A Story That Nobody Will Tell You About Medical Marijuana

A Story That Nobody Will Tell You About Medical Marijuana
A Lump in the Road column Last week, my colleague Samantha Speisman wrote a compelling column called "Six things to Know About Using Medical Marijuana." I want to tell you about something that didn’t make the list. Marijuana cost me my home. That old house was in bad shape when we bought it, long before my breast cancer diagnosis, but we could feel its bones the minute we walked through the door. It included century-old redwood beams, pine floors that had seen the drama of life unfold, and antique glass that wavered in the sunlight. We found the house on the internet after selling our business, and moved in. We loved the San Francisco Bay Area lifestyle we had left, but I was pregnant. We knew we couldn’t keep up our demanding work schedules in the Bay Area and care for a baby, too. Something had to go, so we chose a quieter lifestyle. Lake County, California is slightly bigger than the state of Rhode Island, but it has only nine stoplights and the cleanest air in the nation. We decided it would be a good place to start our family. Unfortunately, the smell of that air is pungent now with the stink of marijuana, which has become the county’s primary crop. During harvest season, you can smell the change as you cross the county line. It’s as if the driver in front of you blindsided an army of
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