If you haven’t read part #1 or part #2, I would encourage you to read those pieces first so that you’ll be able to understand the significance and strength of the quantum entanglement at play between these 3 individuals.
(Jane and Rebecca, Sept. 2016. The Shaman, July, 2013)
As I have alluded to earlier, in addition to being a cannabis coach, I am also a registered massage therapist. In Canada, we carry a professional designation and are regulated by our government as healthcare providers. Much of what’s in my scope of practice is very similar to what a physiotherapist or physical therapist would do. I spend a generous portion of my waking hours pushing and pulling the muscles and joints of other people.
All day long... 10 hours, to be exact.
(These are pictures taken inside my clinic. You can see the aromatherapy jet steam shower and the life-sized Buddha standing at one end of my treatment table. The Buddha, is a stoic reminder to be humble and always strive to maintain balance between male and female energies.)
I’m also considered a veteran in my field with 25 years of clinical experience.
My forte is in chronic pain management and the treatment of neurological and autoimmune diseases.
About 18 months ago, I bought a waterfront property and moved to a smaller house in an entirely different neighbourhood. I work a lot and like most people, am on the go constantly. I never really have taken the time to get to know my neighbours, other than to introduce myself when I first moved in or wave as I am driving past. Most of my neighbours are either cottagers or snowbirds. If they aren’t already retired, they soon will be.
At 45, I’m literally the new kid on the block and pretty much have kept to myself until about a month ago.
I was sitting on my dock contemplating the meaning of life, one of the best ways I know how...with the aid of a little Super Lemon Haze.
(Super Lemon Haze is one of my favourite cannabis strains. It's great for channeling some exceptional "hideas".)
Then, one of my neighbours walked out on his dock. (His name is John.) We exchanged pleasantries and I inquired about how his wife was doing. I knew that she had a surgery, of some description, a few months back. I didn’t know what type and I hadn’t seen her outside, in weeks. He shared that his wife, did indeed, have surgery about 4 months ago. It was supposed to correct a problem in her lower back. He went on to say, that her surgeon had removed 2 discs and shaved a vertebra but that she was still in excruciating pain and as a result, couldn’t walk very far.
They were originally from Newfoundland, (which is an island just off the east coast of Canada), and being on the water here, reminded them of where they grew up.
(This is a picture taken from the end of my dock, looking towards Jane and John's dock and boat.)
He went on to lament that his wife thought that she would be able to enjoy their boat this summer after her procedure, but at this point was struggling to even be able to walk as far as their dock. He explained that the surgery only corrected a small portion of what was causing her pain. This was a huge disappointment for both of them. As a result of dealing with the chronic pain, his wife had slipped into a depression. It got so bad that she wasn’t getting out of bed for days at a time and had lost interest in seeing her friends.
“It’s been rough”, he said. “She was up all night in pain again last night and I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Feeling the desperation in his voice, I told him what I do for a living.
Then, I went out on a limb and told him that I'm also a medical cannabis patient.
I shared that I have successfully used it to treat multiple sclerosis and put my body into remission. I told him that the disease took out the left side of my body from the chest down and that I had lost my eye-sight twice. Fortunately, between attacks, I regained full function but since I started eating cannabis, I haven’t had any more episodes.
I waited with bated breathe for a few moments. I’d just laid this guy, flat out.
I understood that he might be from the generation where there is little distinction between a massage therapist and a body rub attendant. (A.K.A: prostitute.)
Plus, I just told him that I’m into drugs. Daily. So now, I fit the definition of a professional druggie, too.
Secretly, I just wanted to blurt out “How do you like me now? Will you be throwing me "a welcome to the neighbourhood party?” I bit my tongue.
In an effort to lessen the awkwardness or make it worse, (it was anyone’s guess at that point), I responded to the nagging voice in my head that was incessantly urging me to help this women and in doing so, help John too.
(Ever since I was diagnosed with MS, my intuitive abilities have heightened and so has my sense of direction. For the longest time, I attributed these small perks to be the left-over side-effects, caused from being in an MRI machine too long, and from a disease that was re-writing my body’s circuitry. I’ve learned to pay close attention to this intuitive sense and I feel like its being strengthened over time, almost as if I’ve been receiving regular upgrades on a pre-determined schedule of sorts.)
So, I break the silence and simply asked, “Do you want me to speak with your wife?””Her name is Jane, isn’t it?”
I wait for the standard politically-correct, crafted response. You know the kind that start with “thanks” and are quickly followed by a string of “but, couldn’t and wouldn’t”.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, John invites me up to their house. I respond by saying “great just let me run into my house and I’ll grab my kit and be right over.”
(My plant medicine supply kit that I use when I'm teaching.)
Five minutes pass. I quickly load my traveling kit with about 20 different small glass jars, each containing a different strain of cannabis and an old vapourizer that I really don’t use anymore. I met John in their driveway and he swiftly ushers me into their house.
Jane shoots her husband a look of misguided anger as she tries to figure out why her husband has brought a stranger into their home without giving her any warning.
She attempts to stand and I can see that she is struggling to straighten up with the pain. I tell her to sit, not to get up and I quickly take the seat next to her.
I listen to Jane as she tells me her story. She explains the last 3 years of her life, leading up to her surgery 4 months ago. I listen to her roller-coaster account of the opioid drugs that were tried before and after the surgery. I listened to her journey coming off those drugs when she realized that she didn’t want to live that way, being totally unable to function cognitively.
I heard about the battle between her regular medical doctor and her psychiatrist who had prescribed a cocktail of 5 prescription drugs for sleeping, plus a prescription for an anti-anxiety medication and a 7th medication for depression. Nothing was working. She had taken her 5 sleeping pills about 10 pm the night before, only to be up with pain at 1 am. She couldn’t settle and had been up and awake trying to cope with the pain every since. It was now about 11 am. I had carefully been observing her for about a half an hour. I saw and recognized the signs of the facet joint arthritis and the posture she was taking to try an ease her pain due to the nerves that had been pinched too long before surgery and were now screaming as they were trying to heal from the long term irritation. I comforted her as she explained that they had planned a trip to Newfoundland to visit their family. Tears had welled up in her eyes, as she shared her fear that she wasn’t going to be able to stand the traveling and the flying that would be required. She was frustrated and angry at herself, because she thought she was going to have to disappoint her son and husband, yet again, and cancel their plans. “What’s the point of living if you can’t do anything because of the pain?” she asked.
I listened. I then said, “I may know something that might help you” and proceeded to tell her about my history with MS and medical cannabis. I opened my kit and showed her the vapourizer and the carefully packed small jars of cannabis.
(Some ground bud and a portable vapourizer.)
She looked at me like I suddenly had three heads, and then she blurted out, “It’s so great that it worked for you, but I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m a Grandma!”
I was trying not to laugh, by this point, so I said, “Well, I know what it’s like to be wide awake, pacing the floors at 2 a.m. because you can’t sleep. If you change your mind I will help you and I can give you some to try. Come over any time. My offer will always be open to you.
I excused myself and went home. I started second guessing myself. My intuitive abilities are strong but now, I was left wondering if I had done the right thing. Or, did I just ruin my budding relationship with these people?
Two hours went by. Then, there was a knock at the door. It was Jane. She’d hobbled over from next door to tell me that she had changed her mind. She wanted to try cannabis.
As it was only about 3 pm, I loaded my spare vapourizer with Girl Scout Cookies. It’s a 50/50 hybrid with a high THC percentage and it’s great for pain and daytime use. I taught Jane to vapourize in my living room. “Just take 2 or 3 small sips. Pretend you are sipping hot tea and work on bringing the vapour into the back of your throat”, I instructed.
(It turns out that “Grandma Jane” had smoked cigarettes in the past and she quickly figured out how to draw deeply off of the vapourizer.)
We exchanged small talk for about 15 minutes. I gave her 1 capsule of infused mct coconut oil, with instructions on how to take it, before bed that night.
(Cannabis infused MCT Coconut oil put into capsules. I make these to allow easy dosing.)
Jane was making careful notes. Then, she looked up at me with a look of surprise in her eyes and said “My pain has changed. It’s still there, but it’s not as severe. It's fading! Oh!, I think I’m starting to feel this... I better go home.”
I put some ground bud in a small container and lent Jane the vapourizer. I told her to vape again as soon as she felt her pain increasing in intensity. I watched her make her way into her house with the Girl Scout Cookies in tow.
(So, in case you missed the magnitude of what I had done, I’m going to spell it out for you. I had just successfully enabled my 62 year old neighbour to drug herself with a schedule 1 drug, committing a crime of civil disobedience. Not because I am a criminal at heart but because I am a compassionate person and it was the right thing to do.)
I carried on with the rest of my day. The next morning, as soon as I turned a few lights on and opened the drapes, there was a knock on my door. It was Jane and she was smiling. She said, “Good Morning, my Love! I slept until 4 am! This stuff of yours is working!”
It was about 7:30 am and I wasn’t really awake yet, but I could tell that she was excited and wanted to tell me all the details of her experience over the last 18 hours. I invited her in and I listened. After about 45 minutes, it was clear to me that the cannabis strains that I had chosen for her, worked beautifully.
I decided to give her some more capsules and some more ground bud. We were going to have to test this for a few days to make sure we could keep duplicating her results.
For the next 3 days, I checked in with Jane first thing in the morning and when I returned home from work each night. We determined that Jane needed 2 capsules to stay asleep the whole night and not wake up at 4 am. She also preferred not to feel too high during the day.
In fact one day, I had run out of the formula that I had originally started her on and I had to switch it. Jane took her regular dose amount and she experienced fairly severe couch-lock. (I had warned her that this might happened and I told her what to do if it did.)
It scared her so much, she called me at work.
(By this time, I had learned that when Jane was totally comfortable with my plan and instructions she would endearingly call me “my Love.” When she wasn’t comfortable, she would call me by my full name.)
I answered the phone and immediately heard Jane’s elevated voice on the other end.
“Rebecca, I thought I was dying.” I ate a whole grapefruit, just like you said I should if this happened, but I thought I was going to die. My arms and legs were tingling and I couldn’t move them. I slept for 6 hours in the middle of the day."
“Well Jane”, I said, “you went beyond your sweet spot and now you know what it feels like when you take too much tincture. It is how we learn to dose or titrate properly.”
After the first week, Jane made the decision that she wanted to get her own medical marijuana license.
It was the only thing that had worked to help her manage her chronic back pain and let her sleep.
She made a doctor’s appointment with her family doctor to ask for a letter of diagnosis. I brought the entire application package home, from the resource centre, for her.
(The Marijuana for Trauma, Medical Marijuana License Application Package.)
We sat together for 45 minutes while she filled out the forms. I answered her questions when she got stumped on the best way to respond to some of them. We got through it and I submitted her paperwork.
In the meantime, she was improving and doing a little bit more each day.
One day, I came home to Jane very excited to tell me that she’d had a great day and actually walked down to her dock three separate times. I cheered her on and told her what a great job she was doing.
John was happy too. He privately thanked me for giving him his wife back.
It took about 2 weeks for Jane to get her license and order her first 60 grams of cannabis. I taught her how to make her own medicine and we made a high % THC tincture and a high % CBD tincture.
(Finished, Cannabis infused MCT Coconut Oil tincture.)
I ordered her, her own vapourizer. She continued to progress and get excited about her trip. She was now able to walk about a ¼ mile down our road to her girlfriend’s house.
On the last day, before their trip, Jane came to say good-bye. She was laughing and smiling.
She was a person transformed. I asked her if I could take a picture with her and if she would mind if I wrote about her story. She happily agreed.
(Jane and Rebecca, Sept. 11, 2016.)
After we snapped this picture at the end of my driveway, she started to walk in the direction of her girlfriend’s house. Her little dog was prancing proudly in front of her, happy to be going for a walk with his best friend. This was something they had just recently been able to start doing again and they both had a slight spring of accomplishment in their step.
Jane turned back to me and she said, “I forgot to tell you, My Love, I danced all night last night at a corn roast! I haven’t danced in 5 years! Thanks again, My Love.”
I watched Jane walk down the road. I turned towards my front door and with tears welling up in my own eyes, this time, I whispered “Well played Shaman, well played.”
(My front door. It was original to the house and I spray painted it mandarin orange. Yes, you read correctly, I used spray paint.)
This is when the quantum entanglement was confirmed, for me.
Jane could have said that she rode in her boat, played a round of golf or went horseback riding.
Instead she said she started dancing.
Her system was re-setting. I had done everything the Shaman had taught me to do.
He had defied space and time to work with and through me to help Jane... with very powerful plant medicine, I might add.
His words were resonating loud and clear in my mind from the day I accepted his gift of spittle, in the hole in the Amazon jungle floor, three years prior.
“You must restore or re-set the person’s body back to the condition it was in before it stopped dancing.”
As a side note, it is highly probable that there will be a “Part Four”.
I suspect that someone reading this on Steemit, needs to hear this story and will become part of the entanglement as it continues weave.
(The energy is powerful and is something that amazes me everyday. I took this picture at sunrise, this morning.)
Enjoy every second that this world and dimension has to give.
Thanks for following me all the way to "Part #3". :)