Cannabis Wellness
A Must Read
From Critical Care Nurse to Cannabis Educator
How One Nurse Turned Pain into Purpose
by Sammie Pyle, RN, Cannabis Nurse Educator
The first time I stepped into a COVID patient’ s room, I felt it in my chest— tight, heavy, unmistakable. I took a breath through the N95 mask, knowing it could be the very breath that killed me. Everything slowed. The door sealed shut behind me.
She lay there still, sedated, a mess of lines and machines. I reminded myself that I was a nurse— trained for this— and that she was someone’ s mother, daughter, sister. My job wasn’ t to fear her breath. It was to protect it. So, I turned on the TV to break the silence. I brushed her hair. I brushed her teeth around the endotracheal tube. I spoke to her gently, even though I’ ll never know if she heard me.
She was the first COVID patient I ever put in a body bag. From that moment on, everything spiraled— fast and brutal. The alarms. The body counts. The emotional isolation. We weren’ t just treating patients. We were absorbing the trauma of a system unprepared to care for its caregivers.
The Weight No One Sees
Five years ago, I was drowning. Burned out, broken, and barely holding on, I left every shift with invisible wounds and came home to a silence that felt just as loud.
When the pandemic faded from headlines, we were expected to bounce back. But how do you heal when the world keeps spinning and your soul hasn’ t caught up?
Ultimately, I was diagnosed with PTSD. Survivor’ s guilt. Anxiety that never shuts off. The prescriptions came— antidepressants, sleep aids, the usual meds. But the more they tried to numb me, the more disconnected I became from who I really was. And I was already numb enough!
A Different Kind of Medicine
Here’ s the truth: I’ ve believed in cannabis for most of my adult life, long before I ever wore scrubs. But once I entered healthcare, I learned quickly that cannabis was a word you didn’ t say out loud. Even mentioning it came with fear— fear of judgment, of misunderstanding, or of risking the license I’ d worked so hard to earn.
I’ ve believed in cannabis for most of my adult life, long before I ever wore scrubs. But once I entered healthcare, I learned quickly that cannabis was a word you didn’ t say out loud.
I had to put my health first. I started working on me— quietly, privately. I researched. I read studies. I listened to other cannabis patients’ experiences. I dove all in. I reconnected with the plant— not as an escape, but as a tool for healing, for rebuilding, for remembering me. And that’ s when everything started to shift.
Reclaiming Purpose Through Cannabis
Cannabis didn’ t just help me sleep or calm my mind— it helped me remember who I was. It reconnected me with the version of myself who became a nurse in the first place— the person who wanted to help people feel safe in their bodies, be seen and helped with their struggles, and supported in their healing.
But now, I had a new purpose— one the system never taught me. I wasn’ t just healing because of cannabis. I was healing with it, and I knew I wasn’ t the only one who needed this information.
So, I did what nurses do best. I studied. I dug into the science. I became certified in cannabis therapeutics. And I started building something I wished I had when I was drowning— a path forward that bridges the gap between patients and medication, doctors and dispensaries.
Today, I operate Nursing Nature’ s Way, where I offer cannabis education for patients, clinicians, and dispensary teams. I teach healthcare providers how to talk to their patients about cannabis without fear. I create resources— like my Quick Guide to Medical Cannabis— that are now landing in facilities and dispensaries across Missouri, the same places that once felt miles away from my hospital hallways.
This Is the Evolution
Whether you’ re a nurse silently struggling, a provider unsure how to support your cannabis-using patients, or a curious patient just trying to take your health into your own hands, I see you. I’ ve been you.
I know what it’ s like to fear judgment for choosing a plant( and its antiquated stigma) over a pill. I know what it feels like to put your health on hold because the system says,“ That’ s not allowed.”
You don’ t ask questions. You don’ t advocate. So, I stayed silent. I tucked away what I knew about the plant and focused on surviving in a system that never stopped to ask how we were doing. Until one day, I couldn’ t ignore it anymore.
24 August 2025
I also know what it feels like to break free. Cannabis isn’ t just a plant. It’ s a medicine. It’ s a conversation. It’ s a movement— and it’ s one I refuse to stay silent about anymore.