There’s no telling what may erupt from a casual luncheon of fried smelts, calamari, pasta and affogato al caffè. The ages of our triumvirate at table today were 75, 72 and 70. Each of us had a tale of woe concerning our health. Naturally a good deal of the conversation centred about recent medical history of ourselves and loved ones. But what I hadn’t anticipated is the intelligence from the middle member of our troop that there is the possibility of medical assistance through Canadian Cannabis Clinics.
Initially I hadn’t much comprehension of the putative professionalism of the on-line site though our promoter at table enthusiastically detailed it. When I arrived home after luncheon I looked into the matter more assiduously. The recommendation proved to be well founded. I should precede this account of my interest in the subject by noting that, in an attempt to quell my physical complaints, I have tried everything from Tylenol Arthritis pills to a collection of complicated medical prescriptions from my family physician to retail THC/CBD including the esoteric hemp products one finds displayed like works of art in a well-outfitted commericial establishment. None of the cannabis products or drugs – apart from Tylenol – has worked particularly well as far as I can tell. So I went on-line this afternoon and initiated my enquiry of Canadian Cannabis Clinics.
The first thing of importance is that the site welcomes initial conversation either in person at one of their offices (which understandably are not located in rural areas such as ours) or “virtually” on-line. I naturally opted for the latter. My appointment is scheduled for early November. Seemingly my appointment will be with a qualified medical practitioner. As you might expect there was a questionnaire to complete. If nothing else the depth of the questionnaire would defeat any but the genuinely intentioned. Obviously the site is not a mere gateway to legal cannabis. The underlying question is not how much fun you hope to have with an authorization (it’s deliberately not fashioned as a prescription); rather, whether your medical condition invites what the physician believes to be remedial use of cannabis. Apparently after having assessed you’re worthy of medical attention, there are follow-ups and educational instruction. I understand too that the authorization (should you receive it) entitles one to submission of expense for tax deduction.
I am skeptical of the benefit to be obtained from this undertaking. What little I have tried of THC/CBD on the retail market has not been favourable. It has just caused me inexplicable anxiety. There may have been some soporific advantage but never to the point of predictability. What however has alerted me in particular to the supposed analgesic is my recurring Restless Leg Syndrome which has become incrementally annoying, causing me to remain awake while awaiting the subsequent spasmodic attacks, then having to leap from bed, crawl to the drawing room where I have routinely pummelled myself with the Theragun mini-massage device, a practice which in turn subdues the jerkiness but only at the expense of the muscles the following day. It’s rather like banging one’s head on the wall I should say.
Now jumping ahead. The predictable disadvantage of a luncheon at an Italian restaurant is that it defeats anything but the most remote interest in food for the rest of the day. This I despise. Though it is but a small even doubtful overthrow, I am so accustomed to the pleasure of the evening meal and the habits which follow thereafter that I cannot surmount a sense of at least limited deprivation. But there is no remedy for a full stomach apart from the effluxion of time. This even so after a statutory 4Km tricycle ride about the neighbourhood. Accordingly while afterwards confronting this obstruction I exhausted my impatience by visiting yet another on-line site, one directed to the purchase of another product. I am too embarrassed to disclose exactly what product except to say it involves nothing nefarious or otherwise inappropriate. It just discloses my simmering indulgences. What occupied me far beyond what I had anticipated was the completion of the on-line detail of the precise features I wished to attribute to the product. I ended creating no less than three summaries, possibly four, each of which other than the last was fraught with error. Naturally I multiplied the blunders by incorrectly identifying the very site I sought to correct. I became entirely convoluted. What made it all the worse is that I shared each of my renditions before immediately thereafter discovering the mistakes. And I shared the renditions with not one but two people, to each of whom I commensurately crawled in humiliation. I may have augmented my indignity by having suggested to at least one of the parties that he was guilty of error in his own model of production. Yet another of those hurtful reminders of which my late father so often judiciously spoke that, “If you haven’t anything nice to say, say nothing at all!”