Paging Dr. Greenthumb

You can grumble all you want when I bring up the topic of medical marijuana, but I tend to lean to the left on the subject, so grumble quietly to yourself.

Here in The Commonwealth, medical cannabis, as we shall refer to it here, is legal.

According to some fancy code found in some big dusty law book:

§ 18.2-251.1. Possession or distribution of marijuana for medical purposes permitted.

Shocking I know, considering we're not exactly living in Portlandia here.

Before you start to envision me rolling a big fat roach and sitting on the back deck while the kids play in the yard, know that I am not actually smoking medical cannabis at this point in my treatment. We actually aren't cannabis smokers in general, so you can breathe a little sigh of relief knowing Kyle will pass all future vocational drug tests. It's just not our thing.

And prior to being educated on all things cancer, I would have assumed they intended medicinal cannibus for people with end stage disease to ease pain and suffering, but I was wrong. It's actually intended to suppress nausea and increase appetite. And those are two things, my friend, that I am in need of.

It was suggested by many during treatment last year, but we never really got around to asking. I was slowly rebounding from my massive weight loss and rebounding relatively quickly from each treatment, so the need didn't really arise.

After stepping on my friend Mr. Scale before treatment two weeks ago, the obvious was getting more obvious. The doctor and his PA just had bring up my weight loss. My only excuse turned out to be the magic words they needed to hear. "But I have no appetite."

The magic words indeed, apparently.

A disco ball dropped down in the exam room and the party started. I was prescribed something called Marinol, or what I'm simply referring to as pot pills. Marinol is a synthetic cannabinoid, or what laymen like myself might better understand as fake weed in pill form.

It took a day for the major chain pharmacy we use to fill the script for Marinol, and I'm going to assume it's because they keep it locked up in some top secret bunker formerly filled with nuclear weapons. But perhaps it's so infrequently prescribed that they just don't keep it in stock.

Kyle carried the pills into my darken room and somehow in my nauseated half-slumber I heard him say "$118." That woke me up in a hurry and I demanded that he return it. Hell if I'm going to pay that much for something without a sample to see if it works! But the day wore on, he and the kids left the house and I threw caution to the wind. I knew I was going to need something to help, because at the rate I'm going, it will be time to downsize my clothes and send me into the Flyweight class after my next round. I have this irrational fear of being force fed cans of Ensure Guantanamo Bay-style, so show me the munchies little pill.

Sadly, it did nothing. It wasn't magical and I still felt sick. But I kept taking them, twice a day as directed, and I still felt nauseated and I still had no appetite.

Needless to say, I don't know if I'm going to be a repeat customer. I did get over my sticker shock, but if it's not going to make me inhale giant platters of Rice Krispie Treats, why bother.
Down the hatch you little pearl of wisdom!

1 comment:

Carrie S. said...

Kudos to you for trying out new things to help your well-being. Hopefully it will work soon enough!