‘Kia ora,” said the text message from the AI, “your ACC claim has been accepted.”
No human had needed to read my explanation that I had injured my back bending badly to stack the dishwasher on a Sunday morning. It was one of the 90% of ACC claims approved by the corporation’s algorithmic decision system, which was deployed in 2018 after being trained on 12 million claims processed by ACC staff between 2010 and 2016. Its job is only to approve claims – if a claim is “complex”, it must be scrutinised and accepted or declined by a human. The computer cannot say “no”, although I’m always faintly surprised it can read my handwriting.
In short, I have sprained a couple of lower vertebrae and it is painful and disabling. So it was a happy accident that my cannabis was ready for collection.
Having written extensively about the Medicinal Cannabis Scheme, I recently decided that I should actually go through the process at a dedicated clinic and get myself a prescription. After completing an online questionnaire that asked what other medicines I took and whether I had any history of psychosis, I was able to book a phone consultation. I ticked the box allowing my GP to be notified.
I was first asked why I was seeking cannabis. I’d found it useful for sleep sometimes, I said, and I periodically suffered back pain. But the primary indication was ADHD-related. I believed a little cannabis indica in the evening would calm my head better than the stimulating cannabis sativa strains that dominate the black market.
The doctor commended me on taking a holistic approach to managing ADHD, including exercise (“a lot of people just go straight for the cannabis”), asked again about psychosis and recommended Cumulus, an indica-dominant strain produced by the Hamilton-based company Cannasouth.
There are now 18 different strains of dried flower assessed as meeting the “minimum quality standards” of the Medicinal Cannabis Scheme and most of them are imported. Prospects for a sustainable legal cannabis industry remain distinctly uncertain – there’s little sign yet of the revenue that would back up the tens of millions invested in local production – but it’s relatively straightforward now to be prescribed weed by a doctor.
Relatively. The only time the name of my strain could be used was during the consultation: anything else is regarded as advertising, which is forbidden. Because it’s not irradiated, it officially only meets the standard for making into a tea – something no one does, really – although doctors may prescribe it for any purpose. And then there’s the money. My medically approved vaporiser cost hundreds of dollars. The cannabis itself cost 50% more at the clinic’s dispensary than it would have at the cheapest pharmacy.
The patient advocacy group Medical Cannabis Aotearoa New Zealand publishes a crowdsourced price guide along with information on terpene content. Terpenes are the aromatic compounds that modulate the effects and bioavailability of cannabinoids – they’re essentially the difference between the effects of one strain and another – but they can’t be listed on product packaging because our regulations were written without them.
There’s a lot that needs fixing, but don’t hold your breath. The overdue technical changes that would have made life easier for local producers appear to have disappeared into a post-election void. Health Minister Shane Reti has already told a group seeking a way to bring green fairies into the system that there is no prospect of such reform. It’s all likely to limp along as it is for the next few years.
I’m due for a follow-up with a nurse at the clinic and will be able to report that the prescribed cannabis is effective for its primary indication and, with anti-inflammatories, is helping with the back pain, too. Like the system itself, my back could be worse. And it could certainly be better.
