we were getting. In my naivety, I had thought all marijuana
was the same. Some plants had much
darker leaves than others, some were even variegated in color, some were much
taller, some had purple buds and some white, and so on. In retrospect, I guess I should have
realized that marijuana had as many varieties as such things as roses and
dahlias, but it was a bit overwhelming as we walked through the building.
“This area is our cloning area,”
Bob explained as we entered yet another building that was also full of
plants. These plants were smaller –
some only four or five inches tall in small clear plastic drinking cups, some
in 12” pots, and the largest ones in 24” pots.
“The biggest ones are ready to move
into the budding area,” he continued.
“There we control the light and ventilation to maximize their
fruition.”
I had lost track of all the stages
of development, but clearly, this was a scientific growing operation.
“You can see our authorizations on
the wall of every building,” he explained.
“Each licensee is allowed to grow 15 plants. We have the maximum five licensees allowed by the law. My wife and I both have licenses, and our
three children are also licensed. The
patient has an authorization for using marijuana, but can also identify people
who are her suppliers, which gives them a license to have plants.” I wondered
if the kids all had pain and were users or if they were just suppliers for
Sandy. I realized they had to have
user’s licenses because even with a bunch of providers, I thought the law only
allowed Sandy to have 15 plants. This
was really confusing. I had a sudden
wish for a copy of the whole law so I could study it.
“Do they all work here?” It was sort of a dumb question, but the best
I could come up with as my mind swirled with all the new information.
“Well, it is mostly mechanized, and
Sandy and I can do most of the work, but they do come by and help
occasionally.”
We didn’t even ask the most obvious
question: “What do you do with all of
this?” Surely it was way more product
than any five people, even five people in considerable pain, could use in a
lifetime. Politeness forbade us asking,
but it was certainly on all of our minds.
“Here is the information about my
doctor,” Sandy said as we walked back to the car. She had thoughtfully made up an envelope of stuff – a card for
the doctor, a couple of recipes, and a sample doctor’s authorization. “Be sure and mention that I recommended her
because she gives me a discount when I send patients to her.”
“I am really worried about Bob and
Sandy.” Karla confided after we thanked Bob and Sandy for the tour and drove
away.
“That is quite an operation,” Ron
stated the obvious for all our benefit.
“I had no idea they had all those
plants.” This from Lonnie.
All of us were a bit shell-shocked
and almost at a loss for words.
We weren’t far from one of our
favorite restaurants, “The Conway Pub”, where I like to go for an oyster burger
and Ron likes the fish and chips. I had
noticed in the car every now and then a little waft of marijuana odor, and
smelled one just as we walked through the restaurant door. We had all been immersed in it for over an
hour, so who knew how much stronger the smell would be to someone else? Fortunately we sat outside so our little
group of old people reeking of marijuana wasn’t too obvious to the other
patrons (I hoped).
When I asked the others if they could still smell it,
they all started sniffing the air. Just then, the waitress came with menus we
all burst out laughing like we had just heard the funniest joke, and all of us
wondered if we could have gotten silly from all the fumes. For sure it was a lunch where we giggled a
lot.
