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.