Raina faced an agonizing choice. She suffered from excruciating lower abdominal and pelvic pain, yet she feared going to the hospital. As an undocumented immigrant from Honduras, she avoided places where personal information is collected, like medical facilities. But once over-the-counter painkillers stopped working, she asked her daughter, Alondra, to buy her disposable cannabis vapes.
Raina and Alondra, who asked to be identified by their middle names to protect their privacy, said cannabis became their only option when formal healthcare felt too risky. For many immigrants, this marks the rise of risky cannabis use where pain relief collides with fear of exposure.
After immigrating, Raina began experiencing symptoms that were eventually diagnosed as endometriosis, but for a long time, fear kept her from seeking medical care. The diagnosis came only after their neighbor’s son, a doctor, visited their home and examined Raina free of charge. With no resources and limited options, the family turned to alternative methods.
“He mentioned a weed store nearby and said some people used marijuana to help with pain,” Alondra said. “My mom was really desperate at that point, so she decided to try it. It helped with the pain, at least in the short term, but it wasn’t a permanent fix. It’s now a Band-Aid over a bullet hole situation.”
As cannabis legalization sweeps across the U.S., a quiet collision is unfolding. Portable modern marijuana products are easier than ever to buy, yet they still exist in a regulatory gray zone, with loose oversight, unpredictable health risks, and lingering federal penalties. This expanding gray market has made risky cannabis a growing phenomenon, especially among immigrants.
For immigrants who fear traditional healthcare settings, dispensaries represent an accessible and affordable alternative. Nearly 45% of undocumented immigrants are uninsured, compared to just 8% of U.S. citizens. With a quick flash of identification and some cash, access to pain relief is often easier through a storefront than a hospital door — yet that convenience hides risky cannabis consequences.
Dispensary managers like Jay Santos and Chad Britton note that many customers fear ID checks, but both insist identification is used only for tracking purchases.
Legal experts like Rachel Ray from UC Immigrant Legal Services warn that marijuana remains federally illegal. “A drug-related arrest or conviction can have serious consequences, including deportation,” Ray said. Even lawful purchases may trigger immigration issues, reinforcing the danger of risky cannabis choices.
Dispensaries are abundant in Los Angeles, reflecting how accessible marijuana has become. Yet despite its popularity, marijuana remains under-researched. The National Institute on Drug Abuse warns that legalization without regulation increases risky cannabis exposure.
Ultimately, Raina’s story reveals how desperation drives people toward risky cannabis use. Beyond politics and policy, it’s a human story of survival where risky cannabis becomes both a comfort and a potential trap for those left behind by the healthcare system.
