“FBI, open up.”
“Come on, get your shoes on,” Michael commanded.
I followed him into the back of the house, where he slid open a window and said, “All right. We’re going over the back fence, through the Hudson’s yard. Got it?”
“Why are…”
He held up his finger to my lips and whispered, “Don’t worry about why!”
He slid out the window and helped me down. We sprinted across the lawn and someone yelled. “Stop.”
Michael squeezed my hand just before he let go and we both scaled the fence,
“I said stop,” The voice yelled.
We didn’t listen; we landed on the other side and began to sprint. We rounded the corner just as a black unmarked police car came screaming to a stop in front of us. The other man emerged behind him with a gun. “Put your hands on the hood.”
Michael smiled at me, “Just do what they said.”
“Why are you running?” One of them asked.
“We're just out getting some exercise.”
“Really, you often exercise by cutting through your neighbor’s lawn?”
“Yes.” Michael said defiantly.
A small crowd of people began to form and I could see them pointing and whispering.
“We have some questions we’d like to ask you down at the station.”
“Are you asking?” Michael snickered.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
The cuffs hurt as they shoved us in the back seat. “You have the right to remain silent..:”
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 15
Denver, 2008
“I want a lawyer and I’m not answering any of your questions.” Michael said, sitting with his arms crossed. He thought to himself, “Where is Rene?”
They separated us when we got to the station. At first they were really nice to me. A tall, thin agent came in and offered me something to drink and eat, which I graciously accepted. But the tone started to change when they found Michael was not going to give up his sources.
I hadn’t read the stories and really had no Idea what the big deal was.
“Your brother’s article is treason and we need his sources.”
“I don’t know his sources and haven’t even read the article.”
“Well, your brilliant brother has accused the federal government and a number of its agencies of fraud and conspiracy to manipulate the health of our citizens for profit. He actually compared the US government to Nazi Germany and laid out how we became a fascist state.”
“Like I said, I have no Idea what you’re talking about.”
I wasn’t lying, yet they just kept at it, with question after question trying to get me to change my story.
“You do realize we can hold you indefinitely unless you cooperate.”
“I am cooperating.”
“No, you’re not.” He shook his head and huffed. “We need you to think. Have you seen your brother talking to anyone different or unusual?”
I scratched my head. “I…”
I didn’t get the chance to finish as the door opened and a familiar face came waltzing in.
“Say no more.”
My dad’s lawyer handed a piece of paper to the men.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 16
Denver, 2008
Two weeks passed and life was pretty uneventful. Michael was put on leave at the newspaper and my parents withdrew me from school and placed me in home school. We spent most of our hours together, talking, playing board games, and watching old movies, except for the times Dad went in for radiation. The cancer had spread to his bones and had become very painful. He had made the decision, despite Michael’s plea, to do radiation in an effort to stop the agony.
In a way it worked, but he exchanged one set of problems for the next. Gone was the pain in the bones, while nausea crept its way into his belly. Nothing could stay down, even the organic juices and Hypocraties potato soup. Within a week all the color in his face was gone and his weight had plummeted another 28 lbs.
Had I not been there every day I don’t think I would have believed that this was the same person. Six months ago, my dad was the epitome of health and a towering example for me and my brother, strong, resilient, respected, and unwavering.
The man in front of me, who struggles to breath and doesn’t have the strength to make it to the rest room, is broken. Everything he ever thought has all been swept away, and death is at his door.
I wiped his forehead and his eyes rolled in the back of his head.
“Dad?” I asked franticly.
“I’m ok, hon, just a little weak.” He said, and then he passed out.
I ran over to Michael’s room, “Dad passed out.”
We called 911 and the ambulance came.
***
That night at the hospital the doctor explained how Dad had become so was weak because he wasn’t able to keep enough fluids and food in him. They suggested we try a number of medications. We went to the pharmacy to pick them up and Michael got to talking to a man in line behind us.
He got real quiet and said, “Have you heard of the stuff that is going on with pot and cancer?”
Perplexed, we both said, “No.”
The guy gave us a funny smirk and said, “Well if you dad’s sick enough to need chemo or radiation I think you need to check it out.
***
As soon as we got home we all sat down on our tech devices and began surfing the net. “Marijuana and cancer,” was what we typed into the search engine and what came up floored us all.
We found out that not only had marijuana been successfully helping cancer patients overcome nausea, but also that there were hundreds of foreign studies being done that suggested marijuana could prevent and cure cancer.
How could this be? As conservatives we had heard how bad this drug was, and how it was a gateway drug. My mom’s generation was so conditioned to fear the plant that even discussing it made her hands sweat.
Michael made some calls and a local man named Ean Seeb arrived at the house. Ean, the head of Cannabis Political Action Committee, was one of the leading advocates for the sensible movement toward legalization and regulation. Michael pulled some strings and asked if Ean would talk to his mother. Ean agreed as long as Michael would go ahead with the article he was putting together on the rise of medical marijuana and how it could help hundreds of thousands across the country who are suffering.
“Hello.” Ean said.
“Hello.” My mom nodded at him, “Have a seat.”
He sat at the end of the table. “Michael here interviewed me yesterday and he tells me you are in need of some information about cannabis.” He stopped and chuckled saying, “If you’re like most people, just the word cannabis is scary.”
He sat forward in his seat. “There is no reason to be afraid, The fear you have was taught to you, systematically drilled into your head by the media, the government and the education system, but there is no reason to be scared. In fact, I’m going to give you a list of the top ten reasons people are scared and how they are wrong.”
He smiled, and told us, “I don’t expect you to take my word for it so I brought you a list of resources that will corroborate what I say and you can ask me any question you like. Ok?” He stared right at mom.
“Ok.” She said with a sigh of relief, as if to say “I trust you.”
“The first myth is that marijuana is addictive. In fact, coffee, soda, and chocolate have more addictive properties than cannabis, and cannabis has no physical withdrawal symptoms.
Two, marijuana prohibition protects kids. The facts show prohibition has only made the numbers worse.
Three, marijuana causes cancer or lung damage. There are no studies that prove this. On the contrary, the properties of this unique plant seem to block cancer growth.
Four, using marijuana will lead you into crime and delinquency. That has happened onl
y because it’s illegal. Plus some of our most prominent citizens have partaken.
Five, marijuana is the gateway drug. This is not true. A report by the Institute of Medicine found no conclusive evidence that the drug effects of marijuana are linked to the subsequent abuse of other illicit drugs.
Six, marijuana is a dangerous drug. Study after study has found it less harmful than alcohol and tobacco and much less harmful than drugs like cocaine and heroin.
Seven, marijuana will cause memory loss and intelligence loss in the long term. While intoxicated, you may have short term memory loss, but there is no scientific evidence of permanent damage.
Eight, marijuana is more potent now than in the past. There is no statistical evidence to support what law enforcement agencies keep claiming that today’s marijuana is more potent and therefore more dangerous.
Nine, marijuana causes a lack of motivation or apathy. In fact, studies found there was no loss of motivation or the ability to perform. Marijuana users tend to have higher paid jobs than non-users.
This one I saved for last because it’s why we’re here
Ten, marijuana has no medical benefits. There is an amazing array of medical benefits. While the drug companies run scared, the natural use of this plant has shown to relieve pain, quell nausea and vomiting, stimulate the appetite, and may even fight cancer.”
He stopped and asked, “Are there any questions?”
To my surprise my mom jumped right in. “What about insurance? I read somewhere online that if they test him and marijuana is found in his system that some policies will automatically drop him and he would be responsible for any medical bills.”
“Your son took the liberty to let me who your insurer is. I called them and discussed the situation. They are one of three companies that has not written this into their policies.” Ean explained.
“What about his job? If they test him and he comes up positive, can’t they fire him and cancel his insurance?”
“Yes, they could, if he did not have a prescription, but I have lined up a doctor who will give him a medical marijuana card.”
“Are they legal here in Colorado?” Mom asked.
“They're not, but companies with good lawyers will recognize, the huge chance they would be taking in regards to discrimination. Could you imagine the lawsuit one could bring against a company who denies medicine to its dying employees?”
Michael interjected, “His Medical marijuana card would actually be in California, and we would be working with a local doctor here to help monitor his progress.”
“What about possession? Even if we go through all this, aren’t we still breaking the law?” Mom asked.
“Have you heard the term conscientious objectors?” Ean responded.
“Yes.’
“You would be acting on the same principle,” Ean said.
“Didn’t Mohammad Ali go to jail for five years because he was a conscientious objector?” she asked.
Ean smiled, “Yes he did and that is something all of you my face, but what is the alternative? Have any of the drugs the doctors prescribed helped with his nausea or stopped the extreme wasting associated with cancer?”
“No,” she looked at me and Michael then back at Ean. “Ok, how do we go about getting it?”
That was it. Seven words in a question and we were officially headed toward our first drug deal.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 17
Denver, 2008
As we pulled up to a nice suburban house Michael looked down at the paper. “This is the address,” he confirmed.
Mom ripped the paper out of his hand. “Are you sure? It looks so nice,” She said.
Michael shrugged his shoulders. “Can’t judge a book by its cover, I guess.” He looked back at me. “
“What about Rene? Are you sure she should come with us?”
“No,” she looked back at me, “I’m not, but if we’re going to do this we can’t treat it like that, understood?”
We both agreed in unison, “Yes.”
Walking up to the door, I couldn’t help but notice how clean and tidy everything in the yard seemed to be. A tall, handsome man answered the door with two toddlers hanging from his legs. “Good afternoon, the de Gracias, I suppose, I’m Mr. Brown.”
“Yes.” My mom stuck her hand out to greet him. “I’m Lori, here are Rene and Michael.
Shaking her hand, he invited us in.
“Excuse the mess,” he said, kicking a small ball down the hall.
I looked around and saw no mess at all. I was taken aback by how different it seemed then how I imagined it would be.
We entered the kitchen. The fridge door was covered in kids’ drawings and ABC magnets.
He stopped to look down at his kids, and said, “Could you two go down to the play room and start cleaning up?”
His kids hurried out of the room.
“Our mutual friend, Ean, told me you needed some medicine.”
My mom answered. “Yes, and I think I can speak for all three of us. We have no idea what it is we need.”
“That’s ok. I spoke with Ean and have a few different strains I think will help.”
He opened up a pantry door, pulled out a sliding door and retrieved a clear rectangular box with dividers in it. He set it down and opened it. Each divider was filled with different kinds of marijuana, and at least three were filled with some kind of concentrate, wax, and hash.
“Now the Charlotte’s Web strain is a strain of high cannabidiol better know as CBD’s and should be taken as often as needed for pain.”
“What about a possible overdose?” Michael asked.
“”There is no toxic level of cannabis, so there is no possible way to overdose,” Mr. Brown explained.
“He has never smoked marijuana. Can he eat it instead?” Mom asked.
“Yes, but you’ll need to cook it first to activate the oils in it. I’ll give you an instruction sheet before you leave.”
“Thank you. Can I ask you a question without sounding dumb?” Mom smiled.
“I used to be a teacher and we always like to say there are no bad questions, so fire away.”
“If eating it is ok, why don’t we just get the prescription pills called Marinol from a pharmacy?”
“Marino is synthetic THC which is the major psychoactive part of the cannabis plant. The problem is that cannabis is made up of at least fifty different compounds and THC is only one of them. Research is limited due to its classification as a Scheduled I drug so what little we do have points to the symbiotic relationship of the compounds and how they work better or more efficiently when combined. The problem is they haven’t been able to recreate that relationship in manufacturing Marinol, so all you’re left with is the one compound. If you smoke this, you’ll get all the medicine you need at its highest medicinal level, whereas taking a Marinol pill will not be as effective.”
“Makes sense,” she said.
“So this is the pain one.” He turned over the bottle and labeled it. “Pain high CBD.” He pulled out a few buds with purple accents on it and amber crystals that looked like it was dipped in brown sugar. “This strain of marijuana is called indica. It was harvested late to produce these dark crystals which helps raise the CBD levels.”
He closed the lid and slid it toward us, saying, “Now, this stuff here.”
He pulled out a hand full of much smaller buds that were lighter in color and looked like it was dipped in white sugar.
“This is a Sativa, which is lower in CBD. It Is better for Nausea and the wasting. He should take this thirty minutes prior to his scheduled eating time.”
He held them up toward my mom.”
“They stink.” She turned her head away and made a sour face.
“This strain is called ‘sour diesel’ because it can smell as strong as diesel fuel.”
“So one for pain, one for eating, and you said one more.”
&
nbsp; He went back to the pantry and brought a bottle with an eye dropper made of dark blue glass.
“This is a cannabis tincture that you take orally or sublingually for sleep.” He smiled, and said, “These three things should help your husband deal with the side effects of this treatment for this horrible disease.”
Michael piped up. “How do we know this is pure, and not cut with other drugs?”
He laughed. “That’s an urban legend and unequivocally not true of any drug dealer I’ve ever met. Let me explain, other drugs comparatively are way more expensive and have to be consumed in a very specific manner or they would be wasted. A gram of cocaine can cost a hundred dollars. Since drug dealers are in it for the money, why would they lace their marijuana buds that are worth ten dollars with something that is worth ten times as much and sell it for the same ten dollars.”
“Add to that, unless you’re smoking that weed with a blow torch or mainlining it which I’ve never heard of anyone doing with weed, most of the laced drug would just melt down into the pipe because its flash point is higher than weed.”
“Wow, I had no idea,” mom said. Then she asked. “Why do I continually see respected journalists and talk show hosts bringing up the purity and laced question.”
“That is just another backlash from years of corporate propaganda against it.”
He held up one of the buds and smelled it, “This should do it.”
As we drove home my heart was pounding with anticipation and fear. I couldn’t believe we were driving down the street, with my mom, my brother, and a bag of drugs. I had heard of pot before, but never imagined my first drug deal would be with my 40 year old mother, much less delivering it to my ultra conservative father.
I didn’t know it then, but that day was the last day I would know hope as it pertains to the word cancer.
The Cancer Culture
Chapter 18
Denver, 2008
Desperate acts by desperate a person, that is what cancer has become in the US. My family was no different. We were desperate and willing to do and try anything just to find hope. Dad even agreed to smoke marijuana, something he was normally vehemently against just to give the three remaining members in his family some hope. In small doses we would find our hope hidden behind the sorrow and lingering in the memories of our childhood stories.
We spent long hours reminiscing and planning. How surreal it must have been for him as he explained to us how his pension would be paid out and went over his expectations for our future.