"You guys are dumb." Kevin's practical words as I crawled into bed, after a good, long while spent trying to figure out how a marijuana vape pen worked. Was I dumb? Maybe. But in my defense why was I expected to know how to do this? I'd never smoked weed before, much less out of this futuristic weed pen, that came with no instructions but did arrive with a free, extra, giant blunt!
I spent years 0 to 38.75 avoiding marijuana and drugs in general. There was a point in my life where I didn't even like to take Advil. I am an admitted goody goody, a little Ms. Goody Two Shoes who has never liked getting in trouble. I still don't. I like parents and pastels and words like crudité. I wasn't Reefer Madness about avoiding it, it just seemed like a good way to prevent getting into trouble. (Sidenote: to this day I have never tried a cigarette). On top of that, I didn't think my personality lent itself to weed. I've always been pretty chill as a base line. I wasn't the kid who couldn't sleep the night before Disneyland trips. I didn't need to be any more even-keeled. I also never needed any additional help sleeping as my super powers in youth were the ability to sleep or pee at any moment. So again, why would I dabble with Mary Jane?
Fast forward to AC-T chemo. For those who are familiar with this regimen of chemo AC, terrifyingly nicknamed, The Red Devil because of its bright red color, it is truly the worst. Side effects include a constant sense of nausea, more vomiting than a 1999 sorority party, low blood count, anemia, mouth sores, and balding. Sounds super fun, right? My first chemo session, even with many prescribed meds, knocked me on my butt. The days spent between the toilet and the bed were a blur. I couldn't keep anything down. Even water, which I desperately needed, felt like poison in my stomach. So at my next visit to the oncologist, reviewing the horror of the last session, he asked me a pointed question- "What do you do for work?" I confusedly started off with something like my work title. He stopped me. "No, I mean, are you a cop?" I was even more confused. He responded to my furrowed brow with "If you are not a cop, I suggest maybe you try some herbal assistance." Ahhhh, the light bulb finally clicking, he meant weed!
I summoned my network of smokers, indulgers and shamans. They gave recommendations, connected me with local dispensaries and sent care packages. My first pen arrived and I set about trying to figure it out. How exactly is one supposed to inhale? Turns out I didn't know. Failed with a capital F. I couldn't even figure out which side of the pen I was supposed to smoke out of! So I did what any person in that situation would do, I called someone smarter. Sara is not a smoker, but she is an engineer and lives 5 minutes away so... She came over that night and we got to work figuring it out. My first puff was not a puff. More like a quick breath before you get dropped in a dunk tank. It also turns out "I did not inhale" was a actually a thing someone could say. There were giggles, retries, breathing exercises without the pen (yoga had not prepared me for this mouth breathing) and finally, although it tasted awful, I got it. Sara left and I crawled into bed. I thought Kevin had fallen asleep before this merry experiment was even underway. So as I laid my head down, in the dark of our bedroom, he surprised me when he matter of factly stated "you guys are dumb," gave me a peck and rolled over to go to sleep. He was always a direct person.
In the weeks after I discovered some flavors like mint and blueberry that covered up the weed taste a little. I still think weed smells and tastes gross (have I mentioned before I think I'm a supertaster?). The pen got me through the worst of chemo. It helped me to sleep when my body felt more pain than I could ever imagine. It helped to quell the constant nausea so I could tolerate a bite of something bland. Eventually I incorporated gummies, which took longer to kick in but were more effective at managing the symptoms. Gummies also had a learning curve- like the time I did not go to bed quickly enough and then proceeded to see a 1,000 different tiny movies playing on the inside of my eye lids. Why did people say this was fun? Patches also helped as the bone pain of chemo adjacent treatments kicked in. Even Kevin (more a goody than me) finally gave in to THC oil for his back pain.
So here we are almost nine months to the day after trying my hand at being a pot head. I'm likely never going to reach Cheech and Chong status. Weed will probably always makes me more sleepy than funny. But I'll always be glad to live in a state where it was available when I needed it. And so on this high holy day of 4/20/20, I say a prayer of thanks to patron Saint Snoop Dogg and hope that you too will be blessed by the hand of Mary Jane.
I don’t do drugs. Just weed. -Dave Chappelle
I spent years 0 to 38.75 avoiding marijuana and drugs in general. There was a point in my life where I didn't even like to take Advil. I am an admitted goody goody, a little Ms. Goody Two Shoes who has never liked getting in trouble. I still don't. I like parents and pastels and words like crudité. I wasn't Reefer Madness about avoiding it, it just seemed like a good way to prevent getting into trouble. (Sidenote: to this day I have never tried a cigarette). On top of that, I didn't think my personality lent itself to weed. I've always been pretty chill as a base line. I wasn't the kid who couldn't sleep the night before Disneyland trips. I didn't need to be any more even-keeled. I also never needed any additional help sleeping as my super powers in youth were the ability to sleep or pee at any moment. So again, why would I dabble with Mary Jane?
Fast forward to AC-T chemo. For those who are familiar with this regimen of chemo AC, terrifyingly nicknamed, The Red Devil because of its bright red color, it is truly the worst. Side effects include a constant sense of nausea, more vomiting than a 1999 sorority party, low blood count, anemia, mouth sores, and balding. Sounds super fun, right? My first chemo session, even with many prescribed meds, knocked me on my butt. The days spent between the toilet and the bed were a blur. I couldn't keep anything down. Even water, which I desperately needed, felt like poison in my stomach. So at my next visit to the oncologist, reviewing the horror of the last session, he asked me a pointed question- "What do you do for work?" I confusedly started off with something like my work title. He stopped me. "No, I mean, are you a cop?" I was even more confused. He responded to my furrowed brow with "If you are not a cop, I suggest maybe you try some herbal assistance." Ahhhh, the light bulb finally clicking, he meant weed!
I summoned my network of smokers, indulgers and shamans. They gave recommendations, connected me with local dispensaries and sent care packages. My first pen arrived and I set about trying to figure it out. How exactly is one supposed to inhale? Turns out I didn't know. Failed with a capital F. I couldn't even figure out which side of the pen I was supposed to smoke out of! So I did what any person in that situation would do, I called someone smarter. Sara is not a smoker, but she is an engineer and lives 5 minutes away so... She came over that night and we got to work figuring it out. My first puff was not a puff. More like a quick breath before you get dropped in a dunk tank. It also turns out "I did not inhale" was a actually a thing someone could say. There were giggles, retries, breathing exercises without the pen (yoga had not prepared me for this mouth breathing) and finally, although it tasted awful, I got it. Sara left and I crawled into bed. I thought Kevin had fallen asleep before this merry experiment was even underway. So as I laid my head down, in the dark of our bedroom, he surprised me when he matter of factly stated "you guys are dumb," gave me a peck and rolled over to go to sleep. He was always a direct person.
In the weeks after I discovered some flavors like mint and blueberry that covered up the weed taste a little. I still think weed smells and tastes gross (have I mentioned before I think I'm a supertaster?). The pen got me through the worst of chemo. It helped me to sleep when my body felt more pain than I could ever imagine. It helped to quell the constant nausea so I could tolerate a bite of something bland. Eventually I incorporated gummies, which took longer to kick in but were more effective at managing the symptoms. Gummies also had a learning curve- like the time I did not go to bed quickly enough and then proceeded to see a 1,000 different tiny movies playing on the inside of my eye lids. Why did people say this was fun? Patches also helped as the bone pain of chemo adjacent treatments kicked in. Even Kevin (more a goody than me) finally gave in to THC oil for his back pain.
So here we are almost nine months to the day after trying my hand at being a pot head. I'm likely never going to reach Cheech and Chong status. Weed will probably always makes me more sleepy than funny. But I'll always be glad to live in a state where it was available when I needed it. And so on this high holy day of 4/20/20, I say a prayer of thanks to patron Saint Snoop Dogg and hope that you too will be blessed by the hand of Mary Jane.
I don’t do drugs. Just weed. -Dave Chappelle
Kevin was right! Madonna, you are dumb... and wonderful, beautiful, courageous, and hilarious. Thank you for your story and your insight. Love this blog, keep it going! <3
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