Coping with COPD
February has always been special to me, as my birthday is February First. Curiously, the same date as one of my older sisters and my father. The story was that my mom ran out of ideas for birthday gifts for Daddy so she gave him two daughters. There must be some magnet between February Firsters, as I have encountered them all across the world and invariably become friends. It’s quite an exclusive Club!
This year I turned 71 – wow. It sure doesn’t sound as old to me as it did when I was younger. Age is relative like that. In my head I often feel about 35 or 40, sometimes even still a teenager when I have flashbacks to being a flower child which is still so much a part of who I am. My body can feel its age at certain tired times and I know I can’t dance for 12 hours to psychedelic trance any more. But I’m just fine with that.
Of course, it may have to do with lifestyle changes as well. After 50 years of smoking cannabis regularly, in April of 2019 I was diagnosed with moderate COPD, so I quit cold turkey. Seemed like the smart thing to do. Some herbalist women told me about the benefit of taking cannabis as an edible instead, and so I began to make my own very strong butter from flowers from our own plants, so I knew the weed was super pure. I used the butter to make some tasty cookies I ate every night before going to bed, each delivering about 35-50 mg of cannabis, so yes, they were strong.
Then Covid hit and I avoided going to doctors until it felt safe, which was around 2023. My lungs were feeling noticeably better and sure enough the doctor told me that the COPD, which he had previously claimed was incurable, was now “non-detectable”. I credit Cannabis for literally eating the scar tissue on my lungs, similarly to how it has been known to work for dissolving tumors in certain kinds of cancer.
Well, I liked those cookies every night. I’d drift away gently with psychedelic visions and sleep like a baby, so naturally I kept eating them. Plus, I did want to keep up my cannabinoid levels as I had been fostering them since I was 14 years old. All was great until a stormy November night in 2024 when my heart suddenly started pounding at a very rapid pace and didn’t stop for over 10 hours. The weather made it impossible for us to drive to the hospital or call in a helicopter, so although I was detecting signs of a heart attack, such as pain in my jaw, we had to wait until morning to get me to the emergency room.
I was told at first that I had suffered a “mild heart attack” but after lots of tests and a coronary angiogram procedure the doctors were stumped. “Not a heart attack,” they proclaimed, and sent me home, worried it could happen again at any time. But then I started asking around and discovered several other seniors who had been ingesting lots of edibles and had the same simulated heart attack reaction. This made it clear to me that I had suffered from an oversaturation of THC from all those cookies.
Once again, without thinking twice, I went cold turkey. But this time it was from everything: no more cannabis in any form, no alcohol (I used to enjoy a tequila drink maybe twice a month), no psychedelics. Call it a Pavlovian Response, but my body simply said NO.
Now it has been well over a year and I haven’t been this straight since I was a young teenager. The amazing thing is that I don’t miss any of it all. My theory is that after 55 years of imbibing, cannabis has become a part of my DNA. It is who I am, and I basically feel high all the time. If I am in a room with friends smoking or tripping I immediately get a contact high and they all assume that I’m right up there with them. The only difference is that I can’t stay awake as long as they can and dance all night. But I can go lie down in the next room at a party and fall into a blissful slumber as I listen to my tribe all laughing and dancing together.
I do enjoy having extra energy for exercising and projects and must admit my head does feel more clear. But inside, the flower child lives on with full power and a half hour dance can be equally fulfilling to slugging away all night. The lesson is, don’t be afraid of growing older and changing some of your established patterns. It’s just fine and I hold no judgment either for myself or for those who still enjoy getting high.
Honestly, I kind of like being 71!
