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(WINNER) WIN OMMP-PIF and RPD 2pc Elements Grinder

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This contest will be a written essay explaining how cannabis has improved you or one of your patients lives. Whomever gets the most likes will win the elements 2 pc grinder and free shipping. All essays will be valid as long as they meet our deadline of Oct 4th 2017

Facebook followers of ommp-pif can log in and post immediately 

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Example:

How cannabis helped you come off Opioids or other pain killers?

How legal cannabis stopped you from using the black market?

How Cannabis helped you or another patient with cancer or another illness?

How Cannabis helped you or another patient with PTSD?

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Hello Everyone.... My name is Michelle and my husband name is Jammin. My husband has been using cannabis basically since he was in the womb and his mom would blow it in his face when was younger for his AdHD.

My story is way, way different then that.... I will tell you my story it's more interesting... Because before I met my husband over 3 years ago I was totally against it. I thought like everyone else that it was the Gateway drug. 

I Grew up in Portland. I was always taught that drugs and/or weed were all bad and I should never ever do it. I never did until I was 41 years old when I met Jammin. I lived in Milwaukie, Oregon before I met him. I had like 3 people come to my door to sign a petition to get cannabis legalize on the ballot and I would tell them to get off my property, that I wasn't going to sign anything like that and the government would be crazy to legalize it. 

Well when I met my Husband he was everything I thought I wouldn't like in a man... haha!! guess God had other plans because it was love at first sight. We were married 4 months later. 

My husband has smoked cannabis his whole life and asked me why I didn't.... I was like well it's a drug and drugs are bad. He laughed at me and then was telling me about what it does... I also had a hard time inhaling smoke into my lungs.... I know, I know I didn't inhale!! lol! I seriously didn't know how to inhale smoke into my lungs... the first few times I smoked it he would blow it in my mouth, little by little I started learning how to inhale. 

What are the benefits Of cannabis a non user that was dead set against it until  3 years ago see....

 I deal with Major Depression disorder and PTSD... from stuff that I went thru when I was little. I usually have to take depression meds, but if I smoke cannabis regularly I don't have to be on depression meds. I like how it makes me feel free, and I'm not afraid to do what I need to do without worry. 

I also have Cronic back pain, and Planters Facilatis in my left foot. and I can smoke cannabis and it takes most of my pain away. I never knew the healing properties of cannabis. I was always just taught that it was bad and that I shouldn't do it, so the good girl I was I didn't touch the stuff. I even had my 2 best friends tru to get me to try it many times and I would always say no that's okay I don't do drugs. 

The only thing cannabis is the Gateway to is feeling better about yourself, feeling good, and having no pain! I can't believe it took me 41 years to try it. 

I'm so happy that I met my husband and that he showed me what cannabis is really about. 

thank you for reading my essay a stony day! 

written by:

Michelle.

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This is going to be a long read, so get comfortable and have a drink around. This is graphic. You may laugh, cry, be enraged, and it may set off your ptsd if its close to my life experiences that I describe. This is my story of my life before and after medical cannabis. Everything in it true. Only the names have been changed or omitted. I've been a medical cannabis patient for a very long time. Almost from the birth of OMMP itself. I remember the 3 matures and 4 immature plant rules. The insanely low amounts of medicine we were allowed to have. The loss of affirmative offense, and I still think that was a huge mistake.

 

 

 

I grew up in the Nancy Reagan era of the, "Just say No" campaign. As a little kid that really didn't know any better, I thought the government like my parents must be right. They want me to be safe. At the time, I was readjusting to life in the US. My Dad's last military assignment had our family relocate to Japan for a few years. So when we returned, I couldn't count US money and spoke broken English. Even to this day I don't use the English word for some things like orange. But the Honor code of the Japanese people was firmly placed in me. I was very young and naive about the world back then. A good little white sheep.

 My brother was very physically and emotionally abusive towards me and my parents failed to protect me while growing up. The parent that wanted to protect me needed the other parents backing, but didn't get it. A couple highlights from that dark time, these are not the worst. They just explain some of my qualifying conditions. After any bad thing that happened to me by the hands of my big brother who was suppose to protect me, my parents would tell me my brother does really love me. 

During my 3rd grade year on a Saturday, my parents were gone and us kids were taking turns on the go cart in one of the front fields. It was my turn and had one more lap before my turn was over, my brother got in the path. I stopped, he wanted me out and I said no one more pass. My brother backed off, I thought a little to easily. I started my last run ....then BOOM....I'm out. I woke up in the fence. The go cart was partially on the neighbors property. My brother took a baseball the size of a softball and threw it at my head. That ball hit my right temple knocking me out. The fence line was a few different types of wires; the big square type that comes on a roll and barbed wire. When I woke up in the fence, I saw the ball by my right foot. I was in a daze. My vision, hearing and balance were all going in and out. I turned the go cart off and could feel something warm on my right shoulder, my sister grabbed whatever that was and put her coat on my shoulder, and kept me from all reflective surfaces. For example, when we were approaching the front door; there are glass panes full height of the door on both sides, she's distracted me or got in the way of the reflection.  While she was calling my parent's work number (before the age of cell phones), my brother told me to look at a mirror in the bathroom. To this day I wish I hadn't....I still have nightmares of what I saw. It's a horrifying sight to see 3/4 of your ear and cheek hanging down to your shoulder at any age, but it's devastating to a little girl at 8 years old. I could see all of my teeth on that side as well as my tongue. I was screaming within seconds, horrified of what I saw. My brother was laughing saying what are you flipping out on now. He threatened to punch me if I didn't stop. My sister came running and got me out of the bathroom. I remember she yelled something at our brother. She grabbed some towels and ice then put them on my shredded face while trying to calm me down.  She couldn't. This is why you don't let the injured person see the bad injury. When our parents came home, dad looked at what was left of my face. He called the hospital to see what they'd do. I remember him yelling you're not going to cut off her ear and staple her face. That freaked me out a bit as well as the horrified look I saw on my mother's face. He took me to his office with mom and my little sister. I still get flashbacks of the needle going through my cheek skin from the underside rising to a point with the needle breaking threw as I was being sown back together. My dad kept saying my skin is very tough and keeps dulling the needle. My ear alone took over a hour, but you really have to look hard to see the scar. This wasn't the first time nor the last my dad had to take me to his office to stitch me up. Later when I went to fix the hole in the fence, I discovered it wasn't the barbed wire the cut me. It was the dull square wire. I could see some of my rotting flesh on the wires. Our parents told my brother to fix it, but after they left for work my brother forced me to fix the fence. I've heard him tell this story. He laughs and says, he was hoping that the wire cut me 4 inches lower. That would of cut me across my throat and I'd bleed out in minutes.

Many years and beating later, by this point my parents remodeled a small house on the property and kicked my brother there. He was under 18. My mother was afraid of my brother and didn't feel safe with him in the house. My brother was working at a fast food place and forgot to wash his work cloths the night before, or be responsible enough to get up early to wash them. It was in August during the week. I started stacking 180lb hay bales in the barn by myself around 7:30am when my parents left for work. I took my first break around 10am. When I got into the house the phone rang, I had a bad gut feeling and said please don't be (brother's name). It was. He had to be at work in 45 minutes and needed his clothes washed and dried in 30 minutes. I told him that's impossible; the washer might finish by then, but no way the dryer would. My brother was starting to yell and call me every name in the book. I told him, I can put it through the rinse cycle and then the dryer, but I can't do much here. He wanted his close washed with soap.  I said, I could maybe push it through its cycles faster. He agreed, came down throw his work cloths at me, called me a few choice names, and went back to his place. My brother came back with his dog 15-20 minutes later demanding his dry cloths. His dog was 1/2 pit, 1/2 rottweiler. I don't blame the dog for this, this was his masters fault. But I still wanted him put down for this. I told my brother, the cloths are in the dryer and are still wet. He demanded I checked them and followed me closely. I didn't relies that at the time when I checked the clothes, he was right over me. So, when I told him I'm sorry they are still wet. There's nothing I can do to speed this up. My big brother grabbed me by the throat and lifting me up and squeezed my throat as he slammed me into a door. I was just trying to get a grip, so I could breathe when his dog grabbed my right ankle and pulled me out of my brother's grip. This seemed to enrage my brother.  The back of my head slammed against the solid wood door on my way down to the floor. Then I was dragged roughly 10 feet by my foot when I finally forced the dog to open his jaw and pulled him off. My ankle was tingling and going numb.  I knew something bad had happened, but there was no time for that now. The dog was on the attack. I had two choices....fight off the dog and allow my brother to beat my backside,  or allow the dog to attack and try to defend myself from my brother who was kicking and punching my head and backside. I choose to try to keep the dog at bay by grabbing him on either side of the collar dodging him trying to bite me while I kept yelling (brother's name) YOU DOG IS ATTACKING, CALL YOUR DOG OFF!!! (brother's name) YOU DOG IS ATTACKING, CALL YOUR DOG OFF!!! My brother was kicking and punching my backside along with calling me names.  He was hitting and kicking so hard that my vision was shaking and going black with my eyes open. My hearing was also going in and out. All this noise thankfully woke my little sister up. She came down stairs and saw as our brother gave a huge blow to the back of my head. I was able to keep my head from getting too close to the snapping and growling jaws, but lost hold on one side of his collar, the dog bit my right calf as she entered the room. I'm still screaming, pleading for him to stop and call off his dog. She yelled at our brother to stop and call the dog off...my brother continue to beat my backside. My sister ran to another room and returned quickly with a metal baseball ball and hit the dog a few times in the head. The dog dropped then she grabbed and dragged the dog to the next room and locked him in. My brother continued to beat my backside and called me names. When she returned, She raised the bat and yelled (brother's name) STOP OR YOU'RE NEXT!!!!YOU'RE KILLING MY SISTER!!! She started to pull the bat back further and get closer when our brother stopped, grabbed his clothes, complained they were damp, gave me one good kick as he left for work. 

There was so much blood, so much of my blood.... It was everywhere.  I was covered in it, my pants were soaked in it, I could see two spots where my blood was being forced out through my jeans by my heart beats on my right calf, 1/2 of the laundry room was covered in it, some of it made it to the hardwood floor in the hallway. I grabbed my calf and started to put pressure on it. That hurt so bad, but I forced myself to keep the pressure on it. I'm still amazed I didn't pass out. My sister tossed some towels to me and said she was going to call mom and dad. She can't handle the sight of blood. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it around my calf then I took off my belt to use to tighten around the bleeding wounds. I could see something that wasn't right with my achilles heel area. Something white was sticking out...I later learned when the dog grabbed and dragged me, he cut my achilles tenant 1/2 way. Plus some other tissue that looked like cottage cheese was oozing out. This area was starting to swell. The dog bite on my calf left the area between the now scars numb. Its been over 20 years since that attack and I am just starting feel pressure between them.

 Like all the times before of me being injured greatly; there were no calls to 911, no visits to the ER, or in this case no call to animal control. This dog attack was never reported. My dad took me to his office and stitched up my calf. The cottage cheese looking stuff was getting in the way for my dad to look at my damaged achilles tendon, so he used the vacuum for dentistry to suck it out. That was fat meant to cushion the area. That still causes problems for me to this day. It's part of the cracking, pop and sometimes the jam when I move my foot or toes. He then stitched up my achilles tendon and the skin up. I lost to ability to run, to move my foot, and spread my toes. I didn't get crutches to keep the weight off, so my leg and foot could heal.  It took me years to reteach myself how to move my foot and spread out my toes and not cry or pass out to the pain. Its the only way to release the pressure that gets built up in that area.

 As an interesting side note for this dog before attacking me, he had attacked our own livestock multiple times causing server injuries and death. His first victim was one of my show rabbits that the dog ripped the rabbits cage apart just to get to her. The dog had her fur in his teeth. I wanted the dog to be put down then years before my attack, but was told "No, I don't want to listen to (brother's name) wine and complain about his dog." I was told the same thing after the dog attacked me along with, "The dog thought he was protecting his master. I'm not going to kill him for it" You would think your parent would have this dog destroyed, and also punish his mater for anything close to this. The following summer, the dog almost died to heat stoke. He got 3rd degree burns on his back from his chain in the form of my first initial with a dot behind it. I did curse him and he died years later the way I foretold.

To this day, I don't know how I survived my childhood, or can even walk. At the age of 19, I already had symptoms of arthritis for several years. Every time I complained, my dad would say you're just growing. My right foot and ankle had a few too many injuries that a medical doctor never saw. As a result my right arch was starting to collapse, I had symptoms of Planters Facilatis for years by this point. I had symptoms of a simple form of PTSD.

When I met my now ex-husband, my sense of normal was a bit warped. He was kind and acted like a gentleman until he put that ring on my finger. Then in his own words, "You should be in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant" his favorite thing to say was, "You're bought and paid for." I had learned a lot about my now ex-husband that he failed to mention while we were dating. I had learned he was an alcoholic, an angry and escalating drunk (domestic violence wise), and he loved crank and meth. The final straw was during the late hours on May 20, 2000. My life as I knew it died that night. Like a phoenix, my life burst into flames and started to turn to ash, but had not fallen upon the ground yet.

The phoenix is burning up; my now ex-husband picked a fight with me because,  "You're not standing by your man." My ex and I just learned his best friend (over 21) was sleeping with my ex's niece (under 18). My ex's solution was to yell loudly and beat up his friend in the middle of the night in a cop neighborhood. My ex and his friend was in the backyard. My ex's friend didn't want to fight. I was in the house with my ex's niece, she wanted to split them up. I told her, I didn't think that was a good idea.  She told me, she would split them up by herself if she had too. She opened the sliding door and went between them. My ex raised his fist to her, and before I knew it, I was between her and my now ex. I told him to back off. This is not the way to solve this. He yelled, "You're not standing by your man." then without warning he slammed me into the exterior wall of my house. I call this a sucker push. I remember I took three or four very quick steps back before my right shoulder smashed into the wall. My shoulder hit the wall so hit and it hit me in the cheek/eye area while I was still looking straight ahead leaving a blackened bruise. This was followed by my upper back (between the shoulder blades) hitting with the same force, then my lower back hit the wall hard. My memory goes hazy and so it will remain there for too long. I was on the ground; I looked up in a daze to my ex about to punch me in the head or face. His friend all of a sudden grabbed and pulled him back from behind. His friend was yelling at my ex of that's not how you treat your wife as I was passing out. My memory goes black.......

I woke up where I fell a few hours before. As I tried to get up, pain was shooting down my spine and had the worse headache in my life at that point. I forced myself up despite the building pain and pressure. I checked the house limping along to discover my now ex, his friend, and the niece were gone. They didn't even leave a note. I found my daughter who was 7 months old and my son was almost 2 years old at the time sleeping in their rooms. I was hoping they slept through what had happened. Years later, I would discover my young son saw what daddy did to mommy. My right shoulder snaps, cracks, grinds, and pops when its in motion. The lower back had a one-inch high and round bump over the spine and between the vertebra. This is what started my condition, a nasty type of chronic pain that is very hard to diagnose. It's called Fibromyalgia; pray you never get it. But it would be almost four years to the day before I would know. My life as I knew it was over; the phoenixes' ash is beginning to fall.

I made the mistake of not calling the police or an ambulance when this happened. I was used to keeping stuff like this 'in house' and I didn't want to put my ex's friend, who stopped the attack, in jail. I knew the medical team would contact the police, and the police would ask me how or why this fight started. I felt guilty if I turned in my now ex-husband; I would send his friend to jail too. It took me almost a year to gain the courage to tell my story, but they didn't believe me. I was getting a divorce from my now ex. He told me, no women has ever told him no and lived to tell the tale unless they moved out of the area. I'm am the first. He tried everything to stall the divorce. He got his attorney-last minute. He didn't take the parenting classes. He lost his attorney two weeks before the divorce was finalized (he forgot to pay them), and forgot to show up for court to finalize the divorce. He claimed he was never notified. I think he was drunk like all the times he did show up, but forgot about it that time. By this point, I was fighting for sole custody since I was seeing injuries on my children and they did not want to go.  I got it and everything I ask for since he didn't show up. Unfortunately, by the time I got sole custody it was too late. Years later when I could get the testing done thanks to obamacare, my son's brain was damaged. The test results showed it in the form of my ex's handprint over the damaged areas of my son's brain.  I had 6 restraining orders against him in a row which is unheard of, and he broke them all. The cops would tell me it she said he said, so they didn't do anything. This the reason why I have security cameras/system. My ex has threatened and did cut the brake, oil, and ground lines to my car more then once. Put holes in the gas tank, oil and gas lines. The ground line was touching the radiator after it was cut, and blow a hole in it when the car started.  Once I put my security cameras up, he stopped sabotaging my car. He's tried to run me off of the road with my young kids in the car countless times. He'd follow me around if he sees me. He may still. He would park his vehicle in front of my house, let it idle with a few revving the engine here and there. He could do this for hours, or until I called the police. But he would always would leave minutes before they got to my home. Even when I told them he might have a police scanner. And yet the police would do nothing. I started college during the divorce.

The ash, of the phoenix, falls into a gray pile; I have been shackled and become a prisoner to pain. While I was emotionally dead inside; I was in shock for months. This is one of the signs for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). Since I already had it before, it compounded into the compounded form. I would put a pillow in my mouth, so no one would hear, and would scream in agony for hours upon hours. I got uncontrollable migraines and spinal headaches. That bump on my back...it was where the spinal fluid was leaking. My eyes felt like they were going to burst while my head was building so much pressure it was going to explode. The spinal headaches lasted a few months while my body tried to heal. However, my back was weakened and never the same again. I went from being able to lift and stacking 180 pound hay bale to I barely being able to lift a gallon of milk.  I was in my early 20's. At any given time, this condition will send a power surge of overwhelming pain through my nervous system. The havoc that this cause is pure hell. I get muscle spasms for hours or even days. I could hear my mind screaming at my leg to stop flopping around like a fish out of water. But it could be anything connected to nerve. My leg was racked in pain every time it jerked, and yet could not obey. The intense pain would hit my stomach and cause severe nausea and vomiting. I would throw-up several times a day even though my stomach was empty. I was dropping weight fast...too fast. Before I could recover from an episode, my feet all of a sudden felt like they were on fire. Yet, a few inches away, one of my ankles felt ice cold to the point it was throbbing and being stabbed with ice sickles. The other ankle felt normal. The pain was so intense, I could not sleep. If I did, I had nothing but nightmares. There's a reason why I fight in my sleep. It was not uncommon for me to stay awake for 72 hours straight due to pain. This is a small taste of my everyday life. The 'bad' days are far worse; too many times I have been stuck in bed for days or even weeks. I could not walk or even stand because of the pain or I couldn't feel apart of me. If I moved any part of my body, I felt pain everywhere. But if I lay still, I felt pain shoot down my spine. I have dragged myself on the floor to go to the bathroom, make something to eat, to get my medication, etc. etc. I hated what I had become......I wished for death to end my suffering.

My first doctor, a nurse practitioner, tried everything she could think of medication, x-rays, cat-scans, blood tests, and the dreaded spinal tap. Yeah those hurt. But all tests showed, "there might be a problem," or "nothing is wrong." I took Vicodin, Soma, Naproxen, Promethazine, Ibuprofen, Bextra, and countless others. I took over 30 pills a day, but the pain laughed at the attempt to kill it. She gave up after a year and then told me, "It's all in you head" and "You're a junky." That was the last time I saw her. I found my current doctor and he repeated all the tests except the spinal tap. All the results were the same. He also took me off some of the medications because some of the interactions of them should of already killed me. That's were my IBS came from, so I counted myself lucky.

About the same time, I was talking to a medical cannabis (patient/grower) friend of mine, 'Jim'. He was a six-foot trucker before he was injured. 'Jim' asked me if I had ever tried cannabis for the pain. It never had occurred to me, but now that very question I had ask myself before I voted in 1998 was back and needed to be answered again. "If I had a painful condition and standard treatment did not work, would I try cannabis to ease my misery?"  Misery a word I truly understood. This was one of the easiest questions I have ever answered in my life. I talked to my doctor even though I was not diagnosed with a named condition; I still fit the guidelines (chronic pain). He signed the paperwork. This was in 2001.

It is incredibility rare in this time period for a brand new medical cannabis patient to have someone willing to teach them how to grow at all and for free. 'Jim" and I made a deal; 'Jim' would be my mentor as long after I learned his teaching, I would teach/help others after. Because of my honor code, I still honor this to this day. About three or four months later, the pain that aggregately laughed to my pleading to be freed from this insanity was about to know fear for the first time. My first harvest was in. It was small and I had a ton of help from 'Jim'. Back in this time, I was a black thumb. I barely could keep a house plant alive. I smoked medical cannabis for the first time, and felt the pain leave my body. My pain level went from a ten plus, on the pain scale, to a five within minutes and continued to drop. I could feel the pain wither and die inside of me, and was replaced with something I have not felt for an eternally. My body began to relax; my mind began to clear. I began to realize I had been given a key to unlock the shackles of pain. At last, my nervous system calmed down. The migraine, which had become one of my torturous masters screamed in contempt as it faded away. For the first time in over a year, I didn't have a headache of any kind. The muscle spasms reduced and finally stopped on my command. My body was exhausted and collapsed. I feel asleep and slept for hours, the best restful sleep in years. When I woke on my terms, I was starving. For the first time in a longtime, I got hungry, ate my fill and held it down.

Sometime later, 'Jim' gave me some cannabis tea he made. He told me to drink it in the next hour or the THC will be gone, and DO NOT DRIVE while under it. Back in these days, we were unaware of CBD. When I got home I drank it, and glad I took his advice. The tea was delicious; it tasted like I was drinking a pumpkin pie. Since I drank it instead of smoking cannabis, it took about 20 minutes or so to feel the effects. My mind was clear as a bell, I remember thinking I'm back. The phoenix has risen from the ashes, stronger and better then before. If any of my formal masters had returned, I could not feel them since I had a strong body high. I learned how to cook with cannabis and make cannabis salve. I use the cannabis salve for my arthritis. While my kids were in the house, I made sure they couldn't get to them or stopped making it altogether, the food and drinks, during their teenage years. I quietly counted down the years when I could return to these forms of cannabis.

After one year, "Jim" told me he had taught me everything he knew, and released me as his apprentice. Keep in mind back in these days if the grower lost there crop for what ever reason, the patient would run out of their medicine. There was a pest 'Jim' couldn't combat called spider mites. Avid and the like miticides were unknown to us. I lost two grows in a row to those mites. They struck during the flower phase. I ran out of medicine. The pain and misery returned. Since I was a medical cannabis patient, it was customary for doctors to give you a choice: either pain meds only or cannabis only. So I couldn't return to the pain meds, not that I would want to.

A couple years later, thanks to medical cannabis I took only two pills a day. I had stopped taking all pain pills within six to nine months after starting medical cannabis. My grades in college improved. My green thumb was getting better. My ex was still stalking me, breaking restraining order after the other. He only got at best, a tap on the wrist. My ex never paid his child support like he told me he wouldn't to punish me. So, I was taking him to court on what seemed like on a regular basis. The judge was getting tired of seeing my ex yet again for failing to pay again and told him, if he doesn't pay in full and on time, if he was just one day late or a penny short,  he'd be going to jail for a long time. My ex was paying late and short for a couple months in a row after that, and I was about to take him back to court. Unknown to me at the time, my ex's girlfriend worked for child services.

 During this time period. CSD was going after medical cannabis patients that happened to also be parents. My ex used his girlfriend to get the heat off of him not paying his child support in full and late, by her stealing my kids. She first tried to bait me into driving with my kids to there office after I had told them, I had taken just taken my medications and couldn't drive now.  The only two pills I took made me drowsy. Then she bend down to my kids eye level looking into my kids innocent faces and said," I'll take you to the office. (just the kids) then I'll bring you back to your mommy, ok?" She was lying to their faces as well as me. She told me, she'd bring then back in 45 minutes. She called me almost two hours later, telling me I'm an unfit parent because of marijuana use. I had to catch myself as I fell. My kids and my medicine, the only one that worked, were used as pawns against me and their father put them in the crosshairs. The next day, we were in court. The judge yelled at CSD to give them back to their mother. CSD kept the case open and switched the judge to a rubber stamper judge. My parents were trying to get it set up, so if CSD tried to take my kids again, they go to my parents. I had to go to my representative to force CSD to at least check their house. They were told if my kids were taken, my kids would go to them. That was a lie.

About this time, the rubber stamper judge was in the news. Their kid had a under age drinking party, and some kids died. My mom was on that grand jury and because of her the case moved on with possible charges against both parents. It wasn't long after before my brother and I were set up. The only reason my sister wasn't was because she was out of the state. With my brother, he was on parole, CSD threaten someone he knew who used meth. They were told to set up my brother by putting some meth in his car and they'd do the rest or they'd take their kid. The person called my brother begging for a ride, my brother picked them up and was taking them home when they were pull over. Since he was on parole, he had to consent to the search. The cops searched the car and found a small bag of meth under the passengers seat. My brother was arrested, his car toed. They also set me up by have a registered sex offender that I had gone to high school with to be at my house when they showed up. He did not tell me he was until CSD knocked on my door and he had a child with him when we crossed paths. After CSD took my kids, they almost ran me over with my kids in their car. They said that was my fault. My kids were not in car seats required for their ages. The next morning, CSD almost ran over my attorney who jumped on their hood.  The rubber stamper judge let them keep my babies and I didn't hear from CSD or my children for months.

 I started going to therapy before all the happened. I was trying to get my head straight. When my therapist told me if I didn't get my kids back in 1 year, I'd lose them for good. I was fuming, in raged, when I learned what they were trying to do. She then told me what to do. When I called CSD, I demanded a meeting with them asap to get my sweet innocent babies back. They tried to push back the meeting far back as they could, but I refused to go over two weeks out. After that call, I went straight to my representatives office and explained in the form of a letter what was going on. He didn't believe in the medical properties of cannabis, but believed in a strong family unit. He still called CSD on my behalf and got a meeting set up as well as getting what CSD calls supervised parenting time set up for me.

CSD wanted my ex to be in the kids lives. They told me, "A bad dad is better then no dad at all."  I and my whole family disagreed. There are family members who have had both, they said, while growing up they watched and suffered watching their dad beat their mother, their sister, and them. They wished they didn't have a dad. No dad is better then a bad dad. A bad dad can mess up or worse to the child.

CSD forced me to go to the local drug treatment. I filled out the form for that place, and was told I don't need to be there. I really wish I had them put that in writing, but I wasn't thinking straight with my children being held hostage....not knowing where my babies were or seeing/talking to them in months. When I informed CSD what the drug treatment place said, they told the drug treatment place what classes I was going to be in. Only one made since. Under the direction of CSD, they had me take a drug, parenting, and domestic violence victim classes. The drug treatment place allowed me to graduate the drug class a few weeks early since they were getting tired of being notified by the drug councilors that they were quitting in two weeks after 1 session with me in the class. Each councilor tried to use all the yellow journalism against me and failed miserably because I knew the truth and the real facts about the real powers of cannabis. I was easily flipping what they said against them. A couple of them relapsed after there attempt.  The other people in the class seems to get excited every time there was a new drug councilor. They'd tell the new people there welcome to the show.  While the drug councilor was waiting to not be at that job any more, the only time they'd talk to me was during the check in. They all steered clear of cannabis related topics. I also gave some OMMP paperwork to some people in the class that qualified. I think around a dozen. That was my way of saying f*** you to CSD. They were on the 5th one when I graduated. The councilor for the parenting class didn't think I needed to be there either. If anything, she used me more like an assistant since I could explain things better to the other people in the class. After I did everything that CSD required me to do to get my kids back, they were stalling. They wanted to give my kids to their father, but he didn't do a single thing he was suppose to. My kids had been in the system for 11 months. I once again, I went to my representative, and my kids were returned to me. The rubber stamper judge acted pissed that they had to order the kids back to me.

My PTSD compounded again as a result. My kids never regained trusting any authority figure. My ex's girlfriend that worked for CSD was busted within a year or so of the case above for smuggling hard drugs across the border into Oregon. This was only the first time of me dealing with CSD. There were many more attempts. My daughter learned when she told CSD the truth, they didn't believe her. But when she lied to them, they did. As a CSD worker once told me, "It's there job to believe the child automatically and not investigate." This is what started my daughter to point her finger and tell a lie to CSD when she wasn't getting her way. The second to last time she did this, she was warned, if she ever did that again, I'd disown her and cast her out of the family along with all the benefits that comes with it. She would be dead to me.  And that is exactly what happened a couple years ago. I gave her one final warning of the sentence if she did not retract her lie. She told me, "You don't have the balls to do that bitch." I said watch me. During the final time dealing with CSD, they threatened to remove my son who was 18 at the time. I told them, he's an adult and you have no right to touch him, and I'm giving you my daughter. She has stabbed me along with other family members in the back for the last time. She went from almost on honor roll student at a private school to a public school drop out with CSD blessings.

Medical cannabis does cause road blocks when it come to employment. I used to work, but my boss was retiring. I've had many job interviews where they told me, they'll hire me. But once they found out I was a medical cannabis patient, I'd hear, "I'm sorry, we don't take your kind." My unemployment was running out and in 2008, no one could find a job. Being disabled made it impossible, so I swallowed my pride and began to fight for SSD. It took a little over 4 years, they decided I was (and still am) disabled, but I didn't have enough work credits. So they put me on SSI. Not including food stamps, I survive on under $500 a month. I would love to go to work, but my body just can't handle it and my mind can't take the discrimination. I finished all my classes for my degree, but no one would hire me for the internship required to graduate.

The medical use of cannabis also can benefit our pets. In 2009, I noticed my beloved cat, Simba, would try to eat, but scream when he took a bite. Then he refused to eat and was dropping weight.  Simba was a light orange short hair cat. He had golden eyes and 2 brown freckles in his lower left eye, and he had a soft purr. Simba's tumor started in the back of his mouth on the left side. Its grew into his cheek, he stuck his tongue out, and at times the pupil of his eyes weren't the same size. I took him to his old veterinarian who forced Simba's jaw open. Simba screamed. Then he said my cat had a bad tooth, but that was impossible since he didn't have any molars. This was the vet who removed all of Simba's molars. Then he said was a canker sore, again no. I took him to another veterinarian, who could open Simba's mouth were my cat didn't scream. He looked, released my cat, then literally broke down in tears and said I'm so sorry Simba has cancer. This type of cancer normally kills the cat in under six weeks. I fed Simba with a baby spoon with meat flavor baby food and also gave him some cannabis alcohol tincture with his new veterinarian's blessing. The veterinarian had read about the healing properties of cannabis, and wanted to see it for himself. The veterinarian was amazed to see the tumor shrink on a weekly basis. The medical cannabis also helped him with the pain, his eyes were normal again, he could sleep and eat. He could only eat baby food or tuna fish from the blender with his medicine in it. As the tumor shrank, Simba could eat out of his bowl again.

After 7 months, the tumor shrank enough to do exploratory surgery to remove it. Unfortunately, it couldn't be removed without killing my beloved Simba kitty. The veterinarian was in tears when he told me that.  Its not often that a vet is crying on the owners shoulder trying to tell them bad news, he felt terrible. He kept saying if it was just a little to the side, I could removed it. He didn't even charge me for the exploratory surgery. That's about the time Simba's will to live left him, he knew the surgery had failed.  I let my other cat and his surrogate mother, Katie, say good bye before I took Simba to the vet for the last time. Katie was heart broken when he died at 13. I gave him 13 good years of food, love, and medical when needed that he wouldn't of had if I didn't find him. I promised him then, as I do all my pets,  if he ever goes backs to how I found him and I couldn't fix it, I'd put him down in peace. I knew I had to honor my promise to him. Simba was my youngest cat that I've ever lost. The vet told me, he saw more cancer cases with pets that had the ID chips. Simba fought cancer for 8 months. The first month was wasted with the old veterinarian.

Simba passed quickly and painless on 8/7/2009 when I honored my promise. Simba tried to sing one last time in the waiting room. He gave me a hug when the vet came in as if he were saying thank you. Thank you for saving me all those years ago. Thank you for giving me a well loved life. Thank you for trying to save me again while easing my suffering. And thank you for letting me go. The vet gave Simba the shot, he just laid down, went to sleep, and died in my arms. It wasn't cannabis that failed him, it was our medical that did.

 Oregon was the first state in the union to decriminalize cannabis in 1973.  There was an attempt to re criminalize cannabis, but the voter saw through the lies and voted it down in 1997. The following year 1998, Oregon was among the first states to authorize it to be use medically.  There were a few attempts to legalize cannabis in 1986 and 2012, but the voters rejected them. In my opinion, the 2012 attempt failed because it didn't protect the patients.  Measure 91 did and was passed in 2014. In hind sight, the only change I would of made was to make it so the state legislative could not alter it like they did in the 2015 Oregon legislative session. If there was to be any changes made,  it should of been only by we the people, the citizens, the voters. M91 unaltered allows anyone over the age of 21 to possess 4 mature plants & 8 ounces. Medical cardholders can possess 6 mature plants and 24 ounces. Medical cardholders would be allowed to frequent both dispensaries and OLCC overseen stores. OMMP would remain separated from the OLCC. In my opinion, M91 made it clear in many sections that it was not going to affect OMMP what so ever.

What the 2015 Oregon legislative session did is not, in my opinion, what the spirit of M91 was going to do. It should of protected us, the patients, our growers, and/or our caregivers if we have them, from the cities and counties that are still uneducated and/or biased about our medicine. M91 was amended in some unfortunate ways during the 2015 Oregon legislative session by House Bill 3400, which altered the voter-approved Measure 91 legalization initiative in key ways while also impacting the Oregon Medical Marijuana Program as well. House Bill 3400 passed both chambers of the legislature handed with broad bipartisan support and was signed into law by Governor Kate Brown. In my opinion, WE THE PEOPLE didn't vote for this. We voted to legalize cannabis while still protecting the sick and disabled OMMP patients, and their compassionate growers and caregivers. With the passage of HB 3400, hundreds, if not thousands of sick and disabled patients probably have already lost their grower and supply of medicine due to the new grow site plant limits. Many growers lost their ability to cultivate for as many patients due to the new limits being put in place. A lot of growers probably balked at the new inspections, reporting requirements and stopped growing for patients all together. If patient plant numbers weren’t limited, compassionate growers would be able to swoop up those patients; but because of the bad provisions in HB 3400, too many patients that lost their growers are now suffering. Since a lot of them are most likely on low fixed income, they can't afford to buy their medicine at a dispensary. They are also at the mercy of their landlord if they can grow. Growing outdoors is a lot cheaper than indoors. Some patient just can't afford to grow indoors. But we are under attack by the cities and counties we live in, by taking our right to grow our medicine outdoors.

After the passage of M91, some doctors that had been signing cards for patients stopped for various reasons. My medical doctor was among them. When I asked him why, he told me he still believes in the medical benefits of cannabis. But he was tired of all the hassles he had been put through the years. In the past, he moved his entire practice because his partner and him disagreed over cannabis among other things. Cannabis was just the straw that broke the camels back.  So now I have the a hardship of paying the high fees to go to a clinic. I know I'm not the only one. I went from $20 for my medical cannabis card to $150.00 for the clinic plus the 20 for my medical cannabis card.  I have to get my medical records and bring them. I also send my application though certified mail, so I have proof the state received it. That cost me an additional of $7.29. So the grand total was from $27.29 with my doctor signing to $177.29 going to a clinic. Since the cannabis industry has been forced to be a cash only business, the clinic is paid in cash.

Because of all the injustice I and my family received over the years, it kind of turned me into an activist. But in my area, most medical cannabis people want to remain hidden, under the radar. I understand that, they don't want lose anything especially the most precious thing to them; their child(ren). After my first dealing with CSD, I wanted to start a class action lawsuit against CSD, but many of the people that agreed to joining while fighting to get their children back, changed their mind after their kids were returned. But I believe, you have to stand up and fight, so my horror stories don't repeat again. How much is it to you to live a pain free life, or to watch a loved one helplessly who is suffering? Is medical cannabis worth it? For me, it's the only medication that works. Without it, I'd be that zombie on the pills that couldn't remember my own name, or my children growing up, or I might of died from the medications. I wanted something more then a painful, spaced out existent. I can't call that a life. I wanted to be there for my children. To give them something I never got as a child, but the injustice took it from them.  

 

 

 


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My mom had breast cancer twice, but she was afraid of the federal gov. When it came to cannabis. I tried in vein to get her to try it. I told her about the first patient I grew for. My first patient had the same type and stage as my mom. My patient lived thanks to medical cannabis. When I saw her years later, I didn't recognized her. But she did recognized me, she came to me and thanked me. She said,  'If is wasn't for the medical cannabis you gave me, I would of died. The cannabis was the only thing that allowed me to eat. Thank you so much. I can never repay you, but am eternally grateful to you." I didn't charge her a penny. I thought she already had high medical bills and didn't want to add to it.

Even though my mom lived in a medical cannabis state, her fear of the federal gov was too great. Both times the cancer was discovered, it was in stage 3, or starting in 4. She did chemo for both cases, the  last time it was harder. You see, after the first case went in to remission, they didn't see that the cancer spread to her bones: hip, tail bone and breastplate. The doctors missed it when they were taking scans when she was getting ready for hip surgery. About 2 months after her surgery, she fell and broke her hip. It was discovered in her hip and tail bone. The doctors did a full scan of her body and found she had stage 4 bone cancer and stage 3 breast cancer. Chemo failed. My mom was getting desperate, but she was still too afraid that the feds would come after her for trying cannabis. She went the route of being a guinea pig.  Those experimental treatments caused her body to swell up like a balloon, she couldn't breathe. A couple times a week, she would have to go to the hospital to be drained of the fluid. Every time she did this, there was a risk it would cause a heart attack. The cancer spread...eventually making it to her brain. My mom forgot what to do when the phone rang, conversation were getting harder for her then she stop talking. She would sing commercials she heard as a child. She was off in her own world.  As the cancer spread, she forgot who her children and husband were, she even forgot who here daddy was. My grandpa sat by her every day, watching helplessly his first born slowly wither and die in front of him. She died in late June, my grandpa died about two months later, so heart broken. I think if my mom wasn't afraid that something bad would of happened by the hands of the feds, she would of tried cannabis and still be alive today.


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Hey, here's an entry for you...talk about "how many times can a guy do a 180"!

I grew up in a church, back in the 70's, that had it's own treatment facility for addicts.  They were pretty good - local judges used to offer deals to first-time offenders, as an alternative to incarceration.  Needless to say, marijuana was a BIG no-no. BTW, it didn't matter that our parents were "teaching us to drink in moderation", even if they were usually too drunk to spell "moderation" - just DON'T let those kids use drugs!!

By the time I was seventeen, I was a daily "maintenance" drinker, and I tried pot for the first time.  Within a short period of time, I was going through an ounce every 2 - 3 weeks.  When I went off to college @ WSU in Pullman, the guys in my dorm called me "Potsie"...and NOT because I looked like the guy in "Happy Days"!  Anyway, I pretty much kept up my use of anything that would get me loaded until 1986.  I had "laid off the grass", but my drinking was way beyond manageable. In November of that year, I got a DUI.  That was when I got clean & sober.

Okay, so now I'm back in the "pot is bad" camp.  Very little was known about the medicinal benefits of cannabis back then, so yeah..."pot is bad".  Right?  Wrong!!  About 14 years after I got sober, I was walking down the hallway at work, and I suddenly dropped to the ground.  My head felt like someone was using it for batting practice, and I couldn't see.  That was December of 1999...my first migraine!

I was given intravenous Compazene, and my wife had to come pick me up from the hospital.  But I couldn't keep going back to the hospital every time one of these hit...the ER bills would kill me, if the pain didn't! So, I went north of the border, and got codeine.  I only used them when the migraine kicked in, and sparingly, at that.  I bought a total of 3 bottles over the years, and all three expired while still quite full.  That experience introduced me to a concept that most of you might laugh at, but is something the addict doesn't think about....we only take medication when we're sick!

In 2008, I moved to Ohio.  That was when I started reading about cannabis as a treatment for chronic pain, including migraines.  I have to admit, I was very, very scared.  Other than alcohol, pot was my drug of choice back in the day.  But this goes back to the statement I just made.  This isn't "pot", and it isn't "grass"....this is CANNABIS...and it HEALS.

I became involved with different movements to help Ohio get a medical cannabis law.  Along the way, I met patients.  People who had MS, people with epilepsy, people with fibromyalgia.  Most of those people weren't in a position where they could produce their own cannabis.  I was - but I don't use much at all (remember that whole "we only take medicine when we're sick" thing?)  Anyway, I started growing...for them!  Yes, I do charge....but nowhere near street value...probably about 60% of what you would pay in a dispensary.  That covers the cost of lighting, equipment and supplies.  When someone can't afford it, I've given away ounce after ounce. This isn't business...this is more of a non-profit, and sometimes we don't make enough to cover expenses....oh, well... 

Yes, what I do is illegal.  Though we now have a medical cannabis law, after two years there is no way for patients to get a medical card, or a way for them to legally purchase cannabis.  Sweet law, huh? I look at it this way - if I see a suffering human being, and I'm in a position that I can help them (especially when the State is saying "Neener, neener, you can't have any") I'm a total asshat if I look the other way.  Yes, my freedom is important - but is it more important than the people I help?  That's where you have to learn about putting your money where your mouth is (quite literally!).

My favorite story that I love to tell in circles where people argue about the "dangers of pot", was when my wife and I went back to Seattle to see my daughter graduate.  My wife can't fly, so we drove.  Okay, so I will preface this by saying up front that people who suffer from migraines should never spend two days in a row driving into the sunset, no matter what kind of sunglasses you wear!!  By the time we pulled into the 405/I-5 traffic that *is* Seattle, I was pretty much on the floorboards of the car, with my wife driving.  She kept asking if we should go to a hospital.  Can anyone say "Out-of-Network"?  Yeah....no. No hospital.  We found our hotel, dropped everything off, then headed for the first rec dispensary we could find.  I got a 10mg square of indica chocolate.  We went back to the hotel, and I ate that thing like it was going to crawl away if I didn't.  I slept for 12 hours.  When I woke up the next day, there were NONE of the attendant "day-after" symptoms from a migraine - no nausea, no confusion, no problem focusing my attention on things.  I went out, bought my coffee and pastry at one of those "Hey - y'r boobies are almost showin!" coffee stands (Gotta love Seattle, right?) and went to have breakfast at the marina.

So, do I smoke/use to get high?  NOPE.  When I use, it's enough to knock me out and get whatever that broken thing in my head is to do a reset and ditch the migraine.  It works - just like I've seen it work in my patients with diabetic nerve pain, fibro, MS, and other ailments.  There is NO legitimate reason why what I am doing now is not legal, and I will keep fighting to make it so!

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                                                          How Cannabis Has Improved My Life

Well sure, I have all the usual benefits from cannabis.  It sorts out my arthritis, my herniated disks, my scholiosis.  Cannabis helps me to relax at the end of another hard day on the grindstone, it makes me feel better if I have a common cold or toothache. If I am feeling  depressed cannabis gets me motivated and thinking straight.  Cannabis makes shopping fun and drawing with my kids awesome, it turns the mundane into the essence of life.. But hey, this is nothing specieal, nothing unique, everyone gets these benefits from cannabis. 

The greatest benefit I get from cannabis is the abilty to think. I am not one of the sheeple, I question authority, I question the laws, the governments and their financial backers. Cannabis, the two dog gift, helps me to be human. But that's not unique, it helps you too. 

:Peace:

Flacco

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The winner in our opinion is  Purple Power. with 6  official votes. 

shoot me a PM with an addy for mailing. :)

Thanks everyone who participated. 

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7 hours ago, EDDIEKIRK said:

The winner in our opinion is  Purple Power. with 6  official votes. 

shoot me a PM with an addy for mailing. :)

Thanks everyone who participated. 

Congratulations Purple Power.  Your story really pulled the heartstrings.  A grinder won't fix things, but at least you'll be able to chop up without snipping your fingers.  

Sending good vibes

All the best

Flacco

Edited by Flacco

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On 10/5/2017 at 12:19 AM, Flacco said:

Congratulations Purple Power.  Your story really pulled the heartstrings.  A grinder won't fix things, but at least you'll be able to chop up without snipping your fingers.  

Sending good vibes

All the best

Flacco

Thanks. I just let a few demons out of their cages. Sure they carry a lot of pain, but they also carry the memory. Some are never let out. Others took years to be caged. I do remove most of the timber/sticks when trimming but sometimes some are missed though rarely.


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