Parent raises concerns about Kentucky's medical marijuana program
But with all those people getting cards, some have concerns.
For one parent, who wished to remain anonymous, their concerns with having a medical marijuana card pertained to custody of their children.
Upon applying for and receiving their medical marijuana card, one question they had was how possessing a card and using medical marijuana would be perceived in terms of family court and Child Protective Services (CPS).
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To get answers, this person reached out to county officials as well as CPS, but didn't get a clear answer on what would be permitted.
'The only guidelines they gave me was if you use it, there has to be another sober adult in the household, and you can only use it outside or in your car,' the parent said. 'But then when I reached out to the dispatch non-emergency line, if you use it in your car, then you have paraphernalia in your car. And if you use it in your car and you're smoking it, then you have a smell in your car, which then introduces more problems if you get pulled over or drive with your kids. Also, if you use it outside, that can be public intoxication if you live in county limits.'
The agency responsible for Kentucky's Medical Marijuana Program is the Cabinet for Health & Family Services.
The parent told FOX 56 they had applied for a medical cannabis card because of a past medical issue where they were prescribed pain medication, but they didn't want to deal with a possible addiction.
They said the last thing they wanted to happen was to lose custody of their children because of their legal use of medical marijuana in Kentucky.
They are concerned about a lack of communication from the state about the medical marijuana program and said when they reached out to their county officials, no one could direct them to the right place.
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We reached out to the officials for the Cabinet for Health & Family Services for an interview and received the following statement from Office of Public Affairs Executive Director Kendra Steele:
'Team Kentucky is committed to ensuring the safety and well-being of our children and providing necessary services for children and families in the commonwealth. In every situation, DCBS evaluates whether a caregiver is able to safely care for a child.'
Per the Kentucky Revised Statutes (KRS) Chapter 218B.045, which discusses a number of rules regarding the medical marijuana law.
It says a cardholder otherwise entitled to custody of, or visitation time or parenting time with, a minor child shall not be denied that right, and there shall be no presumption of abuse, neglect, or dependency for conduct permitted under this chapter unless the person's actions in relation to medicinal cannabis created an unreasonable danger to the safety of the minor child as established by clear and convincing evidence.
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You can learn more about Kentucky's Medical Cannabis Program here.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
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USA Today
a day ago
- USA Today
The Ukraine war's hidden toll and one soldier's long, painful journey to the US for help
One of the least-noticed measures of Ukraine's three-year-old war is the number of men and women who have lost limbs. Nonprofit groups estimate 50,000 soldiers have lost at least one. NEW YORK – Yurii Saiko heard the whistling sound from his hospital bed and took cover under his blanket. A split second later, the window in his room exploded, spraying glass in every direction. An air bomb had hit the Mariupol hospital where the young Ukrainian marine was recovering from surgery. Six days earlier, his left leg had been amputated after it was nearly blown off in a Russian attack. Underneath the covers, Saiko removed the wires and tubes that connected him to medical equipment. He took off his clothes, grabbed his crutches, and, fueled by adrenaline, scurried down a corridor. There, he fainted. A nurse found him, woke him up and moved him to the hospital basement, where they stayed for the night. The next day, they would be evacuated. But the danger was far from over. Staten Island, New York Five thousand miles from Mariupol – and three years after Saiko's leg was amputated – a white van pulled up to the front entrance of Staten Island University Hospital. Saiko, seated in the back, wore black shorts, a T-shirt and a new titanium prosthetic. He stumbled out of the vehicle and limped slightly through the hospital's glass doors. Now a veteran and former prisoner of war, he had come to the rehab facility to adapt to life with an artificial leg. Saiko rode an elevator to the second floor and entered Suite 4A, a large room filled with exercise equipment. He headed straight for the treadmill. He climbed onto the machine, grabbed hold of the handrails and, with his right foot, stepped onto the moving belt. For three days a week this summer – Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays – this was his routine. On a sunny morning in late June, his exercise regimen began with small steps: His right foot keeping pace with the treadmill, his left foot stationary, off to the side. Most people shift their weight from one leg to another without much thought. But Saiko has had difficulty putting weight on his prosthetic leg, so the treadmill exercise forced him to do it and showed him how to better control the artificial limb. He adjusted the incline of the running belt after a few steps to simulate walking uphill – and then, back down. Five minutes later, he moved on to the other machines. Seated leg curls, balance bar kicking drills, arm rotations. He stepped forward and then sideways on a red floor mat while attached to a resistance cord, a drill designed to teach him to walk better on sand, gravel or other unstable surfaces. The latest in Russia-Ukraine war: A closer look at the map ahead of Trump-Putin meet Rebecca Gonzalez, a physical therapist who worked with Saiko from the time he started his rehab regimen in late May, said she could see his progress. The exercises helped to improve his hip strength, balance and ability to walk on uneven surfaces. 'That way, when he walks around outside, he can meet everyday challenges,' Gonzalez said. The human sacrifice inflicted by Ukraine's three-year-old war with Russia can be measured in many ways. One of the least-noticed barometers is the number of men and women who have lost limbs. The Ukrainian Health Ministry did not respond to questions about how many Ukrainians have been dismembered. But nonprofit groups that work with Ukrainian soldiers estimate that as many as 50,000 have lost one or both limbs. The high casualty rate is straining Ukraine's ability to provide artificial limbs to everyone who needs them. The level of need is staggering, said Jim Lorraine, a former U.S. Air Force flight nurse who served in nine combat deployments. 'What they're trying to do is figure out how do they get the amputees back into society,' said Lorraine, who heads America's Warrior Partnership, a nonprofit that has been working with charities and other groups in Ukraine to assist wounded soldiers. Soldiers who are amputees are left with not only physical scars, Lorraine said, they also must deal with other issues, like how they can continue to provide for their families. Many, like Saiko, come to the United States where they can get top-level prosthetics that are not available to them in Ukraine. 'Unworkable decisions': Zelenskyy rejects conceding land to Russia after Trump suggests "swapping" territories Saiko's left leg had been damaged beyond repair in the Russian attack on March 10, 2022. He and his comrades had come under fire after delivering baby formula, food, clothing and other supplies to three women who had given birth in a hospital bunker where civilians had taken shelter. Russian soldiers spotted them leaving the hospital and pounded them with artillery fire as they headed back to their positions near the Illich Iron and Steel Works plant on the outskirts of Mariupol. Back at the plant, Saiko waited until the shelling stopped and went to check the condition of their vehicle. Another shell landed near him and exploded. He fell to the ground as shrapnel tore through his chest, nose and the back of his head. His left leg, almost ripped from his body, was held in place only by thin tissue. A hospital in Ukraine later amputated it just above the knee. The Ukrainian government fitted Saiko with a mechanical prosthetic, a basic artificial limb that used hydraulics and other mechanisms that allowed him to stand, walk and perform other daily activities. But it was too heavy, not particularly functional and required the use of his own body strength to generate movement, Saiko said. Walking just 200 yards would leave him so exhausted that he'd have to sit down and rest. Through Kind Deeds, a Staten Island-based organization that provides wounded Ukrainian soldiers with prosthetics and pays for their physical therapy, he was fitted with C-Leg 4, a more modern and sophisticated artificial limb equipped with a small computer. The microprocessor takes data collected by sensors and automatically adjusts the leg based on the person's movement, enabling the owner to walk up or down stairs or on uneven surfaces without thinking about it. Fifty-four soldiers have received prosthetics and undergone rehab through the program. Gonzalez, who has worked with several of them, said some want to go back into battle as soon as they've finished rehab. For others, the focus is on mastering everyday activities, like going to the grocery, riding a bike or running. The program has been so successful that Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy visited the hospital in 2023 to meet with some of the soldiers and present Gonzalez and other hospital personnel with his nation's Order of Merit, which recognizes achievement in various fields that benefit Ukraine. Saiko, 30, speaking through an interpreter, said he knows his days as a warrior are over. Now, he wants to buy a house, raise a garden and live in a small village like he did back when he was a kid. His dreams aren't all that different from his compatriots'. But for him, they are remarkable. After losing his leg, he no longer wanted to live. POW camp near Olenivka, Ukraine Saiko thought of killing himself. Twice. He had woken up with a strange feeling after his amputation surgery. He felt as if his leg was still attached to his body, but bent – 'as if there is a hole in the bed, and my leg is just hanging through the bed.' When he pulled back the sheet and looked, the reality was too much to bear. But each time he thought of taking his life, Kateryna Polishchuk, a volunteer paramedic, calmed him down. His wife, Elvira, a neurologist, was waiting for him back home, Polishchuk reminded him. His life wasn't over, she assured him, it was just entering a new phase. Polishchuk, better known as Ptashka, or Bird, had become his guardian angel. She saved his life, he said. He'd never had an easy life. Born in a small village in Ukraine, his parents divorced when he was just a year old. He barely knew his father. When he was 13 or 14, his mother abandoned him and an eight-month-old sister, forcing him into parenthood. 'I was changing her diapers, I was ironing her clothes,' he said. Saiko and his sister moved in with their grandmother, who served as their guardian. He decided to join the armed forces after Russia's invasion of Crimea in the Ukraine in 2014, but he was rejected because, with neither of his parents in the picture, he was classified as an orphan. He signed up with a voluntary corps instead and was dispatched to Crimea to defend the Ukrainian border. Two years later, he was finally admitted into Ukraine's marine corps. Bromance to bitterness: Trump-Putin relationship full of twists and turns A decade passed, and now he was here, imprisoned in a POW camp near Olenivka, Ukraine, just weeks after losing his leg. The living conditions were dirty and overcrowded. Four prisoners had to take turns using a bunk bed just to grab a few hours of sleep. The prisoners were beaten and denied nutritious meals. Always hungry, they talked nonstop about food. 'They treated their dogs better than us,' Saiko said. He ended up in the camp about two months after his evacuation from the hospital. He'd hidden in bunkers with other Ukrainians for a couple of weeks, still nursing his amputation wound. A medical team fed him antibiotics to keep infection from setting in. He learned to wrap the wound with bandages himself to keep it clean. Eventually, he took shelter with thousands of other Ukrainian soldiers and civilians at the Azovstal Iron and Steel Works plant, a massive facility in Mariupol. The plant would become the scene of one of the war's longest and bloodiest battles as malnourished and outnumbered Ukrainian soldiers tried to stop the Russians from taking the strategic port city. Saiko, who had been so eager to fight for his country, could now only watch. Unable to stand on his own, how could he help his fellow soldiers? The Ukrainians surrendered upon orders from their commander-in-chief on May 16, 2022. The Russians brought Saiko and others to the POW camp, where he said, they were subjected to psychological and physical torture. Saiko and others who had lost limbs were often targeted for abuse. A warning: President Trump says Zelenskyy should not target Moscow with strikes One day, in a hallway outside a prison cell, Russian soldiers ordered Saiko and some other POWs to undress and stand against a wall. Saiko didn't have his crutches, so he leaned his head against the wall to help him keep his balance. One of the Russians punched his right leg, knocking him to the ground. The Russians beat him for several minutes, giggling at the sight of their naked, one-legged prisoner writhing on the hard floor. After 43 days of captivity, he gained his freedom in June 2022 as part of a prisoner exchange with the Russians. Back in Mariupol, doctors removed shrapnel from his heart and performed another surgery on his leg. A bone had been left protruding after his first operation and was putting pressure on other tissue, causing pain and leaving him unable to use a prosthetic. Doctors sawed off part of the bone, smoothed and flattened the rest and closed the wound with skin and soft tissue. Staten Island, New York For most adults, walking is instinctive, an act of human nature as spontaneous as breathing. You don't think about your gait, your steps, how your foot hits the ground or locking your knees when you're about to fall. You just do it. It's different with a prosthetic leg. The first time Saiko tried out his artificial limb, 'I was learning to walk as if I were a child again,' he said. Dmitry Shevchenko, the clinical director of Kind Deeds and one of its founders, said he hears that often when patients are given a prosthetic leg. When you have an artificial leg, movements that used to come naturally are a lot more challenging. 'Now you have to think,' he said. When Saiko was given his first artificial leg, he spent an hour just getting used to it. Then he walked for an hour. The next day, he was so sore and in so much pain that he was unable to put the prosthetic back on. Four months would pass before he felt like he had truly mastered his artificial limb. In some ways, he said, the learning curve was like riding a bicycle. 'For all of the swaying and shaking and falling down, with practice, it rides very smoothly,' he said. He had even more to learn when he was fitted this summer with his modern, microprocessor-equipped prosthetic. 'We need to keep living': What life is like for Ukrainians a year into Russia's invasion The new limb is more functional than his old mechanical leg, which makes walking easier. With the old leg, extending his knee or taking a step was harder. The new leg comes with built-in settings and sensors that read his movements and automatically adjust depending on his gait or whether he's walking uphill or on uneven surfaces like sand. An app on his mobile phone allows him to manually adjust the settings if, for example, he wants to ride a bike or walk faster. For users, the difference between going from a mechanical leg to a computerized one is 'almost like going from a manual transmission in an old car to getting in a fancy new car that does a lot of different things,' Shevchenko said. Saiko can tell the difference in practical ways. The new leg is lighter and doesn't require as much body strength to take a step, which means he can walk farther, Saiko said. He can now walk a kilometer (roughly 1,100 yards) without stopping or feeling fatigued. 'Now, I'm trying to live my life to the fullest and get the best out of it,' he said. And that meant going back home to Odesa, Ukraine, a southern port city on the Black Sea. There will still be challenges. Ukraine doesn't have a lot of accommodations for people with disabilities, he said. He lives on the 13th floor of an apartment building. One time, the elevator went out and he had to climb the stairs with a backpack. Much of his life has been dedicated to the military and war with Russia, so he's still sorting out what comes next. He has developed a following on TikTok and communicates regularly with his followers, who are helping him adjust to life as a civilian. The venture has helped him to earn some money. Three months after his trip to America, Saiko was ready to return to Ukraine. In some ways, the journey that began at the Mariupol hospital had come to an end. So he boarded a plane at John F. Kennedy International Airport on Aug. 4 and returned to Ukraine. Back to his family. Back to a nation at war. To start over, as a citizen. Michael Collins writes about the intersection of politics and culture. A veteran reporter, he has covered the White House and Congress. Follow him on X @mcollinsNEWS.
Boston Globe
06-08-2025
- Boston Globe
Rebuilding faces, lives, and a sense of self in Ukraine
Patients depend on doctors to heal their physical wounds, and on the support of family to move forward. The face is the window to identity and emotion. To have it disfigured is not merely to be wounded, but to be unmoored from one's own sense of self. Since Russia's invasion of Ukraine in 2022, many Ukrainians have suffered grievous facial injuries, a brutal testament to the power of modern weaponry and the vulnerability of the flesh. 'A soldier loses a leg, and society calls him a hero,' said Dr. Andrii Kopchak, the head of the department of maxillofacial surgery at Bogomolets National Medical University in Kyiv, Ukraine. 'But lose your face? You become a ghost.' Surgeons have made significant strides in tending to Ukraine's wounded, particularly through the use of 3D printing. By creating patient-specific implants and surgical guides, the technology allows for more precise reconstruction of shattered jaws, cheekbones and eye sockets — restoring not just function, but the very contours of someone's identity. Advertisement These advances build on a century of innovation, from Harold Gillies' pioneering surgery to mend faces broken in the muddy trenches of the Somme in World War I to today's digital modeling to repair bodies mangled in the bloody battle for Bakhmut. The goal has long been to restore function, while also giving hope to the wounded. Advertisement For many of Ukraine's wounded, breakthrough surgical treatments followed earlier, botched operations that, in effect, had to be undone and redone. Like much of the Ukrainian war effort, the medical struggle has been marked by improvisation and experimentation. The New York Times spent two years visiting men and women whose lives have been shattered, and meeting the doctors and volunteers working to help them. 'It's the same fight, for yourself, for your life,' said Volodymyr Melnyk. 'Just like in the trenches, same goes for the hospital bed after the injury.' Throughout his recovery, Melnyk was driven by one burning desire: to rejoin the fight. Ukrainian and foreign surgeons have made significant strides in tending to the wounded. Doctors said the psychological scars can be even harder to heal. Melnyk, 32, was wounded in 2023, when his unit stormed a Russian hilltop position and, after intense combat, seized control of it. During the battle, shrapnel shredded his face. 'All the nerves on the right side of my face were severed,' he said. 'All the bones were shattered. I could not see out of my eye.' Melnyk underwent round after round of surgery. Plates were incorrectly placed, abscesses formed, and shrapnel was left inside. It was only after nearly two months that volunteers from the 'Doctors for Heroes' project intervened, helping transfer him to a new hospital and a new program to reconstruct his face. 'We scan the skull, create a digital model and print titanium plates layer by layer,' said Kopchak, pulling up a CT scan of a patient's smashed jaw. 'It's like rebuilding a shattered vase. Every fragment matters.' Advertisement Melnyk has endured more than 50 operations. Last fall, he was preparing for what he hoped would be the last. 'The main thing was to be able to chew and eat because that's energy for a person, especially a soldier,' he said. He has since returned to duty at the front. Artur Tkachenko returned from the front, hoping he had put the worst of the war behind him. It was just weeks later, when he, his wife, Julia, and their 20-month-old daughter were visiting his parents, that the missile struck. The explosion that killed his parents also injured his wife and daughter, hurling the little girl more than 20 yards. When he regained consciousness, Tkachenko, now 37, did not recognize the face in the mirror. 'It was very different,' he said from a hospital bed in Kyiv, still struggling to find words. 'I couldn't feel parts of it. I couldn't even talk.' He had suffered severe damage to his skull and facial bones. 'Shrapnel was embedded deep inside his head — one piece was even protruding when he arrived,' said Dr. Roman Kozak, the surgeon who performed the initial reconstructive surgery last year. It was an exceedingly complex case, the doctors said, that showed both the possibility and some limitations of technology. Kozak and his team collaborated with bioengineers to digitally reconstruct Tkachenko's shattered face. With 3D printing, they created implants tailored to his unique facial structure, to hold bone fragments in place. 'Now, we are preparing for a second surgery to reconstruct his lower eyelid and remove the metal plates, which pose a risk of infection due to their proximity to the nasal sinuses,' Kozak said. Advertisement Back From the dead Nelya Leonidova is determined to help others who have suffered wounds like hers. The first thing Leonidova, now 45, remembers after being injured was the feel of cold steel pressing against her cheek. She did not know where she was, only that it was dark and a stench hung thick in the air — a mix of antiseptic and death. She was returning from a chicken farm to distribute food to local residents when Russian warplanes bombed the road. 'My first thought, piercing like pain, was 'the children,'' she said. 'Dying isn't scary; I know that now,' she added. 'The fear is leaving your children alone in this world.' Her children later escaped Russian-occupied territory, joining her first in Kharkiv and now in western Ukraine. She has undergone countless surgeries, many to correct earlier operations. Doctors from the Canadian charity Face the Future used a titanium implant, tailor-made, to rebuild her shattered eye socket. Leonidova now wants to study psychology and open a center to help others wounded in war. Her darkest thoughts have faded. She and her boyfriend, Nazar Zhurba, got engaged. 'I'm a tough woman — titanium facade, steel bite, and the stare of a pit bull after a fight, creating miracles like Medusa Gorgon,' she said with dramatic flourish. 'My gaze turns people to stone.' Not wanting to be seen After an exploding mine tore apart his face, Bohdan Poplavskyi did not want his sons to see him. Advertisement It is common, doctors said, for patients with traumatic facial injuries to want to close themselves off. Patients who are unrecognizable to themselves can find it hard to reclaim their place in society. Poplavskyi's progress has been slow — he still cannot talk and has little sight. Poplavskyi struggles most with the loss of vision, his family said. He was eventually reunited with his sons, who often guide him through the world, and it pains him that he cannot see them or watch them grow up. For such patients, 'the psychological toll is relentless,' Kopchak said. 'Imagine looking in the mirror and not recognizing yourself. Now imagine your wife or child seeing you that way.'
New York Post
29-07-2025
- New York Post
Ukrainian mom-to-be expecting first child after multiple miscarriages killed in Russian strike at hospital ward: report
A 23-year-old Ukrainian woman who was expecting her first child after suffering several miscarriages was among 21 people killed when a Russian airstrike hit her hospital ward early Tuesday morning, her friends said. Diana Koshyk, who was seven months pregnant, had been moved to a maternity hospital in Kamianske so doctors could oversee the high risk pregnancy, but the safe haven was quickly transformed into a warzone after a Russian missile hit the ward, CNN reported. 'She loved children very much and was eagerly awaiting her own … and now Russia cut their thread of life,' longtime friend Anna Bunich told the outlet. Advertisement 4 Koshyk was seven months pregnant with her first child. Diana Koshyk/Facebook Bunich described Koshyk as a 'ray of sunshine,' and fellow friend Yana Belobrova noted that starting a family was a long-time dream of Koshyk and her husband. 'She and her husband wanted a child, but she had miscarriages … and then life smiled at her and she got pregnant, and she was already seven months, and then this happened,' the grieving friend said. Advertisement Haunting images from inside the hospital show windows shattered and beds broken from the impact of the missile blast. 4 A view shows the damaged ward in a hospital which was hit by a Russian missile strike, amid Russia's attack on Ukraine, in the city of Kamianske, Dnipro region, Ukraine July 29, 2025. REUTERS The strike killed two other people inside the maternity ward and left another 22 injured — including patients, doctors, nurses and midwives, according to Ukrainian officials. Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky joined the nation in mourning Koshyk and the other victims, calling for an end to Russian attacks against civilians. Advertisement 'The Russians could not have been unaware that they were targeting civilians in that facility,' Zelensky said in a statement. 4 Diana Koshyk, 23, was killed in Russian missile strike on maternity hospital in Kamianske, July 29, 2025. Diana Koshyk/Facebook 'And this was done after a completely clear position was voiced by the United States – a position supported by the world – that Russia must end this war and move to diplomacy,' he added. The attack was part of the deadliest assault on civilians in recent weeks after Russia fired more than 300 drones and seven missiles overnight, the Ukrainian Air Force said. Advertisement Along with the deaths at the maternity ward, a Russian strike at a prison in the Zaporizhzhia region killed 17 inmates, with Ukrainian officials slamming both attacks as a war crime under international conventions. 4 A woman cleans the damaged ward in a compound of hospital which was hit by a Russian missile strike, amid Russia's attack on Ukraine, in the city of Kamianske, Dnipro region, Ukraine July 29, 2025. REUTERS Tuesday's strike is notably not the first time Russia bombed a Ukrainian maternity ward. Last month, a Russian drone hit a hospital in Odessa. Moscow has continued to ramp up its deadly attacks on civilians across Ukraine despite President Trump's call for the war to end by September or else Russia would be hit with harsh secondary tariffs by the US. Seeing no cooperation from Russia, Trump announced Monday that he was moving up his deadline to just '10 to 12 days,' indicating that his patience with the Kremlin has run out.
