Diary from a pot head
It has been a very difficult week for me. No one is ready to hear a cancer diagnosis no matter how much science has advanced. The cure may no longer be impossible, but it’s still terrifying.
I left the doctor’s office with my heart racing, thoughts speeding around in my head, and the hope that this was all a big mistake. This was not really happening.
All I wanted was to run away and never be found. Perhaps, travel to the moon? That’s when I got a phone call from my friend Leda. Her husband had used marijuana for his medical treatment and she told me the wonders about the drug. I am a very curious animal and soon enough, I found myself on a call with a doctor who prescribed me the drug and signed my certification.
How awesome, I thought. Now I am a certified Pot Head!
It was 4:30 PM and the store would close at 5. I think this was the most exciting thing that happened to me this week. I rushed to the store before it closed its doors and soon I was being introduced to all the different flavors and formulas of the leaf, which for most of my life was prohibited and condemned by our society.
My first and only experience with the drug was when I was 18. My high school friends had some joints and brought them to a party. I decided to give it a try, only to find myself on the floor for 50 minutes thinking that I would either die or never feel like myself again. It was a scary experience that kept me very far from it for a long time.
But now… Oh well, I thought. I don’t have much to lose. I was already in fear about the whole cancer thing. I decided to give it a try.
As I enter the beautiful store I see a waterfall, soft relaxing music plays in the background, and shelves are filled with books, oils, pillows, and all the gadgets that promise you a relaxing time when things seem chaotic. I was in heaven. The place smelled like burned cotton candy and the salespeople were calm and friendly. The handsome security guard checked my documents and certification and here I am choosing my new toys.
“This one,” I said pointing to the vaporizer.
The salesman asked if I wanted a pill or oil or another form but I thought: let’s have some fun with it. I filled my bag with CBDs, Sativa, Indica, and all other forms of the plant. I practically skipped home. I was so excited to try my new goodies.
When I got home, I realized I didn’t have the slightest idea of how these things worked. And here I am, sitting at my desk with all sorts of gadgets trying to figure it all out. I suppose there’s probably a Youtube video for these sorts of things, right?
But I couldn’t tolerate any more frustrations so I decided to call an expert. My son Rafael hopped in a taxi cab and immediately came to my support. Can you believe it? Asking my son for help with my weed!
He couldn’t keep himself from the excitement of sharing all his knowledge with his mom. He really is an expert, I thought.
Soon the smoke filled my lungs. And the room. And the entire house. It smelled like a skunk stopped by for a beer. My dog entered the room and decided not to leave. My 18-year-old daughter came in to check what was going on and asked for a try. I thought, oh what the hell. We’re all adults here.
She hated it. My husband came in too and also gave it a try. Soon, the whole family and pets were together in the same dark smoke cloud.
And this time, I didn’t get paranoid or punish my kids for smoking weed. We were together, united by fear—not of the drug itself or how “bad” it was, but of the hard truth that this was where we were. I have cancer and this is where we are. And it bought me back to my youth when smoking weed was prohibited and forbidden and I thought oh well, much to do about nothing.
About the Author:
Ilana is a journalist and entrepreneur from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. She is passionate about helping people find their voices and pursue their dreams. It is never too late to start and never too early to change.
