Recently, I had my attitude checked in a marijuana dispensary. You read that right: a weed shop. If you know me personally, and are judging me right now, save it ’til the end; you may be checking your attitude too. If you don’t know me, then read on, but this may be checkmate.
Marijuana has been legal (in some form) in the state of Washington for almost three years now. It still feels new, and there is plenty of good humor about the availability of magic edibles and medical versus recreational use. I would be lying if I said that I never tried it before its legalization. I smoked it in college, on several occasions, but it made me sleepy and slow; it wasn’t my thing. But many of my friends smoked regularly, and while I knew it was illegal, I wasn’t that worried about the criminal element of using it.
Flash forward. I’m a 52-year-old woman with three nearly adult kids; I’ve been married 29 years, and I use marijuana for pain management. Mostly. I’ve had a very serious auto-immune disorder for many years that’s lead to countless hospitalizations and surgeries and has left me allergic to all but two antibiotics, and nothing except Tylenol, for pain management. If hospitalized, there are a few pain meds I can take, along the lines of elephant tranquilizers, but if I have a sinus infection, a severe headache or several broken ribs and 2nd and 3rd degree burns … it’s an ice pack and the sofa. That’s what it was a year and a half ago, when I had an epically horrible year, and my doctor finally said to me: “have you considered medical marijuana?”
– Read the entire article at The Huffington Post.