Pubdate: Thu, 07 Feb 2013
Source: Arkansas Democrat-Gazette (Little Rock, AR)
Copyright: 2013 Arkansas Democrat-Gazette, Inc.
Note: Accepts letters to the editor from Arkansas residents only
Author: Amy Irene White


I'm a 38-year-old Christian woman, published author, freelance 
journalist for biker magazines, and a fashion editor. I am dying of 
autoimmune diseases. This month marks nine years of the 10-year 
expiration date I was given. I cannot eat or keep down pills without 
marijuana. My liver has quit once due to a chemotherapy cyotoxin.

Fifteen months ago, I was unable to obtain marijuana. After a week, I 
developed a brain infection I couldn't fight off. I was lying in the 
floor of the hospital, throwing up blood and antibiotics. Doctors 
were talking about calling in my pastor at 3 a.m. because I wasn't 
going to live until morning. They had given up, had tried everything 
they knew to do. My baby sister finally persuaded them to let her 
take me to go smoke one last cigarette before I died, a joint a 
friend had provided. A couple of hours later, I was sitting up in bed 
eating a huge breakfast, braiding flowers in my hair. A few hours 
later, I was well enough to leave.

I am not a doctor and can't explain this as a doctor would. I can, 
however, explain it as a Christian. The reason I lived through that 
night is not the man-made stuff they were trying to put in my veins, 
it was the God-made stuff I put in my lungs. When I was so sick, I 
wasn't praying to get high; I was praying to live to go to church the 
next day. And I did . . . 10 minutes late, wearing pajamas and with a 
face like Freddy Krueger, but I lived to walk through that door. I am 
sick and tired of choosing between being a living outlaw or a dead 
law-abiding citizen.


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