The Official Website of Treating Yourself Magazine

By: “Suggarpaws” @ greenpassion.org

Dictionary definitions:

Faith
–noun 1. belief that is not based on proof

Belief
-noun 1. confidence in the truth or facts

My name is Tish, and I live in the mid-south, where there is NO available help for people in need of medical grade marijuana, and the options for acquiring any decent marijuana are very slim. I was raised in a kind, open minded, and peace loving environment, where marijuana was always present for family unity, quality of life, and spiritual purposes. My father was busted for a large marijuana crop when was I was younger, a Reagan POW until a few years ago. This had a terrible effect on my family, and being so young and naive, gave me a lasting wrong impression of marijuana. He was a long-time hippie-believer in the positive effects of marijuana, and had always stated it could be improved to really help those in need. “Have some faith Tisha,” he would say, “the universe takes care of its children.”

“Hogwash!” I said, “It was an easy way out to easy money at OUR expense!”

Oh, the convictions of a pre-teen know-it-all — until now.

Several years ago, I was diagnosed with SLE (systemic lupus). This has been a struggle for me, but I have managed with very little medical treatment, relying mostly on homeopathic care. The medications they use to treat SLE are awful, only treating certain symptoms, not the disease, and inevitably causing the need for more medication to treat the side effects that those medications cause. My husband has been a great rock for me, always offering care that not all men may extend, and always greeting my needs with a smile and understanding. It will all be okay, I can do this as long as he is by my side… Right…?

And then came August of 2007. We had just moved to Texas as my husband was getting ready to start a new job that we were both excited about. We had a brief window of “time” before he started work, and after taking our own beach trollop, he decides to take a fishing trip to San Francisco with “the guys.” I waved him off about midday, wishing him good fortune and lecturing him about not driving straight through. He was so happy, life seemed to be finally coming together for us…

8:00 a.m. the next morning, I get “the call.”

Imagine heading out on a once-a-year road trip with your friends to see San Francisco for the first time. Excited about the cultural options (and maybe even some bay fishing), you are laughing and joking while each of you take your turn driving throughout the night. It is dawn, and after finishing your eight hours of driving, you stop for some breakfast, gas, and to take a few beautiful desert pics on I-10 in Arizona. Everyone gets back in the car, your driving duties are done, and you go to sleep in the back seat… To then awaken in the hospital in Tuscan.

Not knowing where you are or what has happened, you are hurriedly being told you are being whisked into surgery from the accident you don’t remember being in. “Surgery! For what? Can I call my wife?”

You are missing your right hand and part of your forearm (but they won’t let you see it before the amputation), your ribs are broken, one of your lungs is punctured, you have a hemorraging brain injury (that they want to operate on) and road rash from the very top of your head to the bottoms of your feet. “Tisha, baby, they are going to take my hand! They want to cut my head open Tisha, where are you? Please don’t let them cut into my head! I’ve never been so scared, and they won’t give me any water. What happened to me?”

Speaking via my cell phone at the airport: “I am already on my way my love! You are the strongest man I know; you are going to be okay!”

After surgery and a quick 72 hour stay in the trauma ward, you are “kicked out” for lack of insurance, and told to resume care at home (more than 1000 miles away). This is the very thing that happened to my husband.

Though I have tried, I know that I can’t really imagine what he must feel. This has been the hardest thing either of us has ever dealt with, and for the most part, have had no help in doing so. Garrett now suffers from PTSD as well, due to the fact he was sleeping when the event occurred, which is coupled with the minor traumatic brain injury, both aggravating each other. He is in constant pain. Phantom pains in his arm, where he feels he has electricity running through it or says he feels as if his hand is still there and constantly opening and closing. Constant headaches. Pain in his back, his side, and legs. Terrible trouble sleeping and reoccurring night terrors when he does sleep. Depression. Anxiety. Yet… Somehow… he goes on each day, and tries to hold onto the hope of one day things getting better. I am humbled by his perseverance in the darkest of hours, and the absolute love of life that he so terribly wants to be able to act on once again.

After the first year, having no insurance, we had used all of our savings and extended ourselves financially to try to get him the minimum medical care needed. We were exasperated from being denied all help from Medicaid, Social Security Disability, and government programs. To our dismay, we had to make the difficult choice to move away from our home and closer to his family for help. Since that point, the only medical treatment my husband has gotten has been for his blood pressure. No prosthetic. No therapy. No pain management. No neurologist. Due to our financial devastation resulting from the thousands of dollars spent medically, we had to make due.

Thankfully, one of my family friends got back in touch with me by chance. They told me they were growing medical-grade hydro, a strain called Dr. Atomic, and offered to sell to us at a low cost. I dunno, but really, what could it hurt for Garrett to get high and forget about things for a while, right? Yet, this was a godsend! Amazingly, his panic attacks almost completely ceased. He could sleep again. His headaches diminished. His pain was much more manageable, especially the phantom pains, which were a constant reminder that he no longer had a hand. In some miraculous way, within having this relief, he made leaps and bound with accepting what had happened to him and “moving on.” I finally felt as if I could leave him home alone on a daily basis to work again. For the five months we had this option, life was just better. Both our attitudes and ability to maintain hope were greatly improved, even under our current circumstances. I participated with him, and found that not only did it relieve my stress and depression, but it also helped the intense joint pain I have suffered under for so long! Wow! My stupid conclusions as a child couldn’t have been more inaccurate.

Then came the DEA. Off went our friend, and with him all options we had for what I consider to be our medicine.

I so wish we had the means to move to a medical-marijuana friendly state, and be able to sustain ourselves, but at the moment we don’t. I am keeping the hope that soon that will change, but right now life is kind of difficult again. It is astounding the impact that the lack of marijuana has on our everyday life.

Regardless, I no longer need to rely on the “faith” my father suggested… I am a believer. So much so, that I am a willing to risk a personal medicinal garden until we can move — and hopefully grow into helping others!

Share on Facebook

This entry was posted on Tuesday, October 27th, 2009 at 7:28 am and is filed under TY Magazine. You can follow any comments to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site.