MEDICAL MARIJUANA: A GROWNING INDUSTRY

3,000 Registered Marijuana Patients Seek Out Sources

Now that people have had a couple of months to register as patients
under the new medical marijuana law, it makes you wonder: How does the
whole thing work? Do you just call up a pot grower and put in an
order? To find out, I called up a friend of mine, Bob Heflin, who had
"come out" in a recent newspaper letter supporting legalized medical
marijuana. The weird thing is I had known Bob for years and had no
idea he smoked pot. I had much to learn.

He called me back with some statistics. There are close to 3,000
patients now registered with the state. They can either grow pot
themselves or get their supply from a "caregiver," who they can
specify, and who must also be approved. So far 1,120 caregivers have
received the state's stamp of approval.

Heflin runs "compassion" meetings in Traverse City, where he's seen a
lot of interest in becoming a caregiver. Yet it's still against the
law to sell marijuana to patients. Obviously, any supplier is still in
jeopardy. "What would you think about meeting a couple of growers?" he
asked. And so began my journey into a parallel universe that I usually
read about in police reports, but have never seen firsthand.

The Journey

I drove to Heflin's house to get some background information on the
law. He met me wearing a nice suit, not wanting to look like a
slacker, which he's not. In fact, he lives in a bi-level home in a
perfectly normal subdivision on the east side of Traverse City. His
16-year-old son was outside mowing the lawn. Heflin has worked in the
fields of criminal justice, social work, and, ironically, substance
abuse treatment. Now he's devoted to marijuana reform and sits on the
board of directors for the Michigan Medical Marijuana Association
(and, yes, they do light up at the end of their meetings).

As it turns out, Heflin, 61, played rugby until the age of 37, beating up his body pretty badly. He's a big guy -- the word "bear" comes to mind -- and he walks with a limp.

Heflin told me that the pain became intense 11 years ago, and is still
very severe when he gets up in the morning. Think Nick Nolte in North
Dallas 40. His answer: marijuana.

Heflin -- along with others with a passion for this "sacred, medicinal
plant" -- have done a great deal of research on the medical uses of
marijuana, which date back to the Chinese 2,737 years before the age
of Christ. Its therapeutic value for nausea, pain, glaucoma, and loss
of appetite are well known. Now a recent clinical study in Spain shows
it can help shrink brain tumors, while animal studies indicate promise
in the treatment of Alzheimer's.

High Times

I myself have mixed feelings about marijuana. My dad was an undercover
narcotics officer followed by a 20-year stint as a substance abuse
counselor. When he was a state trooper, he surmised that forcing
alcohol underground in the 1920s was the impetus for organized crime.
And as a substance abuse counselor, he believed marijuana was less
injurious to society and a person's body than alcohol. Of course, he'd
prefer people not to indulge in either one.

I had friends who had fun and even meaningful times getting high, but
most stopped in the late 1980s when the pot became too potent. They'd
suffer an intense paranoia attack and swear off the stuff.

I told Heflin of one old friend in California who operated his A-1
Appliance Repair out of an old orange van, fixing washing machines and
dishwashers. He'd tell me he thought he could do better, yet every
night, he'd get high and his ambitions floated away with the smoke. My
theory was that if he stopped smoking and allowed himself to feel
intensely frustrated and angry, he'd get off his duff and get a
college degree. Emotions, especially the intensely negative ones, can
be very motivating. True enough, Heflin said. But there's nothing
noble about severe and debilitating pain.

"I believe if someone is over the age of 21, they should be able to
make the decision of what they want to put in their body. But anyone
who is seriously ill should be looked at in a different category of
need," Heflin said.

'Couch Lock'

Heflin said the interesting thing about marijuana is that no one has
ever died of an overdose, unlike Tylenol or the myriad of opiates
given for pain.

Not to say you can't have a bad experience of paranoia or "couch
lock," which is self-explanatory, Heflin said.

Heflin showed me his patient application to the state that required a
$100 check and a letter from his doctor that he suffered from chronic
pain from arthritis. The doctor does not write a prescription, but
signs a recommendation that says a patient may receive therapeutic or
palliative relief for a qualifying illness, such as Multiple
Sclerosis, AIDS, or chronic pain.

Heflin prefers to use a vaporizer that he special-ordered at Blue in
the Face in downtown Traverse City. It looks very high tech, but think
of it as an extravagant bong that roasts or heats the marijuana and
spares the lungs from smoke. Another alternative is to eat the
marijuana in the form of brownies or cookies. Because it takes more
marijuana to get the same effect, it's more expensive than smoking.
Yet it's far healthier, Heflin said.

Heflin runs Compassion Club meetings, usually at the Traverse Area
District Library. He said it's a good place for patients to find out
more about the medical marijuana law. Marijuana growers who want to
become "caregivers" are showing up and informally connecting with
patients. Heflin said he usually shouts out a "welcome" to any
undercover police officers who might also be attending.

Prices are discussed at the meeting--expect sticker shock if it's been
awhile. You may or may not remember that pot in the 1970s cost about
$15 an ounce; it's now running $300 to $400 an ounce. That's because
it's far more potent with up to 20 percent of THC (the active
ingredient of marijuana) as compared to three percent 30 years ago.
Yet the higher level of THC is considered more effective medicine than
the weaker (and cheaper) product that's coming up from Texas, Heflin
said.

Heflin explained that although marijuana is far stronger, it's also
"self-titrating." In other words, you smoke as much as you need--and
for many people, it might be one hit of a joint or one bite of a
brownie. Be careful of the edibles--it's the easiest way to take in
too much.

Day One

On day one of my investigation, I visit a pot grower, who Ikwill call
Dan. He is -- for purposes of anonymity -- in the middle of nowhere.
Beyond the front entrance, is a small grow-room with lights. A number
of plants are divided into stages of growth -- from cuttings to mature
plants. Dan delves into a technical conversation about lights,
saturation, and plant food, losing me in about two minutes.

Dan's specialty is rooting clones, which he would like to give to
medical marijuana patients, although he doesn't yet have a "caregiver"
designation. After the tour of the grow room, we go upstairs and gaze
out onto a field. No, I am not high.

Dan said he works in construction and remodeling jobs, but things
turned south eight years ago when his wife contracted a serious
illness. She needed a year of chemotherapy, but they lacked health
insurance and their income was too high to qualify for Medicaid. They
decided to purposely let their incomes fall. Dan said the problem was
if they made one dollar higher than the cap, then their entire health
insurance would get cut off. "There was no way to step up without
falling off a cliff," he said. So he began to sell marijuana. "I got
into this because I had shit in front of me. I had no other way to
deal with it. My only alternative was bankruptcy or not being able to
climb the cliff."

Family Tradition

Besides that, Dan comes from a family of pot smokers going back two
generations. They don't drink at family reunions; they smoke. "I'm not
a bad person. I've been married to the same woman for 20 years; I
raised two kids -- the oldest was an honor roll student, and neither
one of them are troublemakers. In my judgment, there have been laws
that were on the books for years that are just plain wrong.
Interracial marriage. Prohibition against alcohol. Laws that prevent
gay people from getting married. If you don't work to change them,
they'll stay the same," he said.

Dan said he had just gotten ahead of his bills two years ago, when
police arrested him for possession of two joints -- his first arrest.
"I had to go to Narcotics Anonymous! I don't do drugs. What was really
the bite was I had to go to a drug awareness program at Catholic Human
Services. I'm not a Catholic. Hell, I'm not even a Christian. They use
this as a psychological weapon."

Dan sold his equipment after the arrest, but now wonders now if he
should have gone that far. He's tight on money, but has a vision of
becoming a consultant for marijuana patients and selling them his high
quality clones.

"In California, they have collectives -- a group of suppliers of
different strains. There are 15 to 30 different kinds of marijuana
that work for different symptoms--anxiety, insomnia, back pain,
anti-nausea. There's a need to provide cuttings. I'm that person."

He pointed out that his idea is ahead of the law, which doesn't allow
for the distribution of pot -- even if no money ever changes hands.
Last year, he said, there were 800,000 arrests of people who possessed
marijuana in this country.

"What I don't understand is why they think it's better to spend money
to put me in jail instead of letting me grow it and taxing me?"

Day Two

The next day, I visit Archie. He's larger than life and the center of
an Antrim County community, or at least a good part of it. As you walk
in the door, you're welcomed by yellow smiley faces on the wall, the
smell of baked cookies, and Archie himself, who grins with perfectly
white teeth. Like Dan, this man lives very close to the poverty line.
Unlike Dan, he does not live a stealth life and is hell-bent on being
happy. In fact, he has literally dozens of people flowing in and out
of his house, and they abide by the posted rules. No whining, no
fighting, no complaining. They smile a lot. "We call it sanctuary
here. No attitudes allowed," Archie said.

They help each other fix a car or a lawn mower, getting parts from the
mechanical "graveyard." Archie doles out advice on how to grow
marijuana and refers people to his favorite book, The Emperor Wears No
Clothes. Archie is now "legal," as much as the law allows. He is a
medical marijuana patient, and in the process of becoming a caregiver
for several others. Under the law, he is able to grow 12 plants a year
for himself as a patient, and 12 plants each for five other patients
-- a total of 72.

Constant Pain

One of his patients is John Chisholm Jr., 41, who is in a wheelchair.
A car accident did him in. "I went around a corner and there was a
pick-up truck in the middle. I had to swerve around to miss him, and
I went into a tree. It was a 42 mph impact. I was in a Mustang with a
fiberglass front-end, and it pushed the engine into the driver's
compartment "My ankle busted clean off and my foot was lying against
the shin, wrapped around the gas pedal. The skin wasn't ripped, but
the bone snapped and now the bone in my ankle is dead. Both my femurs
were busted. I'm constantly grinding the bones."

The pain is constant, but less awful with marijuana.

Archie himself looks fit, but near his elbow there's a hellacious scar
from an accident 15 years ago, when he slipped on ice and crashed his
arm through the plate glass. Doctors successfully reattached the arm
during an eight-hour operation; his heart stopped twice during the
ordeal. Without health insurance and unable to work, he lost four of
his five properties. Dark days followed. Unable to afford electricity,
he put together a bank of batteries and recharged them each night with
his car. He was married at the time with four kids. Each night, when
they'd get home from school, they'd take turns riding an exercise bike
in order to recharge the batteries.

Archie tried prescription painkillers, but they didn't touch the pain.
He also didn't like the side effects of nausea and "bleeding out both
ends." He also suffered from muscle spasms and mini strokes. He told
the doctor straight up that marijuana would cure his problems, and he
quit the painkillers. Archie was no stranger to pot. He'd used it for
back pain since after he fell into a gym wall while running track at
Traverse City Central High School in 1975.

Growing Pot

Archie's a proud student of growing marijuana, having once grown
plants near a beaver dam. "Fish emulsion is one of the best
fertilizers on the planet," he enthused. He now grows some of his
plants hydroponically in this white pipe contraption that he
manufactured from a child's safety gate. The set-up includes a water
pump, a thermostat, and automatic lights from the Grow Store. His
plants mature to bud-hood in 75 days, far short of the normal 90 days
it normally takes. He is working on a patent. "I get a pound off my
outside plants because I give them love and what they need. They grow
six-feet high."

But he isn't in it for the money.

"I am from a small community that's poor and everybody helps everybody
out. Everything here is donated. This is as close to a collective as
we could make it. Everybody has a little bit of what they're good at,
and when you put it all together, it's awesome energy."

He is concerned that several people haven't been able to get their
physician to recommend medicinal marijuana. He himself was turned down
by his own doctor at Kalkaska Family Practice, so he went to a
different doctor within the practice. He believes the practice is now
flat-out refusing to issue any recommendations

"Kalkaska Family Practice had 50 people who called in a day to get
authorization, just a bunch of high-ons trying to get it, and that
hurts the patient factor," he said.

One doctor told a patient that Munson Medical Center wasn't allowing
its affiliated physicians to sign a recommendation. But Munson has
taken no position on the issue, said Barb Gordon-Kessel, a Munson
spokesperson. "It's completely between the physician and patient," she
said.

As for Archie, he's now helping people find more accommodating
doctors. "It's all good," he said, using his favorite line.

To find out about a Compassion Club meeting in your area, go to the
Michigan Medical Marijauana Association website. Next week: Law
enforcement weighs in.