Pot Shaming — It Doesn’t Have to Be a Thing
My Re-entry Into the World of Weed
When I first tried marijuana, I was in high school in the 90s when getting caught with even a small amount of weed meant prison or at least some jail time, even if just until arraignment. I quit when I realized I had a baby on the way and didn’t touch the stuff for years. I still kept up with NORML, signed petitions, and generally supported legalization because, well, keeping a plant on the list of controlled substances is just ridiculous to me.
Fast-Forward to Legalized Marijuana
When it was finally legalized in Florida, I waited for my kids to be of age. There were just too many horror stories of child protective services targeting patients, and, while I needed the treatment, I certainly wasn’t going to risk them. Eventually, it was my kids and my husband that sat me down and told me to do get the damn card already.
Armed with my card, I go to the dispensary. It still has not stuck in my mind that this is perfectly legal. I’m still hearin' Nancy drone on and on in that ugly green t-shirt of hers. I made my purchase, carefully stowed my contraband out of site and drove the speed limit all the way home (I have a lead foot so this was no small thing). I also told no one but a select few I had a card and I hid it. I was pot-shaming myself and didn’t even realize it.
It was my neurologist who told me not to hide it. I was legally using for a legit medical purpose, and people won’t learn until you tell them. I guess I am a good poster child for legal weed. I’m in my 40s, middle class(?),and a mom, and I don’t fit the pothead stereotype.
Let Freedom Ring, Bitches!
My first, and best, victory was ordering delivery from a dispensary. My local store didn’t have what I needed, but the delivery side did. It just so happened when they showed up, the cop that lives across the street was outside watching this whole thing, and guess what? There wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. That single two-minute transaction changed my entire outlook.
After that, I became brave. Every doctor I see has a copy of my marijuana card, and I will say 99% of them include cannabis on my list if medications and even ask how it is working for this and that. On the rare occasion I am forced to take a whiz quiz, the positive THC counts as a legal prescribed drug rather than an excuse to give me the boot. Maybe I am lucky to have great doctors. Maybe it is becoming more acceptable. I don’t know.
Or Not…
On the flip side, when I was in hospital, I had one of those hospitalists (never had a decent one — EVER) who came to see me in the ER when I was being admitted. He asked about my meds, and by that point I was so used to listing marijuana that, to me, it wasn’t even a thing. He immediately stopped and stated, “So you get pills too.” Not a question — a statement. I was absolutely livid. I asked him, “So, because I am a LEGAL marijuana patient, that automatically means I score pills on the street?” The asshat did back off, but each hospitalist shift change resulted in similar questions. I went from being shocked for being accepted to being shocked into being pot-shamed.
The Takeaway
My re-entry into the world of marijuana (cannabis, weed, ganga, 'the devil’s lettuce’, etc.) has been mostly positive with support and acceptance from family and some friends. One called me a druggie and “stoner" even after seeing first-hand how quickly a tiny amount could stop a migraine or a panic attack. (She was not a real friend and is no longer in my life.) A handful of idiot doctors have tried, and failed, to make me feel less than or “bad" for using a plant that has been a game-changer for me and many others.
I am in my second year as a cannabis patient, and Nancy’s green shirt no longer haunts me. I am free from the stigma because I choose to be.
Pro tip: If you are a legal cannabis patient, and you are forced to take a drug test, sign with U.D.at the end for “under duress.” It is the principle of the thing for me, but it might protect me or someone else one day. Who knows…
