POT AND PROSECUTION

Prosser Finds Relief--What About the Rest?

Robin Prosser is Missoula's poster child for legalizing the medicinal
use of marijuana. Two years ago, she sustained a 60-day hunger strike
to call attention to the need for legally prescribed marijuana. In
May, Prosser, who suffers from severe pain and nausea caused by an
immunosuppressive disorder, could no longer endure the chronic pain.
She attempted suicide. Police helped her psychologist enter her
apartment in order to save her.

They allegedly found pipes and pot residue. On May 10, she was charged
with possession of an illegal substance and paraphernalia. Now,
Prosser may be off the hook.

On Sept. 2, a deferred prosecution agreement was filed, signed by
Prosser and the city of Missoula, by which Prosser's case will be
deferred for nine months if she meets certain conditions. She "shall
commit no acts that could result in charges for violations of federal,
state, or local law." There's one exception: "Defendant's use of
treatment recommended by her health care providers for her chronic
painful permanent medical condition is not a violation of this
subsection."

In short, Prosser may continue to use marijuana. If Prosser complies
with the conditions, after nine months "the city of Missoula will not
oppose a motion to dismiss" the charges presently pending.

Patients like Prosser may also be relieved from prosecution for
possession of marijuana if the Montana Medical Marijuana Act,
Initiative-148, passes in November. Alaska, California, Colorado,
Hawaii, Maine, Nevada, Oregon, Washington and, most recently, Vermont
have passed similar measures. If the initiative is approved, I-148
would authorize the Department of Health and Human Services to issue
ID cards to qualifying patients and caregivers and absolve qualifying
patients and physicians from prosecution for using or prescribing
medical marijuana. Physicians would be able to prescribe marijuana to
qualifying patients without being subjected to arrest, prosecution or
disciplinary action by the board of medical examiners. Patients like
Prosser would be able to treat pain and nausea with marijuana without
fear of prosecution.

Linda Merchant is one such patient. She is 42, lives in Broadus in
Powder River County, and has long wanted to see such
legislation.

"I've wanted it to be on the ballot years ago after seeing so many
people suffer," she says.

Merchant splits her time between her own home in town and, when she
isn't feeling well, her parents' ranch in the county. She suffers from
multiple sclerosis (MS), an auto-immune disease that affects the
central nervous system.

"There is no cure," she says. There is only management. Over the
course of her illness, she has taken Valium, Neurotin, Robaxin, B-12
shots, vitamins, bee pollen and marijuana. She has had extreme adverse
reactions to some medications.

"I'm very allergic to all the Betaserons," she says, of a medication
commonly used to treat MS.

Other meds she takes in high doses.

"I am on morphine," she says. "Enough to knock a horse off his
feet."

Merchant tired of the pills that were supposed to stymie her seizures
or increase her appetite. Some made her "walk drunk." Others made her
feel worse.

"I would have to take a pill to keep a pill down, you know?" she
says.

About eight years ago, she started smoking pot for her headaches and
nausea. She had used pot recreationally in the past, but hasn't been
high in years, she says. "All it does [now] is take away the pain."

The MS causes pressure in Merchant's head, including excruciating eye
pain.

"Instantly, when I take a hit, I get relief," she says. "The pressure
starts going down."

And her appetite returns a little, to where "Maybe I can keep down
half a sandwich," she says.

The relief she feels from marijuana is different than that delivered
by other pain medications, she says. "The medications take up to an
hour, if they work."

Broadus is a small town, population 448. Everybody knows everybody
else's business, says Merchant. While she's convinced her marijuana
use isn't a secret, she doesn't flaunt it. And law enforcement
officials, she says, have not troubled her.

"The cops don't bother me," she says. "They've never seen me, and they
won't."

And she isn't worried about going to jail.

"If they want to take a sick person like me down there, go ahead," she
says.

Teresa Michalski of Helena was worried about jail. Last December, her
son Travis died at 29 of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma, a cancer of the
lymphatic system. He, too, used marijuana. One evening at the kitchen
table, Travis told his parents that the marijuana was helping him
through the cancer, says Michalski. It helped with pain, anxiety and
appetite. He wanted his parents' permission to smoke in their home,
where he was living.

They agreed, says Michalski, but they worried about the
law.

"The cops here are right out of the police academy, and they don't
ever give any kid a break," says Michalski. While she believes that
police should toe the line, she worried that her son would be charged
and her family would suffer the consequences. He was never busted,
though, and she's glad.

"Our names would have just been drug through the mud," she
says.

Travis died in December. Now, Michalski campaigns on behalf of
I-148.

"This is something that'll help me heal," she says. Plus, she imagines
her son cheering her on: "Go Mom, go."

The argument that upsets her the most is that marijuana is a "gateway
drug."

Most people who use marijuana medicinally have a terminal condition,
she says. Most, she believes, don't have the strength to leave their
own homes.

She views the Medical Marijuana Act as apolitical: "It's one of those
issues that, if people are real, it's not a party issue, it's a humane
issue."