Going to Pot

I was (and still am) a pastor's daughter. It was drilled into me from an early age that I was to set an example of obedient purity, that people were always watching me, and that there was a higher standard of morality on me than on most. I understood the importance of never doing anything that could make my parents look bad, or worse, make Christianity undesirable. I made sure to be on my best behaviour at all times, to dress modestly, to avoid alcohol, smoking, sex, movies, and dancing, and to never, ever, EVER have anything to do with drugs of any kind.

So why, you ask, were my tender teenage daughters and I reeking to high heaven of marijuana yesterday afternoon? Well, it's an interesting story involving my being licensed to buy medical marijuana now and us going to what my oldest daughter described as a "crackhouse" to make a (100% legal!) purchase.

My doctor is Lyme Literate, meaning he has studied Lyme Disease treatment extensively and has a special certification to treat people with Chronic Lyme Disease. There is new research that one of the derivitives of the marijuana plant, cannabidiol, or CBD oil, is phenomenally good at eradicating the Lyme bacteria. This is not to be confused with THC, the compound in marijuana that gives you that "high" feeling. CBD is a completely non-psychoactive substance that heals the body without making you feel or act goofy. So he would like me to start taking CBD oil to combat the infection that is currently wreaking havoc on my body and waging war on my joints, muscles, brain, blood vessels and organs.

The thing is, you can only get CBD oil from someone who has extracted it from the marijuana they grew for getting high, so you have to have a legal diagnosis from a medical doctor, as well as be registered at each separate MMJ (medical marijuana) dispensary that you wish to frequent, so that if the cops stop you for possession you can show them your letter and your little laminated card with a picture of a ganja leaf on it. See? One day and I'm already using abbreviations. I'm on a slippery slope here, folks.

Of course, the minute I mentioned that I was going to the pot store, both teenage daughters became intrigued. Caitlin offered to drive ("...because I need the practice."). Hannah, seeing no need to offer up a reason, simply said "I'm coming.".

We pulled up outside a little old house in an off-the-beaten-track neighbourhood. There was a hooker leaning into a car chatting with a man, both of whom looked up at us, correctly ascertained that we weren't going to present any sort of a challenge, and went back to conducting business. I made some comment to the girls about him probably just needing directions, and they shot me a simultaneous "you think we're idiots" kind of look. Well, it was worth a shot. I was still clear headed enough to have their innocent minds at the top of my priority list. Well, close to the top, anyway. I had let them come along, after all. Mostly just so they could drive away and dial 9-1-1 if things went south while I was inside the pot store.

I got out of the van, and the girls promptly flanked me, Caitlin muttering something about "not leaving us here to be raped and pillaged" and Hannah simply saying "I'm coming.". She says that a lot. I wondered aloud where the entrance was, and Caitlin said "I assume through the crackhouse.". That seemed reasonable.

We walked up to the side door, which opened just as we got to it. A man who was probably close to my age but who could pass for sixty two came out, bringing a cloud of skunk-scented smoke with him. I smiled and said hello (good breeding kicking in), and he grinned. He still had several of his original teeth, so I felt moderately guilty for my initial assumption that he was a down-and-outer.

We walked inside, and were met by a woman who had clearly had a very hard life, but who was very kind and informative. You could cut the marijuana smoke with a knife, but it was *medical* marijuana, totally legal, so it was alright. The woman (Kim? I think) took my picture, had me sign some forms and then went into another room to laminate my card. My girls have inherited my special talent of conveying dialogue without actually speaking, so we had a silent conversation that involved such things as "I'm getting high just standing here", "Are you absolutely positive we're not going to be drugged and shipped off to Edmonton to be sex slaves?" and "Who ARE you , Mom??!!".

Not appreciating the attitude, I turned my attention to reading the informational signs plastering the walls. My favourite was "10 Reasons Why You Should Get High at Work". Reason #4 was "Your boss will seem less irritating". Well, you can't argue with that, right?

Kim came back and asked me if I had had a chance to look at their daily menu, and what I would like to buy. I said I only wanted to buy the CBD oil, thank you. She said they were out but expecting more very soon, and would give me a call. In the meantime they did have some THC oil, very pure, that would take care of my pain for several hours. I did my best to explain that I do not want to get high, not even a little bit. She looked confused. I could almost hear her thinking "So why are you here??!". She walked into an adjoining room, and, being the curious sort, I followed her. The girls seemed to be too relaxed to care where I was going, so they stayed put. A young man was sitting behind a desk weighing and measuring out what looked to be clumps of oregano.

Kim said "She wants something for pain, but doesn't want to get high."

"She doesn't want to get high?! Why not?!"

I interjected with "I'm just looking for CBD oil. Nothing with THC." It didn't seem to be computing, so I added "Nothing psychotropic."

They both stared at me for several awkward seconds. I added weakly "I've never done this before.". The looks on their faces very clearly said "No crap." I was getting attitude from everybody today. Strangely, I just didn't care. I bought about half a teaspoon of some thick, black oil that they said is high in CBD and very low in THC, and if I take no more than half a grain of rice size, I won't feel anything except relaxed, so it's good to take it at bedtime. Fine, whatever, there are days the pain could drop a horse in its tracks, so I'll just keep it on hand for an emergency.

I politely declined the offer of a brownie or a Skor (score?) cookie, although I must admit I was curious about the Space Cake that was on sale.

Five minutes later the girls and I were safely back in the van and on our way home. Nobody spoke until we were about two blocks down the road. Caitlin said "I feel like a snack." at the same time Hannah said "I've got the munchies, legit.". I didn't care about eating. To be honest, I didn't care about much of anything. I just wanted to sleep. We pulled into the Tim Hortons drive thru and the girls each got something to hold them over until we got home.

I texted the experience to John, and got a whole lot of laughter emoticons back from him, as well as some new nicknames like "My wife the druggie". See, more attitude? All day long, attitude from everybody.

We walked in the house and I lined my meds up on the counter, including my new bottle of Methylcobalamin (B12). Caitlin pointed to it and said "First pot, and now meth. I knew it.".

I wasn't brave enough to try my new "product" (that's what we in the biz call it... "product"), so it's in a safe place where kids and pets can't access it. In the meantime, I'm going to eat hemp seeds like they're going out of style and wait for them to call me when the CBD oil comes in.

I swear I don't even know who I am any more...