From my friend Dr. Emily.
When she speaks, or writes, I listen.
It was 1978 and I was a third year medical student when my friend was slowly dying of metastatic breast cancer. Her deteriorating cervical spine, riddled with tumor, was stabilized by a metal halo drilled into her skull and attached to a scaffolding-like contraption resting on her shoulders. Vomiting while immobilized in a halo became a form of medieval torture. During her third round of chemotherapy, her nausea was so unrelenting that none of the conventional medications available at the time would give her relief. She was in and out of the hospital multiple times for rehydration with intravenous fluids, but her desire was to be home with her husband and children for the days left to her on this earth.
Her family doctor, at his wit’s end, finally recommended she try marijuana for her nausea. My friend was willing to try anything at that point, so one of her…
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