About ten years ago (I was fifty) I hurt myself pretty bad. I had to wait five or six months for a surgery that would allow me be somewhat normal. It was six months of pure hell. I was in pain all the time. I ate narcotics like they were Chiclets. The surgery was successful. I felt better the day after than I did the day before. The post op pain was nothing.
I was sent home with a bottle of 100 heavy duty narcotics. Perfectly legal.
At the end of that script (about two weeks) I called and got it refilled. No problem. But, one evening my wife asked me if I was in pain. I said, “no”, and she asked “Then why are you still taking that stuff?” motioning toward the bottle of narcotics. I explained that the doctor said to take the pills BEFORE they were needed and ‘that’s exactly what I’m doing.’ I was all defensive and shit. She shut up about it, but it got me thinking.
A few days later I decided to wait till I was hurting before I took that stuff. Funny thing happened – I was in a different kind of pain. My back didn’t hurt much – but I sure needed that Narco. Yea - - I NEEDED IT. The realization scared the shit outta me. “Oh ma gawd, I am addicted.” Crap.
I had to figure out two things: How to get off that shit, and how to stay out of pain. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before the surgery, but it did need management. I spent three weeks home; not sleeping, jerky, spastic, bitchy. Kicking that monkey offa my back. My poor wife. I’m sure I was dangerous, she locked up or hid all the guns. My stepson finally asked me if I’d ever considered marijuana. I told him that I had smoked a lot in my misspent youth; and wasn’t against it but doubted it would work for pain. He was patient; he explained how MJ had changed over the last half century and that there were actually strains just for pain. And he gave me a fat bud and loaned me a pipe. I told him I’d think about it. He didn’t push, he didn’t try to ‘sell’ me. He gave me facts knowing that the decision was mine.
That night was awful. At about 3am I packed the pipe. It was nothing short of amazing. The pain went away with the first lungful. The longing for the narcotics went away. I relaxed. I slept for about 6 hours in my easy chair. I woke up in addiction pain and smoked again – it worked again. I called my stepson and asked for more - he was happy to oblige. Over the next few weeks I gained weight, color improved, my outlook on life improved. I got healthy.
Since then the addiction pain is gone. I won’t ever eat that shit again – and doctors offer it to me all the time. I hope I never NEED it again. By five in the evening my back is throbbing. I hit my lounge chair; pour an ounce of good whiskey and burn a bowl. I am able to sleep well, not in pain. Wake up the next day clear, pain free, and do the life thing. By evening, I’m hurting again and ready for my chair. That’s my pattern now. It’s not a bad life – and marijuana (my stepson, my wife) probably saved my life.
And, that’s not even the point of my post. Please hang with me, keep reading. I post this as a plea to everyone that reads it.
I see statistics that say that over half of the people in the country think that marijuana is at worst a harmless high – at best a miracle drug. Over half of my fellow citizens think that there should be NO criminal consequences for having or growing this plant.
My question is: Then why are there so many people in jail for this? If we all have a right to a trial by jury – why are juries sending people to jail? They should all be either hung jury or outright acquittals. Why do I have to choose between being a fucking junkie or burning a bowl of herb every night? When I get in front of my jury will someone be there with the guts to hang a jury? I would do it for you.
Google the term: “Jury nullification”. And proudly serve on as many juries as you can. I promise I'll do the same for you.
~ Auggie ~
I was sent home with a bottle of 100 heavy duty narcotics. Perfectly legal.
At the end of that script (about two weeks) I called and got it refilled. No problem. But, one evening my wife asked me if I was in pain. I said, “no”, and she asked “Then why are you still taking that stuff?” motioning toward the bottle of narcotics. I explained that the doctor said to take the pills BEFORE they were needed and ‘that’s exactly what I’m doing.’ I was all defensive and shit. She shut up about it, but it got me thinking.
A few days later I decided to wait till I was hurting before I took that stuff. Funny thing happened – I was in a different kind of pain. My back didn’t hurt much – but I sure needed that Narco. Yea - - I NEEDED IT. The realization scared the shit outta me. “Oh ma gawd, I am addicted.” Crap.
I had to figure out two things: How to get off that shit, and how to stay out of pain. The pain wasn’t nearly as bad as before the surgery, but it did need management. I spent three weeks home; not sleeping, jerky, spastic, bitchy. Kicking that monkey offa my back. My poor wife. I’m sure I was dangerous, she locked up or hid all the guns. My stepson finally asked me if I’d ever considered marijuana. I told him that I had smoked a lot in my misspent youth; and wasn’t against it but doubted it would work for pain. He was patient; he explained how MJ had changed over the last half century and that there were actually strains just for pain. And he gave me a fat bud and loaned me a pipe. I told him I’d think about it. He didn’t push, he didn’t try to ‘sell’ me. He gave me facts knowing that the decision was mine.
That night was awful. At about 3am I packed the pipe. It was nothing short of amazing. The pain went away with the first lungful. The longing for the narcotics went away. I relaxed. I slept for about 6 hours in my easy chair. I woke up in addiction pain and smoked again – it worked again. I called my stepson and asked for more - he was happy to oblige. Over the next few weeks I gained weight, color improved, my outlook on life improved. I got healthy.
Since then the addiction pain is gone. I won’t ever eat that shit again – and doctors offer it to me all the time. I hope I never NEED it again. By five in the evening my back is throbbing. I hit my lounge chair; pour an ounce of good whiskey and burn a bowl. I am able to sleep well, not in pain. Wake up the next day clear, pain free, and do the life thing. By evening, I’m hurting again and ready for my chair. That’s my pattern now. It’s not a bad life – and marijuana (my stepson, my wife) probably saved my life.
And, that’s not even the point of my post. Please hang with me, keep reading. I post this as a plea to everyone that reads it.
I see statistics that say that over half of the people in the country think that marijuana is at worst a harmless high – at best a miracle drug. Over half of my fellow citizens think that there should be NO criminal consequences for having or growing this plant.
My question is: Then why are there so many people in jail for this? If we all have a right to a trial by jury – why are juries sending people to jail? They should all be either hung jury or outright acquittals. Why do I have to choose between being a fucking junkie or burning a bowl of herb every night? When I get in front of my jury will someone be there with the guts to hang a jury? I would do it for you.
Google the term: “Jury nullification”. And proudly serve on as many juries as you can. I promise I'll do the same for you.
~ Auggie ~
