The Elysia Skye Breast Cancer Organization

This is a journal entry from the first time I ever smoked pot, which was to subdue the nausea from chemotherapy. Enjoy!

Friday, October 28^th, 2005

Precious Flowerbook or stranger who wound up with a copy of this journal,

Holy God. If any of this makes sense to you, you’re a better human spirit in a body than I am.

We were standing in my puke yellow kitchen-

Here’s the deal, even though I’m kind of gothy, and I like getting into trouble and sneaking into places I shouldn’t be in, I NEVER did drugs! Not only did I never do drugs, I was the one who yelled at everyone else for doing drugs. I would have bet all the cats in Israel that I would never smoke pot (apparently they have a cat problem the way China has a rat problem, the way Florida has a roach problem… I can go on).

And here I am, ladies and gents, stoned off my ace (that is, if I must, ASS ala Happy Gilmore style pro-nun-ciation).

Because I’ve never smoked pot, I don’t know how. Does that make sense? I don’t physically know how to smoke.  So last night, after Paul’s failed attempt at an apple bong (god bless him and his many wonderful talents, this was not one of them), he decided to shotgun the smoke into my mouth. Now, if you smoke pot or cigarettes or cigars or crack or whatever flavor your Kool Aid is, you may have remembered your first time. It burned like hell and you coughed a lot, right? Well, if you were already nauseous to begin with, Huston, you may have a problem.

Michael came over cuz he had the weed (and I wanted him there), and stood in front of me as Paul inhaled as much marijuana as his lungs could hold (a professional singer can take in a shit ton) and breathed it into my mouth.

I breathed it in

And vomited it out.

Right on Michael’s shirt and shoes.

So now I’ve bled on him, squirted him with my insides from the drain tubes and officially yacked on my boyfriend.  Paul fuckin’ hates the guy and said that moment was like a hug from Jesus. I felt really bad, but not for long because I am hiiiiiigh!  I don’t remember much after that. Not because of the pot but because today was a chemo day. I never remember chemo days.  I laughed and fell asleep. And just for the record, I’m not about to be a stoner or anything, but I am now a firm believer in the medical purposes of this natural herb.

When I got up this morning, Paul took me to the pot doctor. She is a lovely Jamaican woman named Dr. Stafford who has an office in downtown Los Angeles.  Someone I know recommended her. The visit cost $150 and was not covered by my insurance. But Dad said he’d pay for this one (sorry about college kiddo, but here’s your weed card!).  If you have cancer, getting a marijuana prescription is a piece of cake (like the cake you want after the munchies kick in). Most people in LA say they have “anxiety” or “depression”, they even give you a card for anorexia (since it helps increase appetite). But I feel like I legitimately and legally deserve my card (and so do depressed anxious thin people).

But because I still don’t know how to smoke it, I bought marijuana pills instead. These were gel caps with ground up weed and oil with THC. I also bought some pot soda and a brownie.  I didn’t know what was gonna work.  The sodas and brownies we’re about $10 each in case you were wondering. The pills were $5 each.

I didn’t get them from the doctor; I had to go to the “pharmacy”.  This was a shop above a Starbucks on Santa Monica and Fairfax in West Hollywood.  There is a security guard out front and the pharmacy issued me a card with my picture on it once they verified the prescription with my doctor over the phone.  Most of the “patients” were very large black men buying pounds of weed. I assumed they were going to sell it, since it’s a good deal to buy a shit ton. But I only wanted a little bit and a few edibles.  My friend Vanessa (who smokes more pot than Cheech and Chong combined) is buying me a vaporizer. This will make smoking easy because you just breathe in the vapor and it supposedly doesn’t hurt your lungs. But for now I’ll just munch.

The girls behind the counter were like hippy cheerleaders. They had long pig tails and wore overalls but no make up. They were so excited to be helping a cancer patient and explained the difference between indica and sativa (which I don’t remember – don’t explain things to people on chemo, just give me what I need). One makes you happy and one makes you relax.  I wanted both.

By the time I got home, Anne drove down to see me from Berkeley. She’s my best best friend in the world and finally I get to play with her!!! How did I survive the last two months without her I have no idea. We met in second grade.  My teacher, Mr. Ariza, had a crush on my mom, so I got special privileges. Like, I could come to school late, take naps in his office, and he always had Frosted Mini Wheats with Lactaid milk (I’m a lactard – milk makes me fart) and Little Debbie Swiss cake rolls (oh my God in heaven I love those things!).  All the other kids were jealous, but not Anne.  She thought it was awesome and quickly learned to share the benefits. We’ve been inseparable ever since.  When I was first diagnosed she was also dealing with a lupus diagnosis. Her joints were killing her and she was tired all the time. Finally she got the right medicine (for now anyway) and feels good enough to come see me.  She’s never smoked pot either.  So I gave her a pill.

And down the rabbit hole we went!  It had an opposite effect on her. She became very focused and started typing up a bunch of reports for work. Me, I couldn’t form one single sentence to save my life!  It’s like this – if I thought “it’s warm in here, can you turn on the air” what would come out is “It’s needs air, wait, why… I don’t know. I’m warm.”  But man, my nausea went away really fast.  I got hungry for the first time in weeks and all I wanted was honey smacks (if you’re too young, they’re like rice puffs with honey – cereal). We had Kashi organic rice puff cereal in the house and I insisted on eating handfuls out of the box.  I did this for over an hour while I watched my favorite movie Superman 2.  I am so in love with Christopher Reeve.  He is my hero.  When he died last year it was like I lost a family member.  What a being of strength and beauty.

Anyway, I lost a bunch of cereal in the couch and my shirt. I quickly became obsessed with finding them and counting them out loud, like the Count from Sesame Street.  “One Kashi! Two, three four Kashi! Ha Ha Ha!” but I kept losing my place in laughing. It was like sentences were leaking out of my brain and I couldn’t catch up with what I wanted to say. I know now the metaphysical properties of organic cereal. Just ask me! I don’t understand why everyone else in the room couldn’t hear them drop.  I was in the here and now.

I’ve slept off most of the pot by now. It’s not even dark out yet, I lost the day away. This is what all my friends did in high school while I was doing theatre.  I’m so lame I love it.  Mostly I am feeling so much gratitude for Paul and Anne. I just wanted to hug and kiss them all afternoon, in between Superman and cereal and naps. I feel like a beacon of love.

Oh my god I want a burrito. I can’t stop eating burritos. And shrimp. Salt sounds good. I’m like a hamster. A stoned hamster with a really awesome quilt and no hair.  I am a superhero. Just ask me.   Grandma Jeanette gave me this quilt when I was 16. I love it. It has a huge hole and sometimes when I kick in my sleep my foot will go through the hole and get tangled up.  That doesn’t matter though, nothing matters. Nothing except friendship and love and happiness.  Like Phil Collins says “I don’t care anymore – woah oh”.

DON’T TAKE FOR GRANTED BEING YOUNG AND BEAUTIFUL.  STYLE YOUR HAIR, WEAR SOMETHING THAT MAKES YOU FEEL PRETTY AND WEAR A BIKINI WHENEVER YOU CAN.