MARIJUANA EXPEDITION A REAL TRIP

It wasn't a typical assignment, but seemed simple enough at first: Go
to Colorado Springs and see how difficult, or easy, it is to become
certified as a medical marijuana patient.

Why me? The first reporter who was offered the assignment wasn't
interested. I cover most of the health and medical news at The Pueblo
Chieftain, the bosses reasoned. And I have a number of health issues
that, according to the constitutional amendment voters passed 10 years
ago, qualify me as a legal medical marijuana patient if a doctor
agrees I would benefit from the effects of cannabis.

Why Colorado Springs? Because the place is literally booming with
marijuana dispensaries, as evidenced by nearly two pages of ads in a
recent copy of The Independent. There are three dispensaries operating
quietly in Pueblo West, but I live there and didn't want the risk of
being recognized to compromise my efforts.

My husband wasn't crazy about the idea, but I was intrigued on several
levels, and so agreed.

Armed with records from a spinal surgery in 2007, I started calling
and e-mailing dispensaries that advertise on-site "clinics." I was
looking for one or two that I could visit while in the Springs for a
personal appointment two weeks ago.

CannaMed, I was advised in an e-mail that read more like a text
message, only has clinic hours in Colorado Springs on Saturday, but
the woman I corresponded with advised that I could take a free shuttle
to the dispensary's parent location in Lone Tree for free that day, or
on Friday. I declined.

Another dispensary operator, Joe DeFabio, advised me to hurry if I
wanted to be seen at a dispensary clinic because, he said, "that whole
thing is going to go away soon -- could be any day now." The state
health department is urging the governor's office and the Legislature
to pass regulations regarding how doctors can recommend patients as
medical marijuana users, and those recommendations don't include the
five-minute consultations most applicants get at dispensaries.

The ad for his dispensary, the Briargate Wellness Center, depicts a
showroom that could pass for a fine jewelry store. No on-site clinics
available there, he said, but I could come in for a written referral
to one of two doctors with Colorado Medical Management. One is an
anesthesiologist, the other an orthopaedic surgeon and both see
medical marijuana applicants referred from this dispensary and,
ostensibly others, DeFabio said.

"Do you mind if I ask your age?" he said. "These guys prefer older
patients. They don't like to see a lot of 18-year-olds coming in."

I assured him I am well past 18, and could provide medical records.
Those are helpful, but not necessary, he assured me, apologizing again
that I couldn't see a doctor that day.

No problem. I hit pay dirt with the next call. Natural Remedies MMJ on
South Tejon Avenue had a clinic scheduled from 3 to 7 p.m. that day.
No appointment needed. No medical records required. Come early if you
don't want to wait too long, the woman on the other end of the line
advised.

I walked into the place -- a bizarre combo of 1970s head shop and
perhaps former tire dealer or car repair operation -- at about 3:30. A
neon-green mural depicting the business name and logo takes up one
whole wall, while others are decorated with garage-sale-quality art: a
bad knockoff of a familiar Renoir painting, fake-bronze starbursts
flanking a matching clock, both appropriate complements to the stained
carpet.

There were only a few empty seats among the chairs lining the walls of
the "lobby" area. The others were occupied by a wide variety of folks,
including a man who looked to be in his 80s or 90s, a 50-something
woman with a walker at her side, and a young couple with matching nose
and eyebrow piercings debating the correct spelling for "migraine."

A frenetic pair of women handed out application packets and pens while
shouting out instructions to all 30-plus people in the room: "No blue
ink! If you use anything but black, your application will get kicked
back! Don't scratch anything out. If you make a mistake, come get a
new form. Don't leave anything out."

I took my place in line behind two disheveled, tattooed men whose
faces looked much older than their ages, which I guessed to be late
20s. One of them was talking about his recent release from jail. His
smile revealed teeth that resembled an old picket fence with rotting
boards leaning into spaces where other boards once stood.

Trying not to be judgmental, I surmised that this pair could have
medical issues that qualify them to buy marijuana as medicine. But
honestly, while there's no way to discern from outside appearances who
might be a recreational pot smoker looking for a legal source, meth
users are tough to miss.

I lost track of their conversation after receiving my application
forms. I took one of the last three remaining seats as the line of
people awaiting their forms continued to grow. No sign yet of the
doctor, and it was 3:45.

I finished the application packet quickly -- the medical history asked
only about accidents and surgeries, and familial (but not personal)
history of cancer, heart disease, kidney disease and some others --
then returned to the desk and stood to the side of those still waiting
for their applications.

"Good job! I can read this. That's what I like to see," the younger of
the two dispensary intake workers said as she looked over my
application.

Noting the space for a notary seal where my signature was required, I
asked whether I was supposed to sign in front of the doctor or
immediately.

"She's got an M.D., but she don't got a notary. Sign it right now,"
the jeans-clad woman said without looking up.

I signed, she notarized, and I took a seat near a door that opened and
closed every few minutes. I realized that must be the doctor's office.

I took a seat right beside that door, and waited and
watched.

The feeble old man I had noticed earlier came out and, to my surprise,
was joined at the counter by the tattooed guy with dental issues. He
pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and paid for the man's exam,
along with two others -- at $150 each.

Yes, he explained to one of the intake workers. He is the caregiver
for two others who had exams that day. After he guided them back into
chairs, he made a beeline for the medicine room, nearly colliding with
a patient leaving the doctor's room.

Each time the door opened and someone stepped out, the person leaving
called out the next patient's first name. At 4:05, a ponytailed woman
in sweats summoned me into the doctor's office as she stepped over to
the front desk to pay for her exam.

A neatly dressed, attractive blond woman greeted me from behind a desk
that took up most of the closet-sized room.

She asked me why I wanted medical marijuana, and I said I hoped it
would help with pain caused by degenerative disc disease and spinal
stenosis. I also hoped it might help with the discomfort of irritable
bowel syndrome, and with more-than-occasional insomnia, I said.

I briefly described a surgery I underwent in 2007 to correct disc and
vertebra problems in my neck, and dietary changes I've tried to ease
various symptoms of IBS.

She said I was choosing wise approaches, signed my application and
instructed me to call Shane in.

I summoned Shane, turned in my paperwork and forked over $150 for the
four-minute exchange with who I thought was Dr. Rita Starritt.

Starritt's name is on the application that I don't plan to send to the
state health department, with $90, to get my medical marijuana patient
card. She explained during an interview a week after my exam that she
didn't recall being in Colorado Springs that day, that it must have
been a physician's assistant who sometimes subs for her at dispensary
clinics. She assured me that she always asks for medical records and
that she'd have a talk with the physician's assistant about why I
wasn't asked to produce any.

"You can shop now if you want," the women at the front desk told me,
even though I hadn't designated either of the dispensary
owners/managers as my caregivers on my registration form. Oh, and it
takes about six months to get the card, but my copy of my application
makes me legal until then, they assured me.

So, I sauntered into yet another small room, this one the size of a
large walk-in closet and located at the back of the small building.

Two men greeted me as I eyed brownies, cookies, capsules and even
caramel corn (no kidding -- the THC is somehow distilled from plants
and mixed into the butter and sugar when it's liquid, they explained)
in a display case. Behind them were shelves lined with jars full of
marijuana buds of various shades.

A small corner cabinet offered pipes, bongs and other paraphernalia
for those who choose to smoke rather than ingest their medicine.

As I perused the labels on the jars -- "Purple Skunk," "Bubbleicious,"
"Purgatory," "Diesel" and "Train Wreck" were a few that caught my eye
- -- I expressed my interest in something to ease insomnia.

"The stuff for sleep is all in that corner," said the younger of the
two men, rubbing red eyes. "All the stuff in the middle here is for
pain."

And the stuff in the display case? That's for people who don't like to
smoke their medicine at all, or for those occasions when burning a
reefer just wouldn't fly -- at work, let's say.

I walked back into the lobby empty-handed. The place had cleared out a
bit, and the women who had been moving and parceling out instructions
nonstop earlier were obviously happy for the breather.

"Waiting for the next wave," one of them replied when I asked if they
were finished for the day. "Today wasn't that bad, so far. We've had
as many as 80 people in this room at one time, and it's not fun."

As I drove back to Pueblo, I realized there was more to write about
medical marijuana than a description of my experience getting
certified as a patient during a clinic at a single dispensary.

I came away with more questions and fewer assumptions than I had
before I walked into the place, and after talking with my editors, the
assignment that began as one story grew into a package that starts
today and continues Monday and Tuesday.

There are no easy answers to the many issues involved with medical
marijuana. But these stories offer perspectives from many sides of an
issue that's been simmering since voters approved the use of marijuana
as medicine in 2000.

That issue is now roiling to a boil in many cities, including Pueblo.