My Husband And I Went Looking For Pot. It Quickly Turned Into A Nightmare.
Huff PostEmilija Manevska via Getty Images At every social gathering of middle-aged people I’ve been to recently, almost everyone has an “I tried a THC gummy bear because I couldn’t sleep and found myself in the emergency room or about to call 911” episode to share. I needed cannabis to ease any post-chemo nausea I might experience and to help blunt my anxiety the night before I’d be hooked up to the “red devil” for the first time. That’s how my husband and I found ourselves in late-afternoon traffic on the six-lane highway headed to a “church” of “cannabis ministries” in a low-slung building next to a motel and a tattoo parlor. I did doze off but woke up to my husband pacing the floor and yelling into the phone, “Hey, Siri, can you overdose on Ricky Simpson oil?” Siri didn’t respond, and I cannot tell you how many times he yelled at Siri while I kept thinking there were men with guns in the parking lot about to invade our room.
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