[420 Girl]

Richard Rodriguez

Hepatitis C Patient

Richard Rodriguez enlisted in the military in peacetime during the 1970’s, though he was fully prepared to die for his country if necessary. Years later, he dodged bullets in the original Desert Storm conflict, and he lived to tell about it. Richard had thought he had exited the service unscathed. But decades after the fact, doctors discovered Richard had not been as lucky after all.

Soon after retirement, Richard began experiencing excruciating lower back pain. Assuming he had pulled a muscle or had developed some unknown disk injury, he tried to rest and recuperate, but the pain only got worse. Almost a month went by with no improvement, so Richard made an appointment with the VA hospital. Military physicians discovered problems with Richard’s blood tests and they found he had an enlarged spleen. They noted that he had worked with toxic chemicals during active duty, explaining the cause of his illness. Richard was told he had cancer of the spleen and lymphoma. The spleen was removed immediately, but unforeseen complications nearly ended Richard’s life right then.

Floating in and out of consciousness, Richard’s memory is reinforced by his wife’s recollections of that terrible moment when the doctor informed them both that the spleenectomy had been performed in error. He had been rushed to the ICU after surgery, and Pam was very worried. It was obvious something was very wrong. Then the doctor rushed in apologetically. He said, “Richard, I made a terrible mistake . . .” He went on to explain the details. The good news was that Richard did not have lymphoma or cancer of the spleen. The bad news was that Richard had Hepatitis C with progressed cirrhosis, (hardening) of the liver. Richard grabbed the doctor’s arm, asking, “Doc, how long do I have?” The doctor was solemn. “You might not make it out of the hospital . . I’m going to try to get you on the transplant list, but I’m afraid it’s too late.”

The intense psychological tension was slightly relieved an hour later with a much different second opinion. The second physician contradicted the first and called the life-threatening cirrhosis “mild”. Pam and Richard were perplexed with the mixed messages. On one hand, Richard had nearly died and was terribly sick, but perhaps it was the first doctor’s misdiagnosis that was to blame for his sudden, drastic decline. But the second doctor’s opinion was such a contrast with the first, they decided they should consult a specialist.

Richard found a third doctor who put him on interferon therapy three times a week. There is no way to adequately describe the terrible side-effects of chemotherapy, whether in cases of cancer or Hepatitis C. The effects are somewhat similar. Richard injected the drugs himself nearly every other day for a whole year. Every one of those times he was driven to bed with skin-crawling irritations and gut-wrenching nausea. The injection sites were very painful, turning red, puffy, and sore for days. Richard’s tongue became so swollen he could barely swallow a few drops of water. Even the thought of eating solid food made him wretch. He was in sheer agony three times a week, and merely miserable on the other four.

The doctor suggested medical marijuana to help Richard cope with the side-effects of the interferon. He knew that the interferon treatment was like radiation poisoning intended to fight the disease before it killed the host. The doctor knew that no other anti-emetic drug was as effective as marijuana, and any other drug would cause further destruction of the liver. Because it is up to the liver to filter alien substances out of the bloodstream, any pharmaceutical pill would cause greater harm than good by adding harsh synthetic chemicals to his bloodstream. Hepatitis C patients must refrain from all drugs, many common foods, and especially alcohol that causes further liver damage. Marijuana is often recommended because it can be ingested without involving the stomach when nauseated, and because cannabis compounds are known to be relatively harmless to the liver and other organs.

Richard lost his job. He lost his appetite. He lost dozens of pounds. He also lost all his hair, and a little of his mind. Interferon is a terrible drug—to be used only under life-threatening circumstances. Richard was still terribly spaced out and severely ill even six months after the first year of interferon treatment ended. He and Pam thanked God, their doctor, and the voters of their state who all helped put medical marijuana within the reach of those patients like Richard who are in such desperate need of this remarkable herbal remedy. Without medical marijuana, it is quite likely that Richard would have died. With marijuana, Richard is now on the road to some sense of stability in his difficult life.

Richard is definitely on the transplant list, but even if his name came up today, a new liver would add a new set of problems, and it would not cure his disease, but merely buy him another ten years or so before the new liver was ruined by the same blood-borne disease that is now destroying his original liver. Although it is far less well-publicized than AIDS, almost one quarter as many Americans are infected with Hepatitis C, and they are all dying. Richard never used illegal drugs, and he never had a sexual partner with the deadly disease. Chances are, he contracted the silent killer through the multi-use jet-injectors used to inoculate solders during the 1970’s when Hep C ran rampant through blood banks and other medical institutions. Richard had no idea. They taught him how to kill, and how to survive in combat. But they never taught him how to beat the slow bullet they shot into his arm—the malingering shadow of death called Hepatitis C.


Martin Martinez

Intractable pain patient

Martin Martinez was riding a motorcycle that was struck head-on by a car at a combined speed of 60 miles per hour. His body landed 40 feet from the point of impact, on the front lawn of a church. His head, limbs, hips, and chest were completely pulverized. Crucial internal organs like the lungs and heart were totally crushed and required immediate surgery. The crash happened just three blocks from a state-of-the-art trauma hospital, but Martin's earthly body would have died on that church lawn were it not for two other fortunate coincidences. The driver in a car behind the crash was an off-duty police officer with a police radio in his personal car. He called for an ambulance immediately, and it arrived almost instantly because the medics just so happened to be right around the corner. As fate would have it, those coincidences combined to whisk Martin onto the operating table within just a few precious minutes.

Even after a dozen major trauma surgeries, the doctors doubted he would live through the night. After thirty desperate days in Intensive Care, the prognosis remained very grim. A total of 27 physicians were consulted. It was believed that Martin would never leave a health care facility. His legs were so mangled, it was certain he would never walk again. And he was also told he would never regain any use of his right arm due to a complete laceration of the nerves in his shoulder. The patient was told that the nerves of his arm would never regenerate. "Severed nerves don't grow back," the doctors said. Martin's first responses were unintelligible. Even though his brain had been protected by an invisible helmet, he was considered brain injured for many weeks due to massive head trauma and nerve damage that incapacitated his speech and vision.

Martin was in agony. Many weeks after the crash, nurses flooded his bloodstream with 10 milligrams of morphine every seven minutes, twenty-four hours a day. He could not sleep because of the terrible pain, even drugged to the limits of safety with the strongest pain medicine available. Then one day an AIDS patient visited Martin and shared some medical marijuana his partner had smuggled into the hospital. Martin was amazed at the immediate release and relief of pain. It was a glorious revelation. The doctor's pain drugs made Martin feel sick to his stomach, extremely constipated, confused, pale, and lifeless. After just a few puffs of a marijuana cigarette, his wrecked body, with 22 major fractures, dozens of organic injuries and lacerations with pin-prickling nerve trauma, seemed to fade into the distance. After that one joint, Martin had his first real night's sleep in more than two months.

Martin's condition became noticeably improved from that point on. Within a week or two he surprised the doctors with a few awkward steps, and he further perplexed them by twitching the fingers of his right hand. Having seen the light, he begged the doctors to let him leave the trauma hospital and move into an out-patient facility. Eventually they gave in. Martin later withdrew to his mother's home for five years of bed rest, physical therapy, and serious study. Already far beyond the grim predictions of many medical professionals, Martin continued on his solitary path of self-regeneration, drawing on many ancient and modern forms of metaphysics and mysticism.

During those five years of primary recovery, Martin consumed as much marijuana as possible, though finances prohibited any more than an occasional quarter-ounce of seedy, "brick-weed" -- low-grade marijuana that had been compressed into pungent bales and smuggled into the US from places like Jamaica, Columbia, or Mexico. The marijuana helped Martin deal with his immense pain, but it worked without imposing the overwhelming physical and mental malaise of pharmaceutical narcotics. Instead of feeling tired, depressed, and lethargic, marijuana made Martin feel physically unblocked and soothed, yet energized -- he was able to work-out in physical therapy much harder and longer using marijuana than without.

Over time, Martin was able to obtain a greater quantity and a better quality of marijuana. Over time, he was able to reduce his use of narcotics and other drugs by using marijuana. Over time, he began to walk and talk almost normally, and he regained complete use of his right arm and hand, much to the surprise of all observers. It seemed like a miracle.

Many people said, "You're lucky to be alive", but he did not feel lucky. Every moment was a struggle. Some people said, "God saved you for a reason", but the agony and hardship appeared completely pointless. Over time, Martin turned physical therapy into carpentry. He over-worked his broken body rebuilding old houses for a living. It was very difficult, but he was modestly successful. Martin had overcome incredible trauma, largely by using an illegal drug. He was able to work very hard when he had plenty of marijuana. Unfortunately, he had to work very hard just to afford plenty of marijuana. After spending more than $10,000 per year on unreliable sources of illegal marijuana, Martin began to grow his own medicine.

Ten years after the motorcycle crash, Martin discovered why God had saved him -- to portray a living example of medical necessity and help stop the unjust persecution of cannabis healers in the United States. He was arrested twice and stood trial for growing medical marijuana in 1996 & 1997. Once again, powerful authorities were forced to revise their opinions. Just as California enacted the Compassionate Use Act, the first of many state laws protecting marijuana patients, the media attention and public outrage surrounding The State of Washington vs. Martin Martinez helped create and establish Washington's Medical Use of Marijuana Act of 1998.

Ten years after his first arrest, Martin Martinez is the author ofThe New Prescription -- Marijuana as Medicine and producer of CannabisMD : Home, two fact-based resources examining modern scientific studies on this ancient herbal medication The Miracles of Marijuana DVD series and this website, Marijuana Miracles, explore the subject realm of personal experience.

Note: Modern research has heralded a new age of cannabis therapy that includes a new way to treat destruction and deterioration of neurological tissue. Reviewing this modern research, a leading professor of pharmacology at Georgetown University called this new therapeutic potential ". . . the most medically significant use ever made of marijuana". Martin's unusual experience still remains well beyond the scope of current medical science, but his apparently miraculous recovery from massive trauma may be explained with further research into the neurological benefits of nature's greatest medicine.

See Martin's essay: The Invisible Helmet.


Grizz

Diabetic Neuropathy Patient

Grizz has learned a few things in his 56 years of life. Mostly, he’s learned to take better care of himself than he did in his rough and reckless youth. Grizz spent a huge share of his life riding the rails across America—stowaway freight on speeding locomotives—a vagabond hobo, dead-drunk and howling at the moon, bouncing along on an endless chain of bumpy trains, thrumming through the night—clackity-clackity-clackity-clack. The life of a footloose train-hopper sounds almost romantic, but the day-today reality was cold, harsh, difficult, and dangerous.

Grizz always rode with his best friends. MD 20/20 and Thunderbird were his favorites, but any high-octane rut-gut would keep him warm and cozy inside. He claims he was drunk for 20 years. He did not eat much, and what he did eat was usually garbage or junk-food. Grizz knew his grandfather had died of severe diabetes, but he never even considered the consequences of his own homeless wanderings. The road was free, but decades of hardcore alcoholism took a heavy toll. He eventually tired of his drunken roaming and sobered up enough to see a doctor. He had suffered many minor injuries while too drunk to care, rolling with the punches and not feeling the pain. But running away without resting those broken bones only made the agony worse when the injuries finally caught up with him years later. Grizz was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes in 1990.

Grizz had settled down, actually holding a job and paying rent. But the pain and diabetic mood swings were overwhelming. He gave up riding the trains, but he went back to the bottle, spending most of another ten years in liquid denial. Grizz has learned, as most alcoholics who outlive their self-destructive streaks learn, that they have thrown away the best years of their life, and are left to dwell on their mistakes in frailty and emptiness. When he finally sobered up the second time, Grizz was a total wreck. He had terrible headaches, night-sweats, trouble urinating, and he suffered constant agony in his feet and legs. At first he thought that was just residual pain from the many small bones he had broken while riding the night trains, too high to care. But the pain was horrific, and worsening. Grizz had to quit his job because his legs were so unstable. Then a doctor explained that along with the many injuries to his legs, ankles, and feet, Grizz was suffering from diabetic neuropathy, a neurological condition of numbness and sharp, tingling, contorted agony, flaring up in the feet and other extremities. The prognosis was grave; Grizz was told his foot would have to be amputated before it withered away and poisoned his bloodstream with gangrene.

The doctor ordered a cane, and a walker, and a wheelchair, as well as synthetic narcotic painkillers like Vicodin. The drugs didn’t help much. Grizz was crippled by the neuropathy. Several years after losing stability in his legs, a friend told Grizz about medical marijuana. The friend said marijuana helped relive arthritic pain better than pharmaceutical drugs. In all the years of riding the rails, Grizz had gulped gallons and gallons of cheap wine, but he had almost no experience with marijuana since experimenting in his teens. He was surprised to find marijuana was a better pain-reliever than narcotic drugs. Grizz didn’t know that marijuana is a neural protector that insulates brain cells and neurons from destruction. He didn’t know that marijuana is the only drug known to medical science that treats neurological pain without the stupifying side-effects of morphine and other powerful narcotics. He also didn’t know that marijuana helps reduce addiction by reducing dopamine fluctuations in the brain. Grizz just knew that the pain faded and his motor control increased. He kept on smoking marijuana, as recommended by his physician, and he has miraculously avoided amputation. He has kept both his feet. The pain still throbs and robs his vitality, but a few puffs of marijuana will send his pain on an outbound train. The weary traveler is now happily home in his humble abode, in peace and joy, for the first time in his life. Without cannabis, he would be unable to cope with the pain, and he would be much more crippled than he is at this time. Grizz also knows he would surely fall into another self-destructive phase of alcoholic haze were it not for the life-loving herb called medical marijuana.


Ralph Wilson

Multiple Sclerosis patient

Ralph Wilson was driving home from the airport the first time he had an attack. Without warning, his eyes refused to cooperate. The sudden spell of uncontrollable double-vision while driving in highway traffic was very scary to Ralph, however he was reluctant to alarm the unwitting passenger who had just arrived from faraway Africa. Fortunately, Ralph quickly discovered how to stop the double images by closing one eye. He drove on, and home immediately. He called his family doctor and went in for an emergency examination. Ruling out diabetes and other conditions, the family physician referred Ralph to a neurologist. The neurologist ordered an M.R.I. test of the brain and discovered the cause right away. Ralph was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis, (Latin for “many scars”) a degenerative nerve condition that gradually disables brain functions by blocking nerve signals in the brain. There is no known cause of this mysterious disease, and no known medical means to halt its progression. MS patients eventually suffer complete loss of motor skills--the body slowly shuts down as the illness develops into a sadly incurable, irreversible, lingering demise.

The neurologist showed Ralph his M.R.I. scan. Ralph’s brain was dotted with white spots that looked like sprinkles of sugar, and was quick to point out the few options that might help extend Ralph’s life-expectancy. He said, “You have Multiple Sclerosis. There is no known cure, but there are drugs that help control the symptoms. There are two choices: you may be injected once per day, or once per week. The daily injection is a very small needle, and the weekly injection requires a larger needle that must penetrate at least one half-inch into your muscle.” A working man with several different jobs, Ralph opted for the weekly injections. He had never used a hypodermic needle before, so it was an intense learning experience. He was given a grapefruit and told to push through the skin to get the feel of piercing flesh and muscle. He was instructed on how to avoid penetrating his veins with the medium-sized needles, while a nurse pushed a larger needle into his veins for an additional shot of drugs at that first visit.

Ralph was mostly home-bound with severe mental and physical fatigue accompanied by the dizzying double vision for the following three months. He couldn’t drive, and he couldn’t work. He could hardly get out of bed. A friend and fellow worker came to visit Ralph at his home. He convinced Ralph to get off his back and try to get back on his feet. Ralph was needed at work, and he needed to work, because his disability insurance was not adequate to pay his mortgage and other expenses. Fortunately, his psychological motivations were matched by a remarkable physical means of overcoming the overwhelming symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis.

Researching his illness, Ralph had read that marijuana helped ease pain, and so he tried using it as medicine rather than an occasional recreational pursuit as he had in the past. He pushed himself up and out of bed, closed one eye to alleviate the double-vision, and he began using marijuana to combat his symptoms: the pain in his joints, numbness in his legs, and the painful tingling sensations that wracked all of his extremities like small jolts of electricity.

Ralph, an avid golf enthusiast and golf-course employee, returned to work, slowly at first, by medicating with cannabis in the parking lot. The more Ralph smoked and worked, the better he felt and the better he was able to deal with the disease. He found that chewing marijuana worked to quells his symptoms when he was not able to smoke on the job. His doctor specifically authorized Ralph’s part-time work-week, calling it “therapy”. And although he was at first reluctant to authorize marijuana as a medicine, the neurologist did sign the documentation after questioning Ralph and discussing the health risks and benefits of this controversial herbal medication. The neurologist became increasingly convinced of the value of cannabis in Ralph’s case as time wore on.

Ralph was eventually able to work at several other golf and country clubs, at times holding down up to four different part-time jobs. With marijuana, Ralph is a productive member of society with a reasonable quality of life, despite the devastating pain and fatigue of his disease. Without marijuana Ralph would be bedridden, and probably unable to care for himself, physically, or financially. After many years of study, Ralph’s neurologist is also convinced of the therapeutic value of cannabis, in part because Ralph’s is a distinctly rare case of MS that seems to have stopped progressing. Ralph’s symptoms have not led to complete paralysis, and his M.R.I. tests have not shown further neurological damage. Ralph’s symptoms are reduced by using cannabis, which is common among MS patients, but the one-way progression of MS plaque-scars in his brain has apparently stopped, and that is very unusual. The doctors have no answer as to why Ralph‘s condition has not worsened, but they cannot rule out the possibility that marijuana may be the key to Ralph’s continued survival in this unusual case.

Ralph lives in a small house in a big city. He is a legal marijuana patient in a world that is generally hostile to nature’s greatest medicine. Ralph grows marijuana in his home so he is physically able to leave his home every day. While Ralph is out earning a living at four star country clubs and fancy golf resorts, his house and garden are left home alone. To Ralph, cannabis is essential to his life--absolutely priceless. The “feel good” effects of marijuana are not essential, only a luxury to other people, but it is illegal for non-patients, and so the value of cannabis is far greater that the value of gold. Combining all of these principles often results in disaster for people who are clinging to life in the face of horrendous diseases. They came in through the bathroom window. They must have been small, and very quick. The burglars rummaged the house and made off with many small belongings, including a few bags of marijuana. But they must have taken more than they could carry, because they left Ralph’s suitcase at the bus stop on the corner of his block. Police officers found the case, saw the house address where it belonged, and entered the open front door while Ralph was busy buying groceries on his way home from work. Ralph was elated to be off work that Friday, but his mood changed drastically at the sight of a police car in his front yard. He slowly walked into his disheveled home and learned what had happened.

Luckily, Ralph lives in a big city with well-educated police officers. He quickly presented the legal documentation of his medical marijuana authorization, saying, “Hey, I know what it looks like, but I’m no drug dealer . . .” The cop cut him off with, “I’m not going to arrest you because I don’t believe in arresting non-criminals.” The cop confided that he has a relative with the same illness, so he had personal knowledge of the health benefits of cannabis for people with Multiple Sclerosis. But the officer was also astounded to discover that Ralph was still so active after so many years with the paralyzing condition. “I consume a lot of cannabis to keep the illness at bay,” replied Ralph. The cop understood, but had to do his duty. He said, “Well, I’m not going to take you in, but I have to take all the plants downstairs.” The blue-clad enforcer scanned the living room without seeing it. He said, “I’m not going to search anywhere else,” intentionally ignoring small amounts of cannabis that the burglars had left behind.

The officer did his duty and delivered the evidence to the station, filed a report, and probably forgot all about Ralph and his problems. His superiors, however, took the case to another level. Because he was not a criminal, Ralph was not charged in criminal court. He was never convicted of any wrong doing. But once the legal system get its teeth into a person, it can be as uncaring as a pit bull with lock-jaw. Throughout the US, the War on Drugs has become a many-headed monster, a Medusa, ugly enough to turn its victims to stone. The Civil Forfeiture laws used against operating a house for manufacturing marijuana can still be used against a legal marijuana patient. Ralph was shocked to find that his house was going to be taken by the government, even though he had never been charged with a crime!

The civil attorneys had investigated Ralph and inspected the evidence held against him. They counted his one hundred and forty plants, many of which were uprooted cuttings that were many months from maturation, and they multiplied that number by one thousand, saying that Ralph had possessed one hundred and forty thousand dollars worth of drugs. Therefore, they were going to seize his house in civil, not criminal, court. Ralph was astounded. He has no choice but to come up with the money to hire an expert attorney.

After thousands of dollars and over a year of negotiations and meetings with police officials and city attorneys, Ralph’s legal team was finally able to stop the city from seizing his small home. However, it was not articulate legal wrangling, but rather, the very tangible threat of newspaper and television reports on the case that finally unlocked the legal vise meant to squeeze Ralph out of his small house.

Medical marijuana patients must be wary of cops as well as robbers. After many expensive hours of legal defense, the civil attorneys finally did give up their attack, but the burglars have also been uncomfortably persistent. They struck again, stealing the fruits of another garden in Ralph’s home. Fortunately, Ralph survived that second onslaught without the assistance of police or courts.

Now Ralph’s garden is locked up tighter than ever, with security lights and an alarm. His life has more or less stabilized after the disastrous legal battle that shook his world. Ralph still uses large amounts of marijuana to stave off the painful cocoon of disability and death that is called Multiple Sclerosis. At this time, Ralph is still able to work and enjoy golf because he is blessed with the healing properties of cannabis. For those unfamiliar with the typical case history of MS patients and the typical outcome of civil forfeiture cases, it should be noted that this is, in fact, a relatively happy ending.


Mary Rader

Idiopathic Thrombo-cydapeniapurpura/Thrombo-Thrombocydapeniapurpura, (ITP/TTP) patient

Mary lived a good life. She was a good wife and young mother who cooked and cleaned house for a household of 15, and she also watched over 20 other children from her church four days a week. She baked cookies and did laundry. She and her husband were happy and healthy. But midway through a third pregnancy, Mary’s life changed completely.

Her blood platelet level was drastically low. A second test was done, then a specialist was called. Mary’s platelet level dropped to about one quarter of normal. Doctors were concerned because they could not treat her condition while she was pregnant. Her platelet level dropped more as labor approached, leading doctors to predict she and the child would both die in birth. A minister was called to read last rites before a risky C-section was performed. But Mary shocked her doctors by surviving the ordeal, bringing a new son into the world. She then began the painful treatment that helped her platelet level rise. The therapy worked. She surprised everyone by bouncing back from the brink of death—for about six months.

In February of 1991, her platelet level dropped again. Mary felt tired, but said she was well enough to resume the treatments. From then on, she awoke at 5 AM to care for the children; then she drove herself to the hospital by 8 AM for her daily pheresis, a procedure similar to a blood transfusion. Nurses inserted needles into her elbows to drain her blood and then they replaced the blood with added platelets. This painful therapy was more complicated than usual because of Mary’s rare blood type. There were only two blood doners in the entire state that matched her type. And because Mary is allergic to most drugs, there was a constant threat of allergic reaction requiring another drug, benadryl. After about a month of daily pheresis therapy, Mary’s condition became even worse. Her platelet level had not stabilized, and her red blood cell count was also dangerously low. Mary began to fall. More and more frequently she found herself face down on the floor. Her legs just gave out. And she sometimes found herself on the floor but didn’t remember falling. Her doctors were alarmed. A specialist told her that even a minor bruise could lead to internal bleeding that might be fatal. She was admitted to the hospital for a seemingly endless series of tests.

On the third day in the hospital, Mary tried to walk to the bathroom, but her legs collapsed beneath her and she couldn’t get up. There was no sensation in her legs at all. Mary’s doctor told her she was having strokes, which explained her memory problems, and the blood in her legs was terribly clotted, causing severe pain, weakness, and disability.

The domestic workhorse who had spent her days cleaning up after dozens of other people was suddenly confined to a wheelchair. She felt useless. And the feeling of worthlessness did not improve as doctors began to eye her with professional curiosity. They ran every test they could think of trying to figure out why Mary’s blood levels were going haywire. They misdiagnosed her condition several times. After almost a year of testing, doctors told Mary she had Idiopathic Thrombo-cydapeniapurrpurra/Thrombo- Thrombocydapeniapurrpurra, (ITP/TTP), a terminal blood disease so rare it only appears in about 1 in 5 million people. No one had ever survived the condition as long as Mary already had, so the doctors were always surprised to see her.

Mary never lost her optimism. She suffered physical hardship and personal disaster; her young adult life quickly dissolved into an endless series of blood transfusions and tests. The final conclusion was beyond despair. Yet Mary faced each new day with a smile, with hope, and with faith in Divine Will. Her spiritual dignity remained intact, even though there were some extremely difficult moments.

One grey day, Mary felt very ill at ease to find her regular pheresis nurse unavailable. A fill-in nurse welcomed the fragile patient, but Mary’s intuition began to sound an alarm. The nurse had no benadryl on hand in case of emergency. The substitute nurse did not understand the importance of the anti-allergy medicine, and seemed unwilling to listen. Mary became agitated, and she was sedated so the treatment could begin. Even under the influence of heavy narcotics, Mary still sensed something was wrong. She suddenly became very ill. Her temperature dropped, her grey skin curdled with hives, and she went into convulsions. She silently prayed to God for help while poisonous blood infiltrated her sensitive system. The feather-light body shivered and shook uncontrollably.

It was not long before Mary was floating in the air above her own bed. Nurses frantically wrestled with the convulsing body so the transfusion lines didn’t rupture, spilling what was left of her weak blood all over the room. They worked furiously while yelling for help. Mary watched the commotion in calm silence from some faraway perspective. She missed her husband and children, yet felt detached from the scene below. The room grew small and dim compared to illuminations from above.

As fate would have it, Mary’s regular nurse had worked another floor, and had just gotten off her shift. She had walked all the way out to her car in the hospital parking lot. But her brand new car, a recent gift from her husband, refused to even blink hello. Back inside, the nurse noticed the emergency in Mary’s room and barged in with a fury. “Mary,” she yelled, “You get back here right away! You’ve got three children and a husband who need you. You’re not ready to go just yet!” Jumping at the nurse’s orders, the pheresis team quickly applied the benedryl and changed the blood supply. Mary fell back into her body, and the world was loud and painful once more. It was later agreed that one of the donors must have used aspirin or some other drug that caused Mary’s almost fatal allergic reaction that day. It was a miracle she survived. Or maybe it was just telepathy.

Mary survived that terrible episode, and others. She might have been whisked off this planet more times than she can count. But she amazes her doctors every time they see her, especially now that she is busy raising three healthy teenagers. Years ago, her charge physician gave up asking her what she was doing to cope with the agony of her condition. She had refused to take synthetic narcotics and other drugs that were harmful to her, but had no answer to explain how she coped with the immense pain. Nor was there any explanation for her continued survival—a fact that baffles medical experts to this day.

On the second week of November 1998, days after the Medical Use of Marijuana Act was passed in Washington State, Mary proudly went in to see her MD with some not-so-surprising news. Without marijuana, Mary would be dead.

Everyone on Mary’s team has been quick to understand how marijuana is superior to other drugs for someone suffering from allergic conditions and an unstable system. The mild herbal medication called cannabis is non-toxic and non-lethal, even at extraordinary doses. It is no wonder that doctors recommend marijuana for Mary and other patients who cannot take synthetic drugs. MDs do still wonder what is keeping her alive. Perhaps someday there will be answers. There is much to learn about ITT/TTP, and there is much to learn about the miraculous healing powers of marijuana. Until there is more research, marijuana remains the only medicine gentle enough for the pure blood of Mary.


Linda Day

Multiple Sclerosis Patient

Linda Day is a light-spirited woman trapped in a very crippled body. She believes that her upbeat mental attitude is a part of why her disease has not progressed further than it has in the last 30 years. Marijuana has helped to keep her body alive, but Linda also knows that cannabis has helped to support her positive outlook and to accept her unfortunate physical condition without succumbing to depression or apathy.

In 1977, after 36 hours of intense labor, Linda and her husband were blessed with a son. Six weeks later, her joy was overshadowed by a foreboding cloud. Linda woke up one morning with severe double vision. She was terribly distressed, because her sister has suffered the same symptom just before she had been diagnosed sixteen years earlier. Linda made an appointment with an eye specialist, but by the time he could see her, she has already developed ataxia, a loss of balance control. So she went instead to see her family physician. Upon hearing her signs and symptoms, he immediately referred her to a neruologist. He listened quietly while she listed her problems, then he suddenly blurted out, “You have all the symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis!”

A series of tests confirmed the doctor’s suspicion--Linda has the same mysterious disease that her sister had. Linda asked her doctor, “what should I do?” He said, simply, “Go on living your life.” While Multiple Sclerosis is still a mystery and is still incurable, at least now there is more known, and there are more options that help manage and reduce the irreversible deterioration of nerve tissue that eventually leads to catatonia and death. At that time, medical therapy for MS patients was mostly a guessing game. Linda was given large doses of steroid drugs that helped control the double vision, but from that point on, her energy began to dwindle.

Physicians and medical researchers at the University were very interested to learn that both Linda and her sister suffered from MS. They poked and prodded and took tissue samples and ran all sorts of tests, but they mostly discovered what they already knew, that they didn’t know very much at all about the cause of Multiple Sclerosis. The drugs helped a little with her vision, but her physical strength was waning. Before long, she could only walk with a cane. Linda was admitted to an experimental therapy at the University. A mold was taken of her back, and then she would come into the hospital every day for 45 days for two minutes of radiation on her lymphatic system. The experimental treatment was ineffective. Suffering the agony of radiation blisters and burns was of no benefit to the group of MS patients who had volunteered for the experiment. One of the patients was so despondent at the outcome, he committed suicide, but Linda never gave in to hopelessness.

Linda has spent 30 watching her body deteriorate. She went from using one cane to two, then a few years later, she was reduced to using walker. Now she is completely wheelchair-bound. For three decades, Linda has suffered intense pain in her legs, arm, and other parts of her body, from the ever-increasing nerve damage and muscle atrophy. Thirty years of neuropathy, daily hypodermic injections, and wretched bedsores, would put a scowl on most faces, but through all that pain and loss, Linda was never lost her gift of gaiety. She is one of those who believes that laughter is the best medicine.

Marijuana helps people cope with neurological pain better than narcotic drugs. Linda believes that the neuro-protective properties of cannabis has helped her retain the use of her arms and hands far longer than expected. Linda also knows marijuana has helped her cope with the mental and emotional pain. Pharmaceutical pain drugs prescribed by doctors work by blocking physical sensations, and that has a decidedly negative impact on a patient’s mental and emotional well-being. Depression, apathy, manic mood swings, confusion, and anxiety can all be triggered by common pain pills, and most of them have a disastrous effect on the intestinal tract. Medical marijuana is most well known for its appetite-producing effects in combating nausea and wasting syndrome in cases of cancer and AIDS. Non-patients use the word “pot” for cannabis, and they call its powerful hunger-stimulation “the munchies”. Non-patients also feel less pain when using cannabis--they call the feeling a “high”. And all marijuana users experience enlivened mental stimulation and improved emotional feelings while “high“. Marijuana enthusiast Allen Ginsburg was well-known for his oft repeated line: “pot is fun” way back in the nineteen-sixties, long before Linda was diagnosed with one of life’s most depressing diseases. Besides reducing her intense pain and increasing her gastric functions, Linda smokes pot because she likes to smoke pot. She says it is fun. And she is not alone.

While she was still able, Linda headed a Multiple Sclerosis support group. MS patients have many physical and mental difficulties to cope with, but the group did prove productive by meeting at various members’ homes to share and compare their cases, and where they might have an occasional speaker or topic. But it was not long before every patient in the group admitted they were medical cannabis users. Soon, the first portion of the meeting was primarily devoted to imbibing marijuana, and the remainder of the meeting became outright hilarious. MS patients talked about their “stupid” disabilities, but then they had trouble recounting their stories without laughing at the ridiculousness of their own predicament. Picture a room full of wheelchair-bound cripples all giggling and guffawing in unison, nearly falling out of their wheelchairs onto the floor, laughing uncontrollably about their terrible problems. Those who would denounce the blessings of medical marijuana should see that very real image and consider this very real question: is a moment of two of spontaneous fun in an otherwise dull and dreary life of disability really such a bad thing?

One of the most serious injustices of the war on marijuana is the outrageous cost of this illegal medicine. The price of pot from illegal dealers is more than the price of gold. So many patients find they have little choice but to grow it themselves. Thus, many patients have had their lives ripped apart by overzealous law enforcers. So the laws had to be changed. Linda did what she could do in 1996 and 1997 to help pass The Medical Use of Marijuana Act. It was a long and tiresome process to help iron out differences and difficulties among the diverse ranks of supporters who helped write the initiative, and it took hundreds of signature gatherers to help put the measure on the ballot. But it was a surprise to everyone that the measure passed so easily. The people of this state support Linda and her friends. The people think it is okay that sick and dying people smoke marijuana. Linda is very proud to have been a part of that crucial awakening in The Evergreen State.

Linda Day remains a staunch supporter of medical marijuana, and she is very pleased to be of help to others in less fortunate circumstances. The woman is a wonder of mind over matter. As she likes to say, “If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter“. She proves the old adage about clouds with silver linings and especially the one that says, “If God gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Suffering from an incurable disease that saps the life from her muscles, with huge parts of her life lost and gone forever, Linda’s bubbly laughter is in itself a very real miracle. For Linda, marijuana is not just a medicine, it is a stepping stone to that higher way of being.

Janet Tillandre

Cancer Survivor

Janet Tillandre was devastated by the news: doctors told her she was dying of cancer and had only 6 months to live. To make matters worse, the doctors began cutting her body in a series of life-and-death surgeries, and they also gave her powerful chemotherapy drugs that made those the longest and most miserable 6 months of her life. She was in horrible agony, both sick and tired, spending most of her days moaning in bed and retching in the bathroom. Janet vomited uncontrollably, every day she had to swallow the medicinal poisons meant to kill her cancer. Her vitality waned quickly. She could not eat. She could not sleep. Marijuana turned out to be her only salvation. Without marijuana to quell the terrible side-effects of the chemotherapy, she would surely have perished. Without marijuana to relieve the pain of repeated surgeries, she would have had to rely on the various pain pills her doctor prescribed, even though they were relatively ineffective. It is fortunate Janet was in a state where doctors are lawfully allowed to recommend marijuana for terminal and severely ill patients.

Medical marijuana made Janet’s battle for life bearable, and it helped her keep down food when nothing else was working. Marijuana helped her cope with the greatest challenge of her life. Janet was told she had only six months to live. That was about six years ago. Janet says her survival is a miracle, and the miracle is marijuana.


Brandon Whisenant

Cancer survivor

Early in the year of 2001, 22 year-old Brandon Whisenant was about to graduate from culinary arts school in Seattle. He had loved food preparation and fine cooking, but his appetite faded for some unknown reason. He became unable to eat even a bite of his favorite foods. Brandon realized there was something very wrong. Soon he was unable to eat anything, and his energy level dwindled. A week later his skin-tone was grey, his cheeks were sunken, and his lymph glands were very swollen. He lay in bed unable to move for several days. After long hours of overwhelming fatigue, he finally pushed himself to the hospital for an examination. The physician recognized immediately that Brandon was seriously ill and he ordered a series of tests. Brandon was sent home to await the results, but he collapsed at a family reunion the following day. His grandmother, a registered nurse with 40 years experience, demanded that he be admitted to another hospital right away.

A spinal tap was taken, involving a long needle to draw out some of the neural fluid. Brandon found the bone marrow biopsy even more painful: a thick needle was repeatedly jammed against the crest of his hip bone until it was deeply punctured. The pain and discomfort of blood tests, prostrate check-ups and others medical examinations paled in comparison. His entire hip was very sore for several days. Two days later, the hospital called and told Brandon to come in and plan to stay for a while. Brandon was filled with dread and despair checking into the hospital while his friends accepted his culinary diploma at the graduation ceremony.

Brandon was diagnosed with Acute Lymphomatic Leukemia (ALL), a rapidly progressing version of this frequently fatal blood-borne cancer. ALL is caused by a genetic injury to a single cell in the bone marrow, leading to exaggerated growth of unhealthy cells that block the production of normal blood cells. Brandon would certainly have perished without immediate rounds of chemotherapy. Unfortunately, the prescribed medical treatment needed to halt the progression of Brandon’s cancer was nearly as dangerous as the illness itself.

An aggressive treatment known as induction therapy was initiated, which included a “port” inserted into Brandon’s chest so the chemotherapy drugs could be administered directly into his arteries. Brandon was released after thirty days of treatment. He felt a little better for a day or two, but was soon stricken with terrible side-effects, such as severe joint pain, nausea, vomiting, and exhaustion. Brandon still had trouble eating—even the smell of food made him gag, and his once-muscular physique was noticeably emaciated, as if he were a poster-child for some starvation relief program. Brandon tried several drugs intended to help increase his appetite, even Marinol, the synthetic THC-analogue, but all of those anti-emetic drugs turned out to be relatively ineffective. One day, Brandon’s grandfather discovered a green brochure while sitting next to him in the doctor’s waiting room. The pamphlet described the use of medical marijuana for people suffering from severe “wasting syndrome”. Grandpa thought it was worth a try.

Brandon began eating marijuana prepared in his food. It made him hungrier, and reduced his nausea. Brandon also felt better psychologically. He said, “It lifted my spirits and made me feel that I could overcome the sickness.” Brandon’s doctor approved. He wrote the legal recommendation, and Brandon began smoking marijuana instead of eating it because it was easier to control the dosage. Brandon felt much healthier and more normal without getting too “stoned” like he did after taking the Marinol pills.

A terrible fever erupted on September 11th, 2001. Three months after beginning chemotherapy, Brandon’s temperature spiked to 104. He was rushed to a hospital where doctors found dangerously low cell levels in his blood stream, but they were unable to correct the problem. Brandon fell into a coma for nearly a month. When he finally awoke, he was unable to walk or move normally. Brandon faced a steep uphill battle for survival with many arduous challenges.

Brandon was released from the hospital, but had to return for additional treatments at least twice per week. A hole was drilled in Brandon’s head, and another port was inserted. A powerful cancer drug, Methotrexate, was injected into the port and from there flowed directly into his sinuses. Every treatment was immediately followed by terrible dizziness and violent vomiting. Brandon soon began smoking medical marijuana in the car before the Methotrexate treatments, which was the only method that made those dreadful experiences tolerable.

Torturous rounds of chemotherapy treatments are standard procedures used to combat a cancer before it kills the patient. In many cases as severe as Brandon’s there is very little hope of survival. But Brandon was able to undergo the poisonous “cure” and managed to maintain an adequate amount of body mass because smoking marijuana provided relief at times when he was so sick he was completely unable to swallow even a small pill. Methotrexate was a noxious drug that overwhelmed Brandon with horrible gut-wrenching spasms, but those side-effects were actually minor compared to the effects of the next round of treatment.

Asparaginase did not appear to cause an allergic reaction when it was tested on Brandon, and there were no major problems detected during its administration, but about two weeks after the regimen began, Brandon became violently ill with uncontrollable vomiting spasms that would not stop. Brandon was once again rushed to the hospital. A nurse discovered his heart rate was skyrocketing—she believed he would have suffered a fatal heart attack within minutes. The patient was then rushed to the cardiac floor where two different drugs were used. The first drug slowed his heart rate to a slow, heavy thump, but it quickly reverted to a dangerous staccato. The doctor said, “There’s only one way to save you—we’re going to stop your heart, then we’ll start it right up again”. The doctor nodded reassuringly, but his facial expression was very tense. A second drug was administered, and everything went dark. Brandon fell into a second coma, this time for three long months.

His first waking memory was of a doctor in his room in the Intensive Care Unit. The doctor asked Brandon if he wanted to live, and if he did, he was going to have to work very hard. He has only hazy memories of holding rooms and countless surgeries—recuperating with bloody bandages holding his belly in place. Brandon eventually learned that the Asparaginase had caused an allergic reaction causing Acute Pancreatitis. The doctors learned this through several exploratory surgeries, culminating in a partial pancreatectomy.

Upon awakening from the drug-induced haze, Brandon became extremely upset with his situation. After some trials, such as learning to swallow again, Brandon checked himself out of the hospital, though he agreed to return for treatment once a week. Brandon knew he could not endure further chemotherapy without marijuana to bolster his ability to eat. Every week, Brandon smoked marijuana in the parking lot before treatment, which is the only reason why he was able to continue with further Methotrexate therapy. Medical marijuana helped to save Brandon’s life. Another six months of combination chemotherapy with all of its terrible side-effects was only made possible by the constant application of cannabis to offset the pain and uncontrollable wretching.

About one month after the last round of chemotherapy treatments, Brandon made a huge error in judgment. He was lawfully stopped by a county sheriff while driving his car with a suspended license. A highway patrolman also pulled up, and the two officers shared a laugh or two at Brandon’s expense. Brandon gave the officers permission to search his vehicle, informing the policemen that he was a legally qualified medical marijuana patient. The county officer was puzzled by the claim and he hesitated a moment, but the state officer immediately delivered a belligerent lie, saying, “There’s no such thing as medical marijuana. There was a law passed last November that removed the state medical marijuana law. That shit’s a joke.” The county officer acquiesced and opened Brandon’s medicine bottle that was clearly labeled “cannabis”. As if acting out a silly comedy skit, the two officers sniffed the bottle, looked up, and laughed in unison, crooning, “Oh, yeah!”

They let him go with infraction tickets for driving with a suspended license and for possession of marijuana, even though there was no marijuana found. Crazy as it sounds, the medical cannabis bottles held as evidence against Brandon were completely empty—the police said they smelled like marijuana, and the bottles are labeled “cannabis” and that was all the evidence needed to charge the young man with possession of the controlled substance.

Brandon consulted an attorney who spoke with the county prosecutor’s office. The defense attorney was told that Brandon would have to plead guilty of the suspended license charge, and then the marijuana charge would be dropped. The following Monday, Brandon arrived at the courthouse and tried to comply with the attorney’s instruction, but the judge refused to listen. Brandon, a severely ill cancer survivor who had nearly died several times in the prior year, was thrown in jail with dangerous criminals held in close quarters. The infectious diseases alone could have killed Brandon in his weakened state. Fortunately for Brandon, he is a member of the Lifevine medical marijuana collective, and other members quickly bailed him out and hired an expert attorney. After his terrible ordeal surviving Acute Lymphomatic Leukemia, and in surviving the chemotherapy drugs used by his doctors, Brandon’s spirit is strong, and he will not be destroyed by overzealous and ill-informed legal authorities. After all the difficult challenges he has already faced, Brandon’s legal right to use medical marijuana will not be infringed.

A list of Brandon's medications:

Asparaginase, Cytarabine, Daunorubicin - with prolonged use also can cause severe heart damage, Methotrexate - which can also cause cancerous lymphomas, tumor lysis syndrome (electrolyte imbalances), severe skin reactions, infections such as pneumonia, bone and soft tissue damage, and severe damage to your liver, kidneys, lungs, and gastrointestinal tract (some of which can be fatal), Teniposide, and Vincristine - when administered into a vein may leak into surrounding tissues.

Side effects from each ot these medicaitons are common and include:

nausea and vomiting which may last up to 24 or 48 hours after treatment, confusion, depression, jaw pain, headache, or other aches, restlessness or agitation, loss of appetite, stomach pain and cramps, constipation, diarrhea, difficulty swallowing, thinned or brittle hair, skin irritation (sunburn-like) or rash on areas previously exposed to radiation treatments, blistering skin or acne, decrease in the number of blood cells in bone marrow, and darkening of fingernails or toenails.

Brandon's court case has been continued until May 20th, 2005


Patricia Warren

Multiple Sclerosis Patient

Multiple sclerosis is a degenerative nerve disease. The body’s movements are controlled by chemical signals sent from the brain through the spine to the muscles and organs. Nerve signals travel through a material called Myelin. In multiple sclerosis, the Myelin becomes covered with plaque that blocks the nerve signals. MS patients often suffer uncontrollable tremors and spasms throughout their body. The plaque hardens over time, obstructing the nerve signals entirely, causing a complete shut down of all of the body’s systems. After years of physical atrophy, multiple sclerosis eventually causes catatonia and death. There are no known treatments for reversing progression of the disease. There are no known causes of MS, but there is a perplexing indication of some as yet unknown environmental factor. It seems that no person born and raised for the first eight years of life in tropical latitudes suffers from MS, and Multiple Sclerosis is increasingly prevalent in Northern latitudes. MS is more common in Washington State than in California, for example.

Patty Warren suffered from symptoms of Multiple Sclerosis for 18 years before she received an accurate diagnosis. For many years she became ill for about a month at a time about every three months. When Patty had a Multiple Sclerosis attack she became so weak she could not sit up in bed. She also had no appetite and had trouble keeping food down. Walking was difficult for Patty and she fell down a lot. Her body was in constant throbbing pain when she had an attack. She also bruised extremely easily, and one time her vision even doubled, a symptom reported by other MS patients. Her symptoms were treated with standard pharmaceutical medications; painkillers, and antidepressants.

Doctors told Patty she suffered from some unknown viral infection, though several doctors who concluded it was all in her head. One even said she had “female” problems, or mental problems stemming from being a woman with no job or hobbies. Many doctors were baffled and became skeptical of her claims. Some thought she was just trying to get attention and pain killers. She was considered a “doctor shopper”, a difficult patient, and a hypochondriac. Poor Patty was very ill, and unable to convince her doctors that her claims were real. She felt lost and alone in her misery.

Then one day Patty had what is called an exerbation attack. She was walking through the house and suddenly lost control of her bowels. That had never happened to her before. She called her doctor and was told to get to an emergency room immediately. Doctors at the hospital took a very painful spinal tap and then sent her home with a splitting headache that lasted for several days. The spinal tap was inconclusive and Patty underwent more testing. Then a CAT scan of her brain revealed plaques that were blocking her brain signals. Patty’s symptoms were suddenly explained. By looking back on her medical history and comparing the times she was sick with the amount of plaques on her brain, physicians determined she had lived with Multiple Sclerosis for about 18 years.

Patty has spent most of her adult life in a haze of overmedication. Painkillers, antispasmodics, and antidepressants contorted her thoughts and feelings. Her family became increasingly worried about her negative mental attitudes. She was always cranky, lethargic, depressed and often felt suicidal. Patty’s sister underwent back surgery, and had found that medical marijuana relieved her back pain without promoting depression, lethargy, and other unwanted side-effects. Patty’s dark cloud of depression and immobility vanished immediately when she first tried medical marijuana. She felt much lighter and more lively. She was able to move her body more freely than she had for years. Patty giggled with glee, her heart and mind dancing with vitality.

Marijuana took away Patty’s pain, but it did not make her groggy and lifeless like the drugs given by her doctors. Her neurologist noticed the difference right away. He asked her what she had done to make herself feel better. He nodded in agreement when she told him about the medical marijuana. The doctor said he knew that it was effective for reducing spasticity, the painful muscle contortions typical of Multiple Sclerosis sufferers. That neurologist treated over 1400 patients at that time, so he had heard many profound stories from patients who had found marijuana preferable to the pharmaceutical medications he prescribed. Patty left his office beaming with a legal recommendation to use marijuana as medicine.

One of the drugs Patty took made her lose her ability to see color; another drug ruined her libido; still another caused her hair to fall out. All of them reduced her mental awareness and negatively affected her emotional state. The times that Patty had been taken off pharmaceutical painkillers, she has experienced horrible withdrawal symptoms, including severe nausea, vomiting, and intense gastric disturbances. She has never had any withdrawal symptoms or other negative side-effects from her use of medical marijuana. The only problem she has when she runs out of marijuana is that the pain and disability of her MS symptoms are much worse.

Patty often has trouble swallowing and eating—sometimes it is impossible to keep food down. She also has deep tremors that interfere with her voice and breathing. Her muscles contract painfully and uncontrolably. Doctors recommend medical marijuana because it calms her contorted muscles so she doesn’t have to use quite as many of the pharmaceutical muscle relaxers and painkillers. Marijuana also helps Patty with digesting food—it helps her to keep her food down, and she also does not gag as much as when she was taking so many of the pharmaceutical drugs. She was able to get off from a serious oxycontin medication (synthetic morphine) because her doctors recommended increasing her daily doses of marijuana.

When Patty went on a plane trip to California she did not hide the fact that she was a medical marijuana patient. She put her purse and baggage on the conveyor check point station, in her purse contained her wallet which contained her medical marijuana cigarettes. She knew they would find it so she told them about her medical recommendation. The airport security came up and asked her for her documentation. They were very nice. They called her doctor. They verified it was all proper and then gave her back her joints. When she was flying back home from CA the she received the same service, respect, and cordiality. One security officer even asked her more detail on how mmj worked, explaining that his mother was sick and on a lot of pain killers. He asked her if she thought it would help his mother, she replied she was not a doctor but she definitely thought it would help.

When her two daughters went through the D.A.R.E. program in school Patty was relieved to find that they told them that it was illegal but there was a small group of people who used it legally for medical conditions, usually fatal or chronic diseases. Her children know she uses medical marijuana, but they are never around her when she smokes.

Medical marijuana makes Patty’s difficult life bearable when nothing else works. Her doctors are frustrated by the irreversible progression of this terrible disease. But they have seen the small miracles in Patty’s case, and so they know they are right to recommend medical marijuana, regardless of federal laws that ignore the facts of modern medical science.


Marcos Chavez

Intractable pain, severe depression

Marcos Chavez felt on top of the world at the spry age of 20. He had a new apartment in the city and a new job as an assistant nurse in a large hospital. An accomplished costume designer and tailor, Marcos spent his nights in dance classes and dreamed of a career on stage.

On a rainy December 13th, Marcos was headed home after attending a cousin’s wedding. At 10:53 a.m. he entered a crosswalk and his whole life changed. A domestic argument inside a Mercury Marquis distracted the driver at just the wrong moment. The front left bumper of the Marquis caught Marcos’ left shin at 35 miles per hour, causing his lower leg bones, the tibia and fibula, to pop out and rip right through his jeans. His lower body was vaulted up into the air as his upper body rolled off the side of the car, and all his weight came crashing down on the left side of his head, causing multiple lacerations, plus a fracture and subluxation of cervical vertebrae # 3 and 4. In layman’s terms, his spine was twisted and his neck was broken.

Marcos landed hard on the cold, wet pavement. The Marquis driver stopped and ran in a panic for an ambulance. An elderly Mexican woman was praying over the bloody body in the rain. His pulse marked the moments, staining the gritty white crosswalk with pools of deep red. When the emergency medical team arrived, they were surprised to find Marcos slightly aware of his condition. He mumbled “No . . . no . . .” when they tried to cut the new leather shoes from his mangled leg. When he arrived at the emergency room, the nurses were also shocked by his immediate response. “Will I ever dance again?” he feebly asked. The nurses looked at each other, not sure quite what to say.

Thus began Marcos’s life of pain.

After numerous x-rays and CAT scans, the neurosurgeon in charge informed his tearful parents that it was in fact a miracle Marcos had survived. A halo was installed with a 25 pound weight to try and pull his crushed vertebrae apart. Marcos was aware when the doctor shaved his head and began sewing the loose pieces of his scalp back together. He was aware when the halo was screwed into the sides of his head. He was aware as the weight was gently lowered and the pulling began. It would not subside for another 3 days.

He was immobilized in a large, circular bed that allowed him to be rotated from back to belly without moving his body position. He was kept under heavy sedation. All this time, he wandered lost in his head, his thinking blurred from narcotics and post-head-trauma disorder.

It was determined the halo device was not working, and surgery was performed. The vertebrae were pried apart, and the pieces glued back together with what the neurosurgeon called “super glue”. Holes were drilled into the foraminae and wires were wrapped through the holes to stabilize them. The leg was repaired with a nail pounded through the center of the tibia and screwed into place.

Marcos’s life would never be the same. Days after being released from the hospital, his parents gave him the bad news. The driver who hit him was not insured, was driving his girlfriend’s car that also was not insured, had no job, had no money, and was driving on a suspended license. Although that reckless driver received no penalty, Marcos had been cited with a ticket for entering too suddenly into the crosswalk. The attorney his parents spoke to advised them to “pay the ticket so it won’t go on his record.”

7 months and 3 more surgeries later, Marcos took his first agonizing steps. Despite being heavily drugged with narcotics, his leg, back, neck and head were continuously painful. He found cold weather aggravated his injuries. He plunged into a deep depression

Determined to get back onto his feet, Marcos moved back to the city, but he soon found himself experimenting with drugs to alleviate his pain and overwhelming depression. He struggled with narcotic use for another two and a half years. Marcos was raised to believe that marijuana is evil. He had never used it before. But an old friend became concerned with Marcos’s continued use of narcotics, and he offered an alternative to hard drugs. After a lot of talk, and a little fretting, they shared a marijuana joint while sitting on a balcony overlooking the city at sunset. Without warning, Marcos felt WONDERFUL! The pain was markedly alleviated, and the angst and anger in his heart became calm. He finally found some relief from the agony. He experienced the first real restful sleep he had since the accident.

Marcos has since discovered fulfillment through work with other marijuana patients. He has watched mere shadows of people return from their deathbed because of the healing herb. He has heard the sighs of relief from a terminal patient after a few puffs of this wonderful blessing. If it wasn’t for medical marijuana, Marcos would have plunged into a world of drug abuse from which there is no return. If it wasn’t for medical marijuana, Marcos could have died from his own hands, because depression can also be a terminal disease. Oh, and one more thing, because of medical marijuana, Marcos has danced again. He even won first place in a West Coast Ballroom Dance Tournament!

The beneficial power of medical marijuana is truly a miracle.


Steven S.

Crohn's Disease Patient

Steven S. has suffered from Crohn’s disease his entire life. Beginning in primary years, he was often sick to his stomach and unable to take part in many school activities. Pediatricians were baffled by the symptoms, so his constant malaise remained a mystery throughout childhood. Steven was a teenage shut-in. While other kids were playing sports and dating, Steven was home with a bellyache. He missed many days of school, and his grades were low.

In 1974, two years after graduating from high school, he was taken to the hospital for severe intestinal hemorrhaging. He was then diagnosed with Crohn’s, a genetic, inherited autoimmune disease that attacks the intestines, causing poor digestion and irreversible damage. The condition was not well-known at that time; President Eisenhower was one of the first persons ever diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. The digestive disease finally explained why Steven was continuously afflicted with cramps, diarrhea, and nausea.

In 1978, the symptoms of Steven’s illness became even more acute. Unable to eat and digest food normally, his weight dropped to just 110 pounds. He was bedridden for many months. He could not eat solid food without extreme pain in his digestive tract. Every time he ate his guts felt like they were being pierced by a hot knife. Steven survived by drinking liquid protein nutritional supplements. Marijuana turned out to be his only solace. Pot smoking provided some minor relief from the physical and mental devastation of his life. At that time, before much was known about the medicinal benefits of marijuana, Steven did not realize that he was self-medicating. All he knew at that time was that it made him feel better. He began to eat more, and regained his strength while he was a “recreational” pot smoker during the late 1970’s. He didn’t fully comprehend the importance of marijuana in his life until he stopped using it in 1984.

Steven recovered enough to go to work as a delivery driver and carpenter. He was married and had two children. Life was relatively good. But Steven’s wife worried about his pot use; it was illegal and she was concerned that Steven’s daily marijuana habit could somehow affect their children. A devoted family man, Steven stopped smoking the illegal weed.

Steven’s life became increasingly miserable after he quit using marijuana. Sympathetic doctors tried everything in the book to make his life more bearable. Among other treatments, they prescribed prednisone, a steroid drug that stopped the internal bleeding, but made all of his other symptoms worse. Prednisone caused depression, anxiety, sleeplessness, and other unpleasant side-effects. Prednisone is also known to cause osteoporosis, a condition where bones become dangerously brittle. Doctors at the University of Washington tried numerous experimental drugs in their attempt to stop the progression of Crohn’s disease, but there was no real success. Steven slid into a dark, foreboding anguish, anticipating a life of hospitalization, continuing surgical removal of dead intestinal tissues, and a malingering loss of all those experiences most precious to a young father.

Without his marijuana for relief, and with powerful pharmaceutical drugs poisoning his system, Steven felt hopeless and helpless. He was hospitalized several times a year. When not in the hospital, he was constantly nauseated and fatigued. He became severely depressed. Without the soothing scent of cannabis to help ease his torment, Steven sank into oblivion with valium and alcohol to help cope with the immense pain in his guts. Chemical depressants only added to his increasingly negative outlook. His whole family was infected with the depression.

In 1989, after five dismal years without marijuana, severe symptoms of Crohn’s disease flared up again. Steven’s intestines hemorrhaged. The bleeding was so severe he lost sixteen units of blood in just four hours. Surgeons performed an emergency resection, removing five inches of his ileum and six inches of his intestines. The prognosis was extremely depressing. Steven needed a miracle.

Steven resumed smoking marijuana at home behind closed doors. His wife understood that it helped him cope with the pain and depression. More importantly, Steven’s use of cannabis became more explainable as the use of medical marijuana became popular for appetite stimulation and suppression of nausea for AIDS and cancer patients. After many years of horrid illness and disability, Steven once again resumed a comparatively normal life by invoking the soothing scent of cannabis smoke along with other breakthrough treatments.

For Steven and thousands of other misunderstood patients, the legalization of medical marijuana in the late 1990’s was more than just a minor relief. After a lifetime of hiding in the closet, Steven is now able to hold down a job with his head held high. No longer does he lie awake at night worried that his lifesaving herbal medication might invite police to raid his home and steal away his children to some court-appointed foster home. Now everyone knows marijuana is not a dangerous drug, but rather, a lifesaving herb. It is as benign as milk and honey. Steven needs marijuana to eat and sleep. Without marijuana, Steven can not eat his breakfast, nor can he hold down a job. Steven’s doctor is very approving of his marijuana use because his condition has stabilized and so he has avoided more surgery and unpleasant treatments typically applied to other Crohn’s patients. For Steven, medical marijuana is a blessing he cannot rightly live without.


Rick M.

Cancer Survivor

As a young adult, Rick was on a short vacation when he noticed a small orange lump under his arm. His arm was growing strangely numb, and those first signs triggered sharp anxiety that ruined the trip for him. He kept his worries a secret from the brother he was visiting, but he scheduled a medical examination immediately upon returning to his home. A biopsy was done, revealing non-Hodgkin’s Small Cell Lymphoma--malignant cancer. Rick was ordered to undergo chemotherapy, the ingestion of toxic drugs required to kill the cancer before it kills the host.

Rick calls chemotherapy, “A nasty, nasty treatment”. He reports the first dose was unpleasant, but tolerable. The second dose was worse. Rick’s body began to react more and more violently as the regimen continued. He was tired. He ached all over. He vomited uncontrollably and couldn’t keep down any solid food. He was restless and irritable, almost as if he had the flu, and nothing the doctor prescribed helped to ease his misery.

Rick was at the end of his rope with the terrible side-effects of the treatment. He complained about the retching and nausea to his pharmacist. The grandmotherly pill-pusher casually asked, “Well, have you ever tried Marinol?” Rick had never heard of the synthetic THC drug intended to mimic the effects of natural cannabis. Rick shook his head, and she continued, “You should try it. It’s a derivative of marijuana. They say it helps to put the weight back on.” So it was prescribed, and ordered. Rick returned to his grey-haired drug dealer weeks later and pounds lighter, but still to no avail. One day she adjusted her glasses, leaned over the counter, and spoke in a slightly softer voice. "It seems to be taking a long time . . . Why don’t you just try smoking marijuana?” Rick was a little shocked, hearing the duly vested medicinal authority suggest using an herbal drug that was still illegal at that time.

“Thank goodness for medical marijuana!” says Rick, years later. He found he could eat better, sleep better, and it gave him a brighter outlook. Rick feels the reduction of pain and nausea symptoms was a crucial adjunctive therapy, and the increase of his positive outlook was instrumental in surviving the ordeal. Over time, he discovered firsthand that the natural herb, marijuana, worked far better than the synthetic drug called Marinol for several reasons. First, it is known that the natural herbal medicine contains an array of cannabis compounds that work interactively to improve gastric functions better than any one of the them separately. Secondly, the Marinol pills are difficult to use because they create an overwhelming “high” that often puts its users right to sleep, or at least into a mental fog. Cancer patient learn that smoking or vaporizing cannabis is preferable because it is much easier to ingest the exact dosage needed at the precise moment where it is needed most. Finally, as Rick queries pointedly, “How are you supposed to keep down a pill when you’re nauseated and vomiting violently?”

After six months of ingesting pharmaceutical poisons, Rick’s white blood cell count was the lowest it had ever been. So his physician skipped a month before administering the chemotherapy treatment again. ick says, “That last dose was the worst. It was really hard. Medical marijuana was the only thing that helped me through that last bout. It was administered through an I.V. once a month. I remember going into the doctor’s office for about two hours on the gurney, and watching the bag empty. I had smoked in the car just before, and I remember trying to let the cannabis work, just breathing, looking at the bag, and thinking ‘it’s medicine, it’s good for me, it’s going to fix me.’ It burned, as it always did going in. It hurt. I could feel the burning sensation go through my arm and could literally feel it course through my body... it was so nasty. After that they put me on oral chemo--several different drugs that tore me up internally.” Simple words like nausea, vomiting and diarrhea fail to convey the horrid physical feelings and months of gut-wrenching unpleasantness that is required to halt the spread of lymphoma. Rick does not know how he could have survived that nightmare without the use of nature’s greatest medicine.

Ten years later, Rick was once again on vacation, celebrating his successful remission when he noticed spots on his leg. He thought, “Oh, no! Not again!” Once again, he kept his fears to himself rather than ruining the trip for his traveling companions. Once again, he called his doctor as soon as he arrived home. But then there was a twist. Rick saw a dermatologist who said, “Those spots on your legs are fine, but what is that spot on the top of your head?“ Rick said, “Oh, that’s just a birthmark.” The doctor said, “No, I don’t think so . . .”

Rick got a call the day before Thanksgiving. He was positive for melanoma--skin cancer. He was told to see an oncologist, reputedly one of the best in the world. This time Rick was spared the sheer horridness of chemotherapy. Instead, he was treated to a series of surgeries on his head, and on his leg for the graft material needed to repair the scars on his scalp. The honored oncologist had no difficulty signing paperwork that made marijuana a legal option for his patient. Rick was relieved to finally be a legal marijuana patient after all the years he had spent hiding his herbal medication from nosey neighbors and jealous co-workers. Marijuana helped Rick cope with the pain and stress of the surgeries. Moreover, marijuana changed his mood from gloomy to relatively upbeat at a time when he might have been terribly depressed and distraught. He says, “Marijuana gave me a break from the serious thinking, like, ’Oh, no! I have cancer again! What am I going to do?’ Instead, I began thinking, ’I know I’m going to get through this--I’m going to be okay.’ It made me laugh, and laughter is a great healer.”


Robert Whorton

Epilepsy Patient

Robert Whorton was hurt in a bicycle accident when he was eight years old. The front wheel of his 70’s style “banana-bike” hit a brick in the road and young Robbie was tossed over the handlebars. He landed on his head and was knocked unconscious. A neighbor rushed over and carried him inside. Robert dimly remembers awaking with his hand on his throbbing head and blood streaming down his face. He was taken to the hospital and told he had a concussion. He was treated and released, but about a month or so after the bike accident, Robert awoke to violent twitching. The twitching quickly turned to overpowering convulsions that rocked his whole body. The first grand mal epileptic seizure, including a complete loss of motor control with painful muscle spasms, lasted about 90 seconds. Robert’s pediatrician referred him to a specialist. Both physicians associated the seizures with his recent head injury.

The seizures continued for the next 30 years, irregardless of all medical remedies. Robert went through 5 different medications starting out with Phenobarbital, then to Tegretol, Dilantin, Depakote and Neurontin. Nothing worked to stop the terrible writhing. The amount of seizures and the way they came was sporadic—sometimes 3 at a time but only every other month or so. 95 to 98% of the seizures would happen while he was asleep, Robert would awaken with the awareness he was having a seizure by an aura of heat throughout his body. 20 seconds later, his right hand would begin twitching. After about 20 to 30 more seconds it moved up through the right side of his body until it took over his entire body for about 30 seconds. Robert was awakened to uncontrollable twitching and jerking—an overwhelming shock-wave of pain. His daytime hours were tainted with anxiety and dread. Bedtime loomed ominously at the mere thought of those tortuous awakenings.

Robert noticed the seizures were fairly consistent in frequency, but they were growing more powerful over the years. As a young adult, he was seen by a specialist who conducted many tests. Surprisingly, an MRI contradicted the apparent correlation between his bicycle accident and the seizures. EEG monitoring was conducted for a 6 day period; Robert was hospitalized, and restricted from his regular medications while he was kept fully awake for 72 hours. The specialist was not successful at inducing a seizure. After that, a new drug combination of Neurontin & Depakote was tried, but that had absolutely no effect on reducing the frequency or strength of Robert’s seizures. His doctor then prescribed liquid Lorazepam—a depressant similar to liquid valium. Overmedication caused Robert to sleep a lot and eat too much. He become lethargic and gained weight. His mind wandered into a dismal gloom. The frequency of the seizures never changed. The intensity continued to increase. Robert felt hopeless and helpless. Doctors had found where the seizures initial reactivity in the brain began when he had a seizure, but they could tell him little else. Robert had been over medicated since he was eight years old. At 32, he decided to take control of his own treatment, suggesting to his doctor that maybe he should stop medicating himself constantly, and instead medicate only as the seizures occurred.

The doctor thought it was risky to stop all medication suddenly, but she was persuaded to help. Robert then learned he was mentally and physically addicted to the pharmaceutical prescriptions. He lost 24 pounds in 2 ½ weeks. He also lost a few friends due to his sudden anti-social outbursts. After 16 years of chemical dependence, Robert was a nervous wreck. Unable to cope with his terrible mood swings, and unwilling to spend the rest of his life in an overmedicated fog, Robert tried marijuana as a substitute. It calmed him and relaxed him without turning him into a dull-witted zombie. Two years after Washington enacted The Medical Use of Marijuana Act, Robert quit using all of the pharmaceutical medications that had been a fixture of his life for twenty four years. Marijuana, the mild herbal medicine, replaced the powerful synthetic drugs prescribed by doctors, and it worked. His mood has mellowed, his life is on a positive track, and he has had no seizures since that time—almost five years. Medical marijuana has totally reversed his condition. His doctors are amazed.

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