Cannabis Wellness
Lena
A Story of Fearless Living and Dignified Dying
Cannabis gave us a path to support that.
by Sammie Pyle, RN, Cannabis Nurse Educator
We met in 2007, two nurses on assignment in the ICU on the island of St. Thomas— drawn to the sun, service, and a shared love of living wide open. Lena * was a travel nurse with fire in her spirit. She had danced in Thailand, backpacked in Patagonia, and snorkeled every hidden cove of the Virgin Islands. Fearless, funny, and fiercely dedicated to her patients, she was the kind of nurse you wanted beside you in a code— the kind of friend you never wanted to lose.
We worked side by side, saving lives by day and chasing island magic by night. We danced under full moons in the British Virgin Islands, howled with laughter until sunrise, and sipped Cruzan rum while basking in the Caribbean sun. We worked hard, played harder, and built a bond that time and distance never touched.
Even after we left the islands, we stayed close. Life moved on, but the connection remained. Then, recently, Lena messaged me with news that shook me to my core: stage 4 colorectal cancer. It had metastasized to her pelvis and lungs.
But in true Lena fashion, she led with grace and grit.“ I’ ve lived a great life,” she told me.“ I’ m okay with passing to the next phase.” What she needed from me wasn’ t just information, it was presence. She didn’ t want to be buried under pain meds or disappear into sedation. She wanted dignity. She wanted to feel, to be present for the people she loves, to experience whatever time she had left with clarity and peace.
“ I can’ t think of anyone I’ d rather ask,” she said.“ Not just for cannabis education, but to help me do this my way.” Her message broke my heart wide open, but it also gave me purpose. And I knew I had to show up. Not just as her friend, but as a nurse. As a witness. As someone who could help her honor her life as she transitioned through its next season. What an honor.
We had both seen the worst of it. As ICU nurses, we witnessed what dying without dignity can look like— patients hooked up to machines, their bodies failing while families stood helplessly by. We saw people slip away under fluorescent lights, often in pain, usually afraid, sometimes alone. It stays with you. That kind of work rewires how you think about life and death. So, when Lena asked me to help her find a softer, more conscious way to walk through this chapter, it wasn’ t just a request. It was a sacred reclamation. She didn’ t want what we had both spent years trying to shield others from. She wanted intention. Comfort. Control.
We don’ t talk enough about what it means to die well— or live fully, even while dying.
In traditional medicine, end-of-life care often becomes about controlling symptoms. But the human spirit isn’ t always comforted by pills alone. We need to ask deeper questions:
● How do you want to feel today?
● What would bring you peace?
● How can we honor your wishes, not just your pain?
Lena was clear. She didn’ t want to be sedated into silence. She wanted to laugh, to cry, to reflect, to be present. Cannabis gave us a path to support that.
In collaboration with her palliative care team, I supported Lena in exploring gentle, balanced ratios of THC and CBD that aligned with her goals for comfort and clarity.
● She found a clean tincture that eased her pain, helped her sleep, and reduced her need for heavy opioids.
● She also enjoyed sipping her cannabis tea in the evenings to relax her body and mind. It wasn’ t perfect, but it was powerful.
● She felt more like herself.
● She had options.
● She had a choice. And that mattered more than I can describe.
Cannabis didn’ t just ease her pain; it helped her stay connected to herself. It gave her back the ability to be an active participant in her final season, rather than a passive observer. It reminded me why I do this work. As a nurse, my role isn’ t just to treat disease, it’ s to protect dignity, autonomy, and spirit, especially when it matters most.
Today, Lena is still here. Still teaching me, still choosing life every single day.
Her messages come with photos of glowing sunsets that remind me of the island’ s magic. Proof that even now, her spirit hasn’ t lost its spark. She’ s navigating the hardest chapter of her life, but somehow, she still radiates the essence of that wild, magnetic nurse I met in St. Thomas all those years ago.
Her story reminds me that dying well isn’ t about fighting death; it’ s about embracing life until the very last breath. It’ s about offering people support that aligns with their values. It’ s about creating space for presence, not just procedures. It’ s about holding someone’ s hand, not just managing their chart.
24 September 2025