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:

1. One will not die consuming THC; the nightmare will pass.
2. If in doubt, vomit as if your life depends upon it.
3. Eat a full breakfast the next day. Pancakes are a must.
4. Clearly label the contents of unidentified homemade treats.
5. 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?

The post Caution! When Cannabis And Christmas Collide In Unexpected Ways appeared first on Medika Life.

But for me, I have one outstanding memory that I shall never forget. No, it’s not of a major loss or a historical event like the mythic Christmas truce during one of our too-many world wars. It’s a memory of sadness and staff who were too poorly trained to know what they were doing.

When I was a psychology intern, patients who had become long-term residents of state psychiatric hospitals could expect a few things at Christmas, if not family coming to visit. An employee on one of the wards was tasked with ordering gifts for them from a man who had managed to receive the contract.

In years gone by, probably before many of us were born, they would have been the guys selling from the trunk of their cars or small vans that wended through the hinterlands in the US to sell inexpensive gifts of clothing for scattered families living in a rural area. It was an era before malls or shopping centers and with “dry goods” stores many miles away. Now they sold to institutions, but the merchandise was still low quality, cheap and forgettable.
I was introduced to this practice as an intern at a huge psychiatric hospital, now shut forever, where my curiosity pushed me to ask what a supervisor was doing.

“I’m ordering Christmas gifts for the patients,” she responded.
“What kind of gifts,” I asked.

“The same things we have to choose from every year; sweaters, pajamas, hats, scarfs, or gloves,” was her annoyed reply.

The budget she was given for her 60 patients wasn’t anything but meager, but in her heart, she knew it was the one gift these patients would ever be getting from someone, too bad it was like the lackluster food trays they used every day.

OK, the patients were getting a gift at least and there would be some semblance of their participation in a holiday all of us looked forward to each year. And there would be ward decorations to further the attempt at holiday cheer. But there was one thing that stands out over the small gifts: the decorations on the unit.

Staff at the hospital did their jobs, but training in too many things was missing. I can’t, however, bring myself to think anyone needs training in poison control.

Ersatz fireplaces were in each day room on each unit’s ward. I don’t believe they were more than non-functional design elements meant to provide a homey atmosphere but what homes also provide reinforced doors on nursing offices?

During times of ward stress, the staff would lock themselves in the offices and watch as the ward was disrupted in fury. Furniture, however, was from a specific company and very difficult to move because of its weight. But anything that wasn’t bolted down was fair game to be used as a weapon.

On one ward, infamous for the publicity it received when a state senator, using the information of a known criminal sex offender, became a staff member, had a special way of decorating their unit. The fake boughs of pine with decorative candy canes draped over the mantels did add an air of Christmas. The staff knew that those candy canes were too enticing to patients who had no access to candy, and they came up with a solution, insect spray.

A staff member carefully sprayed all the canes and all the decorations with the insect spray in the belief that knowing it was inedible, the patients wouldn’t touch it. Wrong.

These patients were seriously mentally ill, and a candy cane was too enticing. One or two of them grabbed a cane and began to eat it. They were, of course, sent to the local hospital since this hospital had neither qualified medical staff nor a place to treat them. Yes, some staff members even had board certification as pediatricians, although this was a hospital for adults.

Recently, there had been a young, psychotic man, believing that he could cure himself, who had eaten the pine needles of an on-grounds tree; the needles were deadly. Neither the nursing staff nor the physicians knew what to do and they tried an inappropriate medication meant for wounds and inflammation. He died.

I guess none of them had ever heard of Socrates or how he died, hemlock poisoning. Why were hemlock trees planted at a hospital for the seriously mentally ill in the first place?

But those ward decorations and the spraying of them with insecticide will always stand out in my mind. I’m sure the patients won’t remember because everything was kept from them. All they knew was that the decorations had been removed before Christmas and some patients were sent to area hospitals.

I can think of no place lonelier than a psychiatric hospital at Christmastime and it will always be that way. I hope things have changed around the country where state psychiatric hospitals are still functioning. I am, however, not sanguine that they have changed.

Dr. Farrell’s books can be found on Amazon: https://tinyurl.com/yckv2w6h and http://www.drfarrell.net

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