Cannabis vs. cake as an analgesic
I guess that I winced as I moved to another chair.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”
Well, being the big hypochondriac and not having much of an exciting life these days, I regaled the curious questioner with the sordid details of my last hip replacement and the disastrous mess it created.
I was in rare form, on chapter four of my sad story … the one where I describe the failure of x-rays to catch the broken femur and the resulting four hours, three blood transfusion, 50-stitch surgery, quickly followed by an enumeration of all of the ways that I’ve tried to “get better,” the different medications that I’ve taken, the injections that really didn’t work, when she leaned forward, looked around the room and said sotto voce, “I have something that will help with that pain.”
Checking the room again, she mouthed the word, “Cannabis.”
Looking faux shocked, I replied, “Marijuana?”
“Yes, and it’s legal in New York with a doctor’s prescription. I know a doctor…”
I cut her off mid reveal, saying, “I have too many doctors now.” A quick mental tally totaled them to be seven-ish and that didn’t include all of the physician assistants and nurse practitioner assistants. I am a cottage industry for the medical profession.
“But,” she continued, “this doctor will write you a prescription that will help you with your pain.”
“Look, I’m sure that your doc is a fine person, but if marijuana would be a good choice, I’m sure that one of my docs, to whom I complain a lot, would have suggested it. I’m lucky if they will allow me anything stronger than Tylenol.”
She sat back, lips pursed in thought and then offered, “Well, there is CBD oil and you can get that almost anywhere.”
“I have two bottles at home.” I replied.
“Did the CBD oil help?” she asked.
“Not that I noticed,” I said. “First of all, there are no dosage directions on the bottles just a recommendation that you take the amount that helps … which is not a comforting situation. I tried a little, then a medium amount, and then a lot, and all I got was a weird taste in my mouth, kind of like I had eaten a burned piece of carbon paper.” Not that I’ve ever actually eaten any carbon paper, burned or otherwise.
On the plus side, it didn’t hurt my stomach.
She continued about the benefits of pot, suggesting that she might be able to get some from a friend and bake it into brownies.
That caught my attention, but being that we were at a meeting of people where many of us were confessing to eating one cookie or speculating on how to turn cauliflower into a steak or ice cream, a driven group of ladies who were trying to lose weight, just the thought of brownies was close to treason.
I smiled a thankful-looking smile, at least I hoped that is what she saw, and told my temporary neighbor that I would check with my doctor about the cannabis, mentally asking myself if a piece of Sara Lee chocolate cake wouldn’t be a better solution, each being a tad forbidden.
