Working against the stigma
On New Year's Day 2012, Mary wanted to go sledding with friends on the Uetliberg mountain. It was meant to be a carefree start to the year. But then it happened: she slipped on the ice and fell flat on her back. "I couldn't breathe," recalls the now 37-year-old.
She doesn't go to the doctor. She doesn't want to spoil anyone's start to the year, including herself. Only when the pain hasn't gone away after a week does she seek medical help. Initially, the suspicion is a herniated disc. She receives a cortisone injection, and later she has surgery. But the pain persists.
Then came the next blow: In an accident involving a postal van, Mary ended up in a ditch. Again, her back was injured. Afterwards, she could no longer stand on her tiptoes or heels. She also developed incontinence. A nerve had been damaged.
The doctors presented her with a difficult choice: spinal fusion or the risk of ending up in a wheelchair. She opted for the surgery. But things didn't improve. Even eight weeks later, she was still in severe pain. Only years later, at a Zurich clinic, did she learn that something had apparently gone wrong during the procedure. "In my case, spinous process is pressed against spinous process; there's nothing in between—except screws."
By this time, Mary is already a chronic pain patient.
A horrific time with opiates
To cope with the pain, she receives strong medication: oxycodone, and fentanyl for particularly severe pain. The drugs dull the pain, but the price is high: she suffers from nausea, headaches, and feels emotionally numb. "I was like a robot," she says. She was also irritable, no longer herself. "It's a miracle my sweetheart is still with me."
Following the 2022 amendment to the law, which allows cannabis-based medicines to be prescribed in Switzerland without an exemption permit from the Federal Office of Public Health, her partner receives dronabinol. He himself suffers from ADHD and chronic pain; the health insurance covers the costs.
Mary also has a doctor's prescription for medical cannabis, but doesn't apply to her health insurance company. At the time, she's going through an uncertain period in her life, juggling social services and work, and doesn't want to take on any additional burdens. But with her boyfriend's dronabinol, she begins to use cannabis specifically for medicinal purposes. In May 2022, she stops taking opiates.
From medical cannabis to homemade oil
Cannabis is nothing new to Mary . She's been smoking joints since she was 18. Even back then, she felt that cannabis did more for her than just get her high: it relieved her stress, calmed her thoughts, and brought back her appetite. "It gave me a better quality of life."
For three years, she benefited from her boyfriend's dronabinol capsules. But then, from one day to the next, the health insurance company stopped paying for them. "We don't know why." Paying for it themselves is impossible for the couple. "Medical cannabis from the pharmacy is of better quality and safer," says Mary. "But access to it remains out of reach for us due to financial reasons."
The two start producing RSO oil, a highly concentrated cannabis extract – but that also gets expensive. "Luckily, one or two drops are enough to get me through the day," says Mary. She also smokes nearly a dozen joints. "Without it, I'm useless," she says, laughing.
With cannabis, however, she functions "like a normal person." Without pain, without negative thoughts. That's important to her because she wants to work, be independent, and contribute. And not be reduced to her diagnosis.
Silence within the team
Mary has been working as a Red Cross nursing assistant in a retirement home for about a year. Despite using cannabis, she completed her course as the top student in her class. "I'm not stupid," she says. On the contrary, she is eager to learn and wants to train as an activity specialist soon. "My journey is far from over."
Despite this, cannabis remains a taboo subject at her workplace. She doesn't dare to speak openly about it. The fear of being stigmatized is too great: as a junkie, a slacker, someone who can't handle the workload. "You're judged immediately," she says. Even if she has a slight smell of cannabis, some people wrinkle their noses. This frightens her. Because she knows how quickly a prejudice can overshadow everything.
Light at the end of the tunnel
Mary knows the feeling of everything around you going dark. Chronic pain, strong medication, financial insecurity, shame, and societal prejudice – she has experienced it all. Despite everything, she fought her way back to life.
She wants to encourage other affected individuals. "There is light at the end of the tunnel, even if you can't always see it." For Mary , MEDCAN is such a place of hope: an Association that listens, informs, and makes affected people visible.
