As I type this, I’m in a great deal of pain. People who know me can guess where - it’s back pain, as usual - because I tend to complain about it a lot. In spite of otherwise regarding all medical issues as something private between me, my partner and my doctor, I have discovered that when it comes to this pain the only things that make me feel better are complaining and swearing. Since this is a family publication and 500 words of the most complicated strings of profanity I can muster would be frowned upon, I have resorted to complaining.
Which isn’t to say my back feels better after I tell everyone in earshot about how much it hurts, but instead that I hope you feel a bit of pain in your back, out of sympathy. In a way, it’s like that horror movie The Ring, I complain in order to transfer my curse to others. At a minimum, it is somewhat more effective than any painkiller I have tried, so complain I will, in all environments where it is not possible to swear.
The trouble with complaining is that everyone tries to give advice. It’s not so much that it’s not appreciated, I’ve just heard it all before. Traditionally, most advice centered around visiting the friendly neighborhood doctor - tried it, didn’t work - or the friendly neighborhood chiropractor - trying it this afternoon, wish me luck. Now, thanks to developments in Canadian law, there is a third piece of advice, suggestions that I should go out and try cannabis. After all, it’s supposed to help people with pain, right? Why not give it a go? It’s legal now!
I actually have a reason for avoiding it, however, and in my mind it’s a pretty good one. The smell of cannabis gives me the most intense nausea I’ve experienced in my life.
As you might expect, I discovered this in University, where a bounty of new smells at this educational institution included one that made me always want to throw up. Eventually I figured out what it was, thanks to other people in my apartment building who were fans of it. This instant nausea works to the point where I can actually tell immediately if something is cannabis or merely smells like it. It’s a special skill that I don’t think has benefited me in any way.
While many people insist that cannabis is great and helps them immensely, I know that for me the tradeoff won’t be worth it, because I also need to keep food down, and my only toilet is upstairs so there is a great chance that I won’t get there in time. On one hand, it’s great that it works for them, and I’d never take it away from them. I just will never try it myself.
So I will continue complaining about my pain, and I will continue to swear when there’s nobody around to hear me, because that works better than any painkiller man has concocted. If I swear near you, I’m sorry, but it helps.
The process of writing this column has helped my back more than you would believe possible.
