The moment that changed me happened in our office in Central Florida. I remember one Veteran who stayed behind after his evaluation, sitting on the couch in the lobby. He talked about the years he’d spent trying to manage pain and PTSD with whatever prescriptions were handed his way. What surprised him that day wasn’t the assistance with paperwork or the registration process; it was the simple fact that someone was willing to guide him through it without asking for anything in return. He talked about never feeling judged, and feeling heard for the first time, and that someone truly cared about his well-being. It was the bill he didn’t have to pay that day. The look in his eyes that said, “Why are these people being so nice to me?” is absolutely priceless, and I wish more people would get involved to experience this overwhelming sense of appreciation.
He told me he’d been saving for weeks and that he’d been putting off getting certified for months because money was tight. The bills had lined up, and whatever was left at the end of each pay period was already spoken for. By the time he came to see me, he was down to less than thirty dollars in his checking account, and the idea of adding another expense just wasn’t possible. The cost of the appointment would have wiped him out completely.
When he realized it was covered, no charge, no catch, no “veteran discount” marketing gimmick, his whole body loosened. That was the day I understood how deep this problem runs. Access isn’t just about medicine. For many veterans, it’s about dignity, survival, and the basic ability to breathe without choosing which bill won’t get paid this month.
I’ve helped more than 8,000 people navigate medical cannabis in Florida. Of those, 900+ were veterans who received their certifications entirely free. Every one of those stories has shaped the way I see this work, and every one has made it impossible to pretend the system isn’t failing them.
What 900 Conversations Reveal About the System
After spending years in exam rooms and waiting areas with veterans, you start to notice the parallels. Different branches, different deployments, different decades, but the emotional through-lines show up again and again in the pauses, the way they brace themselves before speaking, the way exhaustion settles into a person over time.
There’s the Marine who hasn’t slept more than two hours in a stretch since 2007. The Army medic who carries pain in his back the way other people carry keys. The Air Force vet who can’t stand fireworks anymore but pretends for his kids. And the countless people who were given opioids for free, month after month, while being told cannabis was too “risky” or “unproven.”
The stories differ, but the obstacles don’t. The most common barrier is money.
State programs cost anywhere from $150 to more than $400 a year once you add up doctor visits and required fees. That’s a number plenty of people can absorb. But not someone living on disability income. Not someone who is one missed paycheck away from sleeping in their car. Not someone whose PTSD has cost them jobs, relationships, and a sense of normalcy the rest of us take for granted.
Roughly one in four people who don’t have housing are veterans. And their suicide rate is more than two times higher than that of others. Those facts alone should make financial barriers a national priority.
But they’re not. And that means the pressure ends up on the people who are already dealing with more than most of us realize.
What Veterans Have Taught Me About Relief
A lot of people assume this work is one-directional, that I’m the one helping them. The truth is, the lessons run both ways.
I’ve met veterans who walked into my office so tense they shook through the whole appointment, then sat in their car for an hour afterward because they didn’t want to be around people. I’ve met others who spent years white-knuckling their way through trauma because they didn’t want to become another statistic in a system they felt abandoned by.
And I’ve seen what happens when cannabis gives them the first moment of quiet they’ve felt in years. Not a miracle cure. Not a magic fix. Just enough relief to let them sleep through the night. Enough clarity to show up for their families. Enough calm to imagine a future that isn’t shaped entirely by the past.
People talk about “supporting veterans” like it’s a slogan. But when you’ve witnessed how hard they fight just to get their head above water, you understand why the phrase needs to be more than something printed on a discount flyer every November.
Why Cost Should Never Decide Who Gets Help
I think about that first Veteran in the lobby a lot. And the many since who’ve told me things like:
“I feel human again.”
“It saved my marriage.”
“My family sees and feels the positive change.”
“I can finally sit through a movie with my kids.”
“I’m not waking up in panic every night.”
“I’m sleeping through the night for the first time in years.”
“I‘m completely off all prescriptions the VA was sending me to HELP?”
These aren’t big or unrealistic goals. They’re basic human needs. And the idea that someone has to choose between that relief and paying a light bill is something no one should be comfortable with.
If our country is going to ask people to serve, we owe them more than appreciation posts and holiday promotions. We owe them a healthcare pathway that doesn’t feel like another gauntlet to survive. And until cannabis receives the federal recognition it deserves, we need people inside the system willing to remove the barriers that shouldn’t exist in the first place.
This is where nonprofits play a crucial role: filling the gap when essential care is out of reach. For veterans in Florida, that means eliminating the cost of accessing medical cannabis so they aren’t shut out of the program meant to support them. And the truth is, no one should have to build a nonprofit to fix something this straightforward. But until policy catches up, we fill the gaps where we can.
Where We Go From Here
After 900+ free certifications and thousands of conversations, my beliefs are pretty simple:
No veteran should ever have to pay for access to medical cannabis.
Not for the appointment.
Not for the paperwork.
Not for the State fee.
NOT EVEN their Medicine!
They’ve already paid more than enough through their service, their sacrifices, and the years many have spent trying to rebuild themselves afterward.
I don’t pretend cannabis solves everything. But I’ve seen what happens when veterans finally get legal access without the fear of financial cost. It’s calmer nights. More stability. Less reliance on medications that can dull more than they help. For some folks, it’s the first moment they feel anything is finally helping.
Real change happens when more people in this industry decide that helping veterans isn’t a marketing angle. It’s a responsibility.
They’ve already paid the price of service. The least we can do is stop making relief another thing they have to earn.
This article is from an external, unpaid contributor. It does not represent High Times’ reporting and has not been edited for content or accuracy.
