 ©1999-1999 ICFTP What're you, kidding? |
I feel like I can't not say anything.
Ok, the facts: I'm a cancer patient, still suffering through the vestiges of some pretty intense chemotherapy. I often (read:mostly) feel like shit. Most of the time, that feeling is nausea, compounded by headaches and various other gastro-intestinal yuckiness. I have drugs to control it, including Marinol, and they help. But they don't make it go away, they just push it back, and make me feel dopey and weird.
Smoking marijauna makes it go away.
That simple enough for ya?
I went for a month or more with no cravings for the stuff, other than an occasional "Gosh I'd like a smoke" in the same way I was going "Gosh I'd love a cold Dos Equis." When I got into my apartment and had some handy, I still didn't run immediately for my stash (even though I felt like crap) and waited until I could test it a little bit at a time. Coughed like hell the first toke.
So let's please get past our preconceptions about whether smoking is wrong, or immoral, or leads you to do heavier drugs - face it, I'm on a daily regimen of heavier drugs than I've ever sampled in my life! It's not a gateway drug, it's not slowly turning me in a human wreck a-la Reefer Madness, it's just helping me to feel better. And I can use every bit of feeling better I can get, ya know?
So please, Mr. Government Man, get off your ass and see that the people you are supposed to represent think you're WRONG. I've got enough pain and discomfort in my life, and I do not appreciate being told that I can have anything except the one thing that works really well because of some economic and political bullshit from the 30's.
Ah, the sound of sirens out my window. What an appropriate close to this article. Sure hope my right to free speech is still in effect, boys and girls. I'm not (currently) advocating the use of marijauna as a recreational substance, but the medical benefits are clear, at least to me. No drug that's been tried on me works as quickly or as well as smoking. In addition to removing the nausea and upset stomach, it is relaxing and helps me to sleep.
And hell, it smells good! Four of the pills I have to take literally smell like skunk musk! Ack!
New Underground Woman a little something about lingerie, perhaps? Hmmm...
27 June 1999:
It's raining. I missed the shuttle buss to the hospital... and back from the hospital. Oh well, it's not a bad walk, and I need the excercise.
Today's hospital visit: sit, get blood sucked, wait. Wait. Wait some more. Nurse comes in, says "You can go, go on, git." Walked home.
And I'm not even exhausted. Tired, certainly.
Homesick.
I miss my friends. I miss my kitten. I miss my friend's kitten's - Miles walking me to the car every morning, Ella occasionally perching in my lap while I sit outside. I miss Mickey occasionally claiming a thigh as her rightful resting place as we watch movies, or standing on the kitchen table, giving her curious double-meow that means "Come pet me, I like you!" I miss it when Frankie slowly wanders over, waits for me to offer my hand, and then leeeaaaannnns into it, askin' for scratchin'. I miss Lilu curled up in my lap while I type at the MacSE/30, purring and pushing her head back against my hand, or sitting above me on the shelf while I work. She's the most beautiful piece of artwork I have in my apartment. I miss waking up to her wandering around my bed, or curled up on my pillow. Beautiful silver grey and elegant creature, I love you.
It's raining and I'm down.
Don't have to go to the hospital tomorrow.
I've started working on a model of a 57 Chevy Bel Air. Been a while since I did one of these. Coming along fine, so far.
Mom and pop are gone, it's just me an Tanya. We had a bit of trouble getting to the hospital this morning, aparently patient services transportation leaves much to be desired, so we may try to wrangle a car from somewhere.
Man, I wish I had something interesting or invigorating or fun to write, but I am just feeling lonely. It doesn't take too long before you're tired of all the medical stuff, ya know?
While I languish in this tower, time moves on without me... my friends grow and change and yet I stay behind. Soon I shall lay me down upon a bed of leaves (seems I've pricked my finger with a spindle that was lying around) and something is drawing me to a not-so-distant forest clearing. There I will lie down and sleep, not to wake 'til the lips of my promised one press against mine, returning me to the world.