In the late summer of 2014 I started having panic attacks.  It was as if my psyche knew that something was very wrong before I actually found out that I had cancer.  My anxiety was making it hard for me to eat and I was starting to lose weight (of course the cancer was also causing me to lose weight but I didn’t know that at the time).  Fast forward to the Fall when I was diagnosed with Malignant Peritoneal Mesothelioma, my anxiety levels went off the charts.  So one of my dear friends, whom I have known since our University of Toronto days, made me Pot Chocolate Chip cookies to calm my nerves.  Like many things in life, it seemed like a good idea at the time…

One night, after not being able to eat more than a few forkfuls of dinner, I took a small bite of one of her cookies.  It tasted horrific and I worried that perhaps I was going to be accidentally poisoned.  I didn’t feel anything right away and like a complete idiot I took another bite.  Big Mistake.  Next thing I remember I was organizing the bathroom.  I became enthralled with the toothbrush holder and spent a long time placing it “just so” on the counter.  Then I became obsessed with my face, staring at myself in the mirror, admiring my small pores.  But then there was a shift and all of a sudden I was on a BAD trip!

I ended up at the local hospital, where they already knew me well from my various panic attack freak-outs.  At the front desk the nurse asked me why I was there.  I said “because I have cancer and I ate a pot cookie and now I am having a very bad and scary trip.”  She motioned me to the waiting room where my dad sat with me  – bless his heart – until my partner arrived.  I sat low in my seat, trying to hide from the others whom I deemed all highly suspicious.  Once my partner arrived I was interviewed by another nurse.  I told my story and then I threw up in a small bowl that magically appeared before me.  I was very scared.  I was like the lamest drug taker in the history of drug taking.  The nurse put me on a gurney in the waiting room so that I could “come down” while my partner stood next to me listening to my gibberish (he’s a saint).  Unfortunately it was a busy night at the hospital and I live in a big city – Toronto.  So very quickly the hospital waiting room filled up with characters right out of a Law & Order episode.  Next thing I knew I was lying in my gurney next to two crazy broads who were each shackled to their gurneys.  There was also a gaggle of police officers.  Why oh why did I eat that second bite of the cookie?!   I was also in a panic because I couldn’t remember if I had properly disposed of the rancid cookie.  I was paranoid that my dog Leroy would eat it – though looking back now I realize that the cookie smelled so disgusting that Leroy would have – unlike me – just said no.

Moral of the story:  take one bite and wait, wait a long time.  Or, better yet, ask your doctor for some medicinal pot.