I see Patients, I see Patients all the time.
When I tell people Rick Simpson Oil, or RSO, made my breast cancer disappear, most don’t believe it. But, when sitting on this kind of knowledge it becomes a responsibility to share. It’s actually the only way to get the word out, for no Department of Health Services will be passing out pamphlets any time soon. Those who know, must “be the pamphlet.”
I sometimes feel like Theresa Caputo, “The Long Island Medium,” less the hair and nails. Spirits come to her like patients are put in front of me, daily. Either I meet people with real illness, or they know someone suffering under traditional care – there are no coincidences – or, maybe everyone is just getting sicker?
My story is not a new one. I’m the recreational user from the 70s that came back to the herb after a 20-plus-year hiatus, now a full-fledged patient. Thyroid with menopause are not illnesses to take lightly, in fact, combined they are considered an epidemic in the Boomer Generation. Each day I’m just trying to feel alright, really.
As my good friend Cynthia Johnston says, “Cannabis is my spa treatment.” A kind of all-inclusive therapy, if you will – my body is cannabis infused with body lotions, face creams, oils, bath salts, salves, lip balms, ingestibles, medibles, tinctures – you name it. If someone has figured out a way to get the meds out of the plant, I’ll try it.
Recently I was traveling with lower back pain and severe spasms in my sciatica. Out of real medicine, a visit to Urgent Care disappointed, as the doctor was a cold fish about my cannabis use for pain, and could only offer opiates or a steroid injection. Even then, she could not promise the spasms would be gone. Cannabis makes them go away, I told her, but she couldn’t talk about it. I finally asked if the clinic was federally funded; to this she gave a knowing and firm, “Yes.”
She couldn’t have talked about this good medicine if she wanted to.
The nurse listened attentively, however, and confided in me when the doctor was out of ear shot, that she was suffering from spasms in her legs, and how could she get some of this medicine? She shared this with me as she stood (all day) at a computer taking down patient information.
My heart sank, but I shared what I could. She not only “liked” my fan page on Facebook, she read my essay on pain management and sent me a note of thanks.
A lot of information can make you sound like a conspiracy theorist, but you will make friends in the process.
On a train recently, the conductor announced if anyone on board had nausea medicine. Now, the ramifications of me helping someone with cannabis are great. Firstly, I’m not a doctor, I’m merely an enlightened cannabis patient. Secondly… well, there are enough reasons why I shouldn’t help, but my mom is looking down on me from Heaven, this is God’s medicine, and she didn’t raise someone who sits on their hands.
No matter the consequences, I adjusted my Florence Nightingale proverbial hat, and put my faith on the rule of the rail’s “right of way,” and headed down to the car in question with my little bottle of Nternal Oil.
There sat one very sickly passenger. All eyes were on me as I announced, “I have medicine that works great for nausea, but it’s made from cannabis.” To this, I get the usual blank stares, and I must use the dreaded word, “Are you familiar with marijuana?”(You know, I really wanted to say “The Marijuana.”) To this, her eyes light up, and I ask if she has a teaspoon.
The looks on the faces surrounding this woman are priceless, but she takes the dose and I wish her well. Two hours later I come back down to check on her and she is sitting, chatting it up with the woman next to her, a drink in one hand, food in the other. “How are you feeling?” I inquire, already knowing the answer. To which she replies, “I’m feeling better,” as if surprised at the outcome.
Breaking Our Own Stigma
Telling someone to ingest cannabis for real illness is one thing; having them do it on their own is quite another. It’s much easier to be handed a little white piece of paper, stand in line at the Pharmacopeia, and take a pill as prescribed. Most don’t question the harsh side effects included with the meds, and only hear, “Your physician has decided the side effects outweigh the symptoms from your illness.”
I’ve been amazed at the most ardent stoners questioning the validity of ingesting cannabis. “How will it make me feel?” is the stock question. Tincture is concentrated and THC is activated with heat, so I tell them to take it at night and go to sleep – as it’s the best sleep aid around. “How will it make me feel in the morning?” they ask, to which I respond, ‘Better than Vicodin, and your liver will be cleansed, not damaged.’ ”
Every Seed Bearing Plant
Don’t even get me started on the cure for cancer, or all the innocents sitting in prison for a plant. This plant put my cancer into remission; it helps me feel better each day. All we have are our words.
These are mine:
The Lord as my witness, I will Evangelize Cannabis until the last nonviolent victim of the failed Drug War is free, until every patient is released. I will sing this truth to the heavens until God smiles down upon me with thanks for praising his good work.
Though I may be called a conspiracy theorist, I will walk through the valley of Cannabis and Hemp and know that it is good. Amen.
Editor’s note: Sharon Letts began her love of gardening in Southern California by her mother’s side, watching as she buried fish heads at the base of roses.
Today Sharon continues to write about gardening and all that implies, advocating for the bud, and writing for many magazines, including Skunk.