I became obsessive about learning about medical marijuana.  I googled everything you can imagine.  Let me assure you I am no novice when it comes to the internet.  I can find any piece of information, you-tube video, or long lost high school friend in a matter of seconds.  But when it came to this search I found very little.  At least very little that I could apply.  There were plenty of white papers.  Tons of debate.  Lots of smokey fraternity pics.  But nothing that told me, is it really legal?  Where do I get it?  What are the steps I need to take?  Ugh, where is the pot practicality?

Finally I found out that I needed to go to a doctor and get a prescription.  After that point I would be able to go to some sort of facility and they would give me the goods.  Ok, got it.  Well, I clearly wasn’t going to go to my primary care physician.  I am way too embarassed.  It’s kinda like admitting to your parents that you have sex.  Yes, it’s legal, yes it’s natural, but still way to embarassing, so it’s best left unsaid.

In the midst of my internet search, my zip-a-dee-doo-dah feeling was starting to fade and…ugh, is that my headache again??

A few months and a pseudo-secure job later, I found myself where I had become accustomed: at home, curled up in my bed, unable to leave the house. My good friend Kary texted me, asking if she could drop by for a second. When she arrived she had a small gift bag. Little did I know that it contained the answer to my pain…and that it would be banana flavored.

She had obtained a small amount of fruity-flavored pot from an undisclosed location in hopes that it would make me feel better, at least for a little while. I was on board. If it could cure the vajones, it could cure me! What we didn’t know was how to do was get it into me. A call to a friend for advice lead us on a scavenger hunt around the house for some sort of smoking paraphernalia–after which, all I knew was that I didn’t have papers, a pipe, a can, or any type of fruit. Crap, my new pot smoking lifestyle had stopped before it started. Then we thought of pot brownines. I certainly didn’t have brownie mix (come on, I didn’t even have paper), but we figured that all we needed for it to work was something edible and some sort of heat activation. What I did have was Easy-Mac. What screams pot louder than macaroni and cheese?

So we diced the pot on the cutting board. I don’t know why, maybe to activate it? I then added it to the microwavable meal, nuked it, and ate it. After that we waited. And when I say waited, I mean gossiped. I mean, even with severe nausea and a pounding headache you can always find time to talk about Brangelina and their 34 kids. But after 30 minutes, something happened that brought this squawk fest to a halt. My stomach wasn’t hurting. My head was still the same, but I felt no nausea. Usually it takes about 4 days to feel better, but I had gotten better in 30 minutes. After that, Kary left and I curled up to watch CNN (ok, Gossip Girl). After another hour, my head stopped hurting. I was back to normal! And then I passed out.

I had never smoked pot and had planned to live the rest of my days without partaking in the wacky tabacky.  I’ll go into more details as I get to know you better (I don’t know what kind of girl you think I am), but the point is I paid no attention to pot-head gallery and their smokey suggestions.  That was until I heard one startling testimonial.

My cousin-in-law smokes pot for his severe “migranes.”  I put “migranes” in quotes because we all know that medicinal marijuana is a cover for pot-heads to smoke legally. (Just kidding, Ron! I’m one of you now!).  But this testimonial is not his.  It’s his wife’s, my cousin Tina.  Tina falls more into the supermom category than the daily pot smoker category.  I’m sure she tried it in college, probably didn’t inhale, but now she spends her days fixing dinners and wrangling kids.

It was one of these dinners where she had a dramatic spaghetti incident.  The details are unclear but the result was a pot of boiling water poured all over her nether region:  that’s “fanny” for the Brits, “pee-pee” for the children, “vajayjay” for the Oprah fans, and “vagina” for those lost up to this point.  As you can imagine, Tina was in pain.  Severe pain.  P-A-I-N!!!  So her husband suggested she try some of his “migraine medicine.”  At her wit’s end, she did.  And it worked.  And as far as I know, her vajones still does too.  All thanks to this forbidden weed. 

So if supermom can do it, maybe I can give it a try.

So, I’m in pain…and what do you do when you are in pain? You go to the doctor. I actually went to 8. In 6 months. I told each of them about my situation and they all had the same reaction. Now this one I do have a way for you to relate to. Please turn to the left and look at your closest wall. What do you see? Nothing? Yup, that’s what each doctor gave me. Nothing. Oh wait, that’s not true. One doctor told me it was either a brain tumor or I was being too emotional. I don’t remember being emotional before he told me it was a brain tumor, but my head was pounding so I could have been wrong. But as far as solutions go, I got nothing. So I had to find my own.

Now this isn’t a blog to bash doctors, or western medicine, or people who wear white jackets after labor day. It’s just to tell my story.