MARIJUANA PATRON TOUTS MEDICAL USE

Stormy Ray's movement continues even after passage of Oregon's
law.

If there is such a thing as a calling, Stormy Ray got her first hint
of what lay ahead on the day she was born. The year was 1955. Joseph
and Mary Aguilar gave birth to a girl - they named her Stormy Gayle
- - who would one day grow up to be a saviour of those in pain.

Ray, her married name, laughed as she recounted the story of her rise
from mother, graphic artist, insurance broker and multiple sclerosis
patient to an unlikely leader of Oregon's medical marijuana movement.

"The Lord could not have given me a better disease to do what I do,"
Ray said. "Every time I think I had it, I see another patient. They're
my energy."

Since the passage of the Oregon Medical Marijuana Act in 1998, the
chief petitioner has not slowed down.

Instead, Stormy Ray continues to reach out from her wheelchair to
people in pain, teaching them about the law, how it applies to them,
where to get a plant and how to medicate properly. This month, she
plans to add a class about how to grow marijuana.

In October, the Stormy Ray Foundation put down roots in Salem when it
set up shop in a rented house that doubled as its headquarters and an
information-resource center. The operation is supported by donations,
income from renting out part of the house and dues from 100 to 150
members. The annual cost is $50 for an individual.

Inside the unassuming house, a mission statement hangs on the wall of
the dining room turned office.

A pot of marijuana stock is simmering on the kitchen stove. Although
smoking gives patients immediate relief, many prefer to take their
medicine in coffee, tea, scrambled eggs, cookies or other food and
drink.

The kitchen also is used for potluck parties, where members gather for
social support and networking.

A medical marijuana card is required for admission to the medicating
parlor, a room filled with chairs arranged in a circle, two bongs and
a vaporizer. Instruction on how to properly medicate is given here.

Every 10 weeks or so, Ray will make the 400-plus mile trip to Ontario
in eastern Oregon to spend time with her family, which includes her
husband, four children and six grandchildren. A seventh drowned. The
rest of the time, she puts in 60 to 80 hours a week at the center.

Husband Tom, a retired electrician on disability, said although the
family misses her, they support her work.

"It's the sick people who she deals with -- 30 to 40 a day sometimes,
and some of them are dying -- that's where her dedication comes from,"
he said.

It's a huge commitment for anyone, but an easy one to make for someone
whose own body was on the verge of shutting down a decade ago.

Racked with pain and wasted down to 87 pounds, Ray remembered how she
could not even open her eyes or speak until a friend gave her some
marijuana. She immediately opened her eyes and asked for more.

But it took her husband's arrest before Ray really woke
up.

"When they put people in jail for just getting relief, that was an
injustice that had to stop," said Ray, now 46.

Today, the petite, soft-spoken woman has to be reminded to catch some
shut eye.

A typical work day starts at 8 a.m., when Ray spends some private
time. Around 11 a.m., the activity picks up and doesn't end until 12
hours later. Phone messages are returned, and private appointments
with people seeking information, help and support take up the
afternoon and early evening.

This is not your 8 to 5 job.

There's no salary. She lives on Social Security disability benefits
and the goodwill of patients and other sponsors.

Support groups, meetings and appointments run late into the night and
all day on weekends. The last call is taken at 11 p.m. Then it's time
for e-mail.

"She will be up until 2 a.m. if someone doesn't make her go to bed,"
volunteer Jerry Wade said.

Sometime during the day, there are meals to eat, bathroom breaks to
take, rest time and medicating time, which usually means several puffs
every two hours or so.

During the night, Ray wakes up every two hours so that her caregiver
can turn her over to relieve the pressure on her skin.

The schedule is tough. The customers are a mixed bag.

One day, it's educating a sheriff, pharmacist or city councilor.
Another day, it's explaining the law and how it applies to someone's
specific situation. Sometimes, it's working with those who can't get
their gardens started or those who want to improve them.

When Rod Hagen, a 60-year-old retired trucker, heard about medical
marijuana, he was taking enormous amounts of painkillers to treat
chronic pain from a double bypass, lung surgery, an eye disease and
other health problems. He took a class to learn about it and perhaps
talk with someone who used marijuana for medical purposes.

Stormy turned out to be the answer to his prayers.

Two years ago, the 60-year-old who couldn't get around without a
scooter now can walk three miles on his own. He's regained his
appetite as well.

"God delivered her; she's like an angel," he said about Stormy. "I've
never met anyone so caring, so dynamic in my life."