November 7 was special because it was the day Biden/Harris were declared the election winners and American democracy was saved. But it also was special to me since it was the day I got my Ohio Medical Marijuana Card. Yep, I’ve become a “Weedheimer.” As someone who’d smoked their last joint over 30 years ago (and never really liked how pot made me feel), I’ve now done a 180-degree about face.
When we ask someone how they’re feeling, it’s really just a routine courtesy, not meant to give the other person the opening or opportunity to detail all of their aches, pains, anxieties and other medical issues. So with that understanding firmly in mind, I’ll try not to bore you with my personal tribulations and journey.
Earlier this year I had double rotator cuff surgery — one arm after the other — and dude, I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. I’d slipped on a patch of ice (that should not have been there since I pay a foreman to shovel and salt my driveway and walkways) while rolling my refuse cans back up the driveway and instead of just letting them go I tried to hold onto them, in spite of the fact they were empty. I never knew that a human arm could bend in all of the obtuse directions that mine instantly flew.
I did OK after the left arm, which was repaired first, but when the right arm was operated on and almost healed a few months later, I — figuring I was an old pro at this — got careless and lifted a 50-pound bag of dog food into the bed of my pickup truck. It was too soon, and I paid the price. For awhile there I thought I was going to have to go back under the knife. The pain increased to the point where it was as bad as a toothache some mornings.
My doctors (who are very competent) were not all that sympathetic since they had cautioned me about getting too active too soon, and they damn sure weren’t going to prescribe me anymore opiates. Like some others, I could have turned to street sources for illicit painkillers, but the last thing I want at my old age is to catch a jones. And besides, I’d promised the Good Lord and three or four other upstanding white people that I’d never break the law again.
I went to the Pain Management Clinic where a wonderful clinician gave me the standard spiel, but after a few visits none of the “mind over matter” regimens she suggested were working. The pain at this point was causing me to wonder if life indeed was worth continued living. If I (who admittedly have a pain tolerance level so low it can crawl under a snake while wearing a top hat) had to put up with not being able to properly cleanse myself after using the toilet and not being able to accomplish many of the other everyday tasks associated with running a vineyard and winery, was it all still worth it?
It was then I realized how thoughts of suicide begin: It’s the point when the pain of living overcomes the fear of dying. But I certainly didn’t want to die, I just wanted some relief — relief that the medical profession knows how to administer but is hamstrung in doing so by our nonsensical and out-of-date drug laws.
No one should have to choose between being in pain and obtaining relief via suicide. But alas, some simply get tired of the fight. The state of Oregon just addressed this issue by passing drug reform laws that have decriminalized all drugs. They have come to the sane and reasonable conclusion that a medial issue cannot — indeed will not — be solved with the legal remedy of arrest and potential incarceration. If policing and interdiction works, it would have done so by now, seeing as how our politicians have been fighting the “War on Drugs” for over a half-century and all we have to show for it is devastated communities, ruined families and destroyed lives. Hopefully it won’t take too many more years before the rest of the country to come to its senses on this issue.
Anyway, I was taking over-the-counter pain medications by the handful and was very fearful of the effect they were having on my body (especially my kidneys) every time I swallowed them — and I still was not getting much relief from the pain. I was suffering miserably.
Then my nephew, who has adopted the Rastafarian religion, had me try a couple of tokes of some first-class weed (indica is now my variety of choice), and within a few minutes, all of the pain drained from my shoulder, as well as from all of the other little nagging points in my body associated with being 77-years-old. They all just melted away as if by magic. I felt relaxed, mellow, and when I went to bed, I got the best night’s sleep I’d had in over 20 years. I slept the sleep of the innocent.
Card in hand, I now have the opportunity — hell, I paid enough for it! — to enter a state-run medical marijuana dispensary and stock up on what I’ve discovered as my own “Fountain of Youth.” Granted, the efficacy of the THC has reduced a bit over time (something I was told to expect), but for the most part I’m still around 90 percent pain-free.
There is a slight downside: short-term memory loss. I lit up one morning and when I sat down to work, I couldn’t find certain letters on my keyboard without looking for them, and I’ve been touch-typing for years. I now restrict my usage to the late evenings, but the pain reduction affect lasts throughout most of the next day.
Now I’m not saying everyone will have the same experience as me, but you know, Western medicine really doesn’t have all — or the only — answers. This one works for me. Next spring I think I might just get back to gardening in those raised beds in our backyard.
And I don’t know if it’s because of the election, or simply my being relatively free of pain. But the world’s a much happier, sunny and beautiful place than it was on November 2 — or at least it is to me as I prepare to go out and rake some leaves. What a joy to be able to do so without pain.
2 Responses to “MANSFIELD: A Double Red Letter Day”
Peter Lawson Jones
Hey, Mansfield. I had no idea about your shoulder issues. So very glad that you’ve found a source of relief. Back in 1997, I was one of a couple of dozen state representatives who voted for a bill to legalize medical marijuana. My father was suffering from glaucoma, and I knew that THC was, perhaps, the only drug that could help save his remaining sight. Thank God those suffering from a host of debilitating and extremely painful ailments today will now have a less addictive way to secure relief.
Bill Rucki
Hi Mansfield,
7 years ago I fell from a tree I was pruning and shattered my calcaneus into 13 pieces. The pain after surgery was so severe that I too started thinking amputation or suicide. I didn’t know if I was going to make it. Fortunately after several weeks and a 100 Percocets (7 years ago they passed them out like candy) the excruciating pain subsided and life was worth living again. No dependency either.
Best wishes on your recovery.