The Market

The former sprinter, her body wrecked from years of training and competition, went to the pain clinic in an attempt to find relief.  The doctors of the clinic, afraid of the DEA’s crack-down on prescription pain-killers were very reluctant to prescribe any medication they knew would be somewhat effective.  Instead they offered up antidepressants, as that was the vogue treatment forced upon them by the DEA and the pharmaceutical companies.

The antidepressants, the safety of which was beginning to be questioned, at the same time as the efficacy was being challenged for even treating depression; had to remain the cash-cows they had been.  To keep the sales, the pharmaceutical companies began to explore their uses for treatment of chronic pain.  Despite the fact that the drugs were shown to prevent the regeneration of brain synapses that had died, the drugs fit in with the DEA’s agenda of starting a war against pain killers to keep them in business after their war on marijuana was beginning to unravel.  Some evidence has emerged that increased serotonin levels caused some mitigation of pain, but the mitigation is slight even by the admission of the companies that market them.

To keep the DEA relevant after people began to realize that the easiest substance to fight against (marijuana, due to its tendency to remain at detectable levels in the body for longer) was starting to be accepted as the medicinal and relatively safe substance that it is; the government switched tactics to identify a new “epidemic” of prescription drug abuse.  The DEA was back in business, but instead of raiding the homes of minorities looking for marijuana, they began to raid doctor’s offices and pain clinics who prescribed prescription pain killers to people who the DEA unilaterally decided were abusing them.  The doctor’s, living in fear of their livelihoods and freedom, quickly stopped prescribing prescription pain killers to anyone but acute pain patients they could kick off the drugs after a short time.  Even acute pain patients began to struggle finding pain medicine that effectively controlled the pain from accident, injuries, and other acute pain causing issues.  Chronic pain patients were labelled drug-seekers and addicts, and marginalized as the scum of society.

The Government began a taxpayer-funded propaganda program to frighten parents into the belief that prescription drug abuse was suddenly at epidemic levels.  As prescription drugs were curtailed, heroin use and other street drug use began to increase.  Many people turned to heroin when their pain medicine was taken away.  Many people died due to the purity differences and toxins that street heroin use went together with.

The sprinter was not about to use heroin.  Her pain, so intolerable was still not going to lead her to something so risky, terrible, and seedy.  The physically addictive properties of the drug were also a reason to never consider the use of the drug.  She was so distraught.

One day, the sky cleared and the sprinter was given some marijuana in an attempt to relieve her pain, or at least make the pain a little more tolerable.  It worked very well for her, and she was granted into her state’s Medical Marijuana Program.  All seemed right with the world.

However, a storm was on the horizon.  An insurance company decided, against all evidence to the contrary, that her chronic pain was not reason enough to keep her from working.  They cut her disability benefits.  Without being able to work, and without the benefits from the insurance company (and despite the fact that many states recognize the medical benefits of marijuana, the insurance companies refuse to provide coverage for it), she was unable to afford the only tolerable treatment that provided her some relief.

Someone she knew attempted to convince her to grow some of her own plants, but the expense, insects and structure of the law in her state prevented her from trying.  Another friend, suggested she skirt the law and purchase the marijuana from the much less expensive black market.  She was reluctant to do so, but was also desperate for relief.  Having her medical card, and less than a certain amount meant that if she was caught with the substance at anytime other than the purchase, she would almost certainly avoid legal consequences.  All that was left was to find a good supplier.  A safe supplier.

And therein lied the problem.  Because of the isolation her disability created, she didn’t exactly run in circles where she would be able to causally inquire about trusted sources with her friends.  Finally a person she knew of online, told her to call a cab.

“A cab?  Why would I call a cab?  What does that have to do with anything?”

He attempted to answer the question subtly without outright saying it, but finally he said, “Because cab drivers know the cities they work in.  Cab drivers want tips.  Cab drivers can take you to places that are known to them.  Cab drivers may even be looking for extra money for themselves and may not need to take you anywhere.”

She was stunned, was this really the answer she had been seeking?  Would this one-time transaction with a cab driver hook her up with someone who could get her the one medicine available that offered any type of relief from her pain?  What if the cab driver responded negatively, or was also a cop or worked with the police?  And so she asked him that.

“Say these words exactly,” he began, “I saw on a comedy special that you guys are the way for someone new in town looking for some weed to get hooked up, is that true?”  And then he told her to feel out the answer.  “If the guy freaked out about it, or made any implication that he was not going to assist, you can claim that you only wanted to know because the comedian said so and you were curious,” he added.

Nervously, she called the taxi the next day and asked the driver.  His response was, “If someone was looking, I could help them out.”

She is still in pain, that will never go away, but now her pain is more tolerable, and she can focus on ending the ridiculous prohibition of medicines by speaking out for those who find themselves in similar situations.

This story is complete fiction and any similarities to any person(s), living or otherwise, is strictly coincidental.  Additionally, this should not be used as a guide for obtaining substances that are currently illegal or doing so in an illegal manner.  As always, this blog-type-thing does not advocate breaking the law, but rather getting the unjust laws changed.  

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Author: Josh Wrenn

Cancer survivor, wanna-be artist, musician, author, and all around good guy.

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