Christmas Eve 2023 will be a moment frozen in time for our family. Before we venture down memory lane, let’s examine the events that set the stage for what would come.
The year prior, our family grieved the loss of a best friend, Dee, who suffered a decade of various forms of cancer. Dee was a force to be reckoned with in the Ontario Cannabis Community. She was an OG hippie who never entirely left the sixties and was a maternal voice to those who required medical marijuana before cannabis was legal in Ontario. When Dee’s liver suffered its final fate, my Mom provided her with ultra-concentrated THC resin, notoriously known as “Rick Simpson Oil,” comparable to and a healthier option than addictive opioids, to ease her friend’s suffering. Also, as part of Dee’s protocol, she consumed large quantities of potent THC chocolate from morning to night. TCH or “tetrahydrocannabinol” is defined by dictionary.com as:
the primary psychoactive component in marijuana, hashish, and other preparations derived from cannabis plants, especially Cannabis sativa, or produced synthetically.
After Dee’s passing in August 2022, our family inherited a plethora of cannabis products from her family, some of which were stored in our refrigerator, such as unidentified half-eaten bars of chocolate.
My stepdad, Floyd, and I are not consumers of marijuana products, except specific strains of oils to induce sleep. However, Floyd does exhibit behaviors similar to a seagull; he can be seen descending upon the refrigerator at 8 PM each night, his flight path well known in inner circles.
On Christmas Eve, seagull Floyd embarked upon his usual journey through the various levels of the refrigerator. He had a sweet, insatiable desire and spied the unidentified chocolate sitting amongst other fully recognizable bars. Floyd ingested large quantities of the chocolate, tucking away multiple pieces of the brown goodness until he felt satisfied with his exploits. He returned to the sofa and became engrossed in watching people play pool on YouTube, a pastime I scratch my head at. A half-hour later, bed was calling. Floyd stood abruptly and realized all was not well; the world was spinning. He felt tremors deep within his stomach and began to emit a low growling noise that pilfered throughout the home.
From my loft, I heard what sounded like a cat dying. Was Santa in our living room? As I tip-toed downstairs and peered into the darkness, I listened to the animated howl from the kitchen. There, slumped over the table, was Floyd, trying to remove excess air trapped deep in his stomach.
“Are you OK? What’s THAT noise?” I gently placed my hand on Floyd’s back in concern.
“I don’t know…can’t seem to get rid of this gas,” he choked back.
I immediately went and retrieved my mother, who was also in bed, and asked her to come out and tend to Floyd. Mom jerked herself from under the covers, turned the kitchen light on, and checked Floyd’s vitals. His face was ashen grey; the man barely had the energy to lift his face off the wooden table. We were all afraid he may be experiencing a heart attack. My Mom dialed 911 and provided the known details, announcing the ambulance was soon en route.
While the three of us waited for the first responders to arrive, an opportunity arose to ask more questions. After gentle probing, my Mom and I discovered the culprit — Floyd ingested copious amounts of Dee’s marijuana-infused chocolate with high TCH content. When the ambulance arrived, and two male paramedics descended into our living room, my Mom and I were giggling like banshees — much to their bewilderment. Once the medics understood what they were dealing with, they, too, found amusement and relief in the situation.
Floyd ended up praying to the porcelain God in several violent incidents over the next two hours until nothing remained in his system.
Through Floyd’s escapades, our family learned valuable Christmas Eve lessons:
- One will not die consuming THC; the nightmare will pass.
- If in doubt, vomit as if your life depends upon it.
- Eat a full breakfast the next day. Pancakes are a must.
- Clearly label the contents of unidentified homemade treats.
- Re-evaluate seagull behavior. There must be a therapist for that.
While it is easy to make light of the situation, in truth, a far worse situation could have unfolded if a food-related allergy or a young child had been involved. On Christmas Day, Floyd was back to his usual self, tucked into his brunch like there was no tomorrow; the seagull resurrected.
Have you or a loved one ever eaten something you shouldn’t have? If so, what transpired, and were there any health repercussions?