Tag Archives: medicinal pot

Cookie Monster

“Reason for your visit to the ER tonight?”

“Umm, I’m having a bad trip. I ate part of a pot cookie.” Dear God the humiliation. The nurse lowered her head and squinted at me over her glasses. “And I have cancer!” I blurted out.

“Please take a seat over there,” she said pointing.

I sat down in the waiting room, which on a Friday night was hopping like a club. My dad, who had accompanied me, took a seat next to me. If I remember correctly I think he was reading The New Yorker, which he’d brought with him from home.

Feeling paranoid from the weed, I decided I needed to “lay low,” so I slithered down in my chair, the lowest I could go. My dad peered down at me out of the corner of his eyes; no doubt he was counting the minutes until my partner arrived to take over babysitting. I tried sneaking a peak at the others sitting around me; they looked like a pretty rough crowd.

“Dear God, Goddess and Universe: I’m having a bad trip and I’m surrounded by sketchiness. Can you please help? Thank you.”

My partner arrived, greeting my dad as if nothing the least bit strange was transpiring. My dad wished me luck – like I was about to write an exam – then left. Soon after I was sitting with my partner at a nurse’s desk as she took my vitals. I explained that I had been eating the cookie, (baked by a well-meaning friend), in an effort to soothe my anxiety enough so that I could eat a proper dinner. Since my recent cancer diagnosis I was having great difficulty eating and had already lost seven pounds.

“I had one bite and it tasted awful, like poison. But nothing happened so I took another bite.” The nurse looked at me, as if to say, “don’t you know anything?”

“Then I was in the bathroom for a long time, re-arranging things and looking at my pores.” I’m pretty sure the nurse was silently judging me at this point.

I continued, “and I felt good, but then I started freaking out…” I trailed off.

As if by magic, I was suddenly presented with a cardboard bowl and I barfed up some banana. I tried throwing up daintily – I mean despite this horror I was still a lady.

The decision was made that I would “ride out my bad trip,” on a stretcher in the waiting room, positioned a bit off to the side. I lay down feeling at once very safe and very exposed. I babbled to my partner, clutching him at times as if I were in grave danger.

“Am I seeing what I think I’m seeing?” I asked him. The waiting room had suddenly become an episode of Law & Order, with two belligerent women handcuffed to their respective stretchers; police officers standing nearby. I wondered if the women were high on drugs too. “My God,” I lamented to myself, “look at the depths to which I’ve sunk. I’m on drugs and hanging out with criminals.”

Several hours later, no longer tripping and back at home cuddled up with my dog Leroy, I reflected on one of life’s most important rules:

When eating edibles, especially homemade edibles, refrain from acting like The Cookie Monster.

Take one bite and wait. Check your pores, re-arrange stuff, do whatever you want, but do NOT take a second bite right away.

Wait and then wait some more.

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Cookie Monster

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.