How to Use Cannibis for Pain 101

Disclaimer:

I am not medically trained, nor do I prescribe medicine. I merely seek to share the knowledge I have gained from the internet as well as my experience in the relief of pain by using cannibis. This post is not intended to influence your usage or non-usage of cannibis.

Definitions:

There are two strains of cannabis, one called Cannabis Sativa, that contains predominately TetraHydroCannabidinol (THC) compound, the ingredient that among other effects makes people feel high, higher, or stoned, and another secondly identified as Cannabis Indica, that contains, along with a lesser amount of THC, Cannabidinol (CBD) compound, the ingredient that is a useful analgesic, anti-inflammatory, anti-fungal, anti-nausea, blood pressure lowering, bone growth enhancer, anti-spasmotic, restful-sleep-inducing…can we call it medicine?  The ratio in these plants can be as high as 10 CBD to 1 THC, and the neat thing about them is the temperature it takes to release them into an infusion is different, so you can choose what it is you want out of the Indica plant you are preparing. (See Heat, following…)

A third cannabis is commercial Hemp, botanically identified as Cannabis Sativa L. which provides a lot of good wholesome organic food in the seeds, which contain no THC (it’s in the leaves and flowers which do contain 1% THC) as well as rope, fiber for cloth, fiber for paper, oil to power your diesel truck—but that is another story. Farm Bill 2014, signed by President Obama, has authorized new agricultural plantings of commercial hemp.

An infusion is an oil which has been warmed with the product (the flower of the Indica plant in this case) to the point where the active ingredient (CBD) has been released into the carrier (oil). Like Oil of Rosemary, etc.

Ingredients:

One ounce of product, be it “bud” (the dried flowers of the cannabis indica plant), or

“shake” (the dried leaves, stems, maybe a few buds) of the cannabis indica plant…….You will not get high using indica as long as you don’t overheat the product to the point where the THC will be released.

2 1/8^th cups of Extra Virgin Olive Oil.  I have also used sesame oil and coconut oil, but the literature suggests EVOO is best.

Equipment:

A heat source you can keep at 165°F.  I have found that the stove top or oven (even with a double-boiler) is difficult to keep so low. I use an induction heating device (available on TV, Walmart, or Ace Hardware).

A pot that will work on an induction heater.

A thermometer to keep track of the heat you are getting, along with a way to suspend the thermometer in the infusion.

A sieve to strain out the product leavings after you have warmed them up to speed. I use a ladies nylon knee sox, but you could also use a French coffee device.

Method:

Chop up the product to make more edges so as to extract more CBD.  Add the product to the oil and allow it to soak overnight in a warm place.  Increase the temp to 165°F and maintain it there for anywhere from 2 to 6 to 8 hours.  Some folks put it into mason jars and leave it in a sunny window for a couple of weeks.

I test for readiness by tasting it. If it tastes like swamp water, it is beginning to be usable—keep tasting it every half hour or so until it really tastes and smells like swamp water, maybe a couple of hours or so.

Stir it frequently, like every 15 minutes. Or 30.

Here’s the downside.  You don’t know how strong the results are, you have no laboratory to test it and they charge $1500 to do it. Speaking of money, you have already spent from $60 to $100 on the heating device, and anywhere from $150 up for the Weed, so you need to be dedicated to this project, or else just forget about it.

I feel this way—here’s a computer programming IF/Then statement:

IF:

I taste a small amount of my results (say a teaspoon)

And

I receive relief from pain as a result, without any ill side effects,

Then:

I have “hit on” more or less the proper proportions

“…to sleep, perchance to dream, …aye!… there’s the rub…”

Dosage:

The above results need to be stored in dark bottles, hopefully with dropper stoppers, or have droppers available. Start by ingesting one dropper of the oil AM and one PM under the tongue. Keep it there for 90 seconds, then swallow. Chase it with fruit juice to relieve your taste buds. If you get relief, stick with it. If you don’t get pain relief, then the next day, try two droppers, AM and PM. You will get approximately 7 to 8 ounces of infusion from the above stated amounts, PLUS, there will be about 4 or so ounces left over to make a balm, which can be used in many ways to relieve pain and sometimes works better than ingesting the oil.

Before we arrive at the balm, here’s something to think about:

After ingesting the morning (or anytime) dose, take about a half an hour and lie down in a comfortable place, close your eyes, and relax your torso and neck muscles one at a time. Heck, add legs and arms … Visualize feeling better. Don’t be surprised if the ½ hour turns into an hour and a half, so do it at night when sleep seems impossible. Works for me….(placebos get A’s 30% of the time anyway).

           

The Balm:

Take the 4 or so ounces left over from the first press;

Add ½ ounce of fresh product and 1 cup of oil;

Do the 6 to 8 hour, stirred routine (the next day if you are tired), and after it too, tastes like swamp water:

Add about 1/4^th cup of coconut oil, plus a lesser amount of melted beeswax, and enough drops of eucalyptus oil to make it smell like Vicks Vaporub, and pour this concoction into small jars.

When it sets up, rub it vigorously over anything that hurts on your beautiful body. Keep the excess jars in the fridge. Do Not ingest the balm if you have added eucalyptus to it, since gastric disturbances could result. Use it topically only.

Also:

You can make your own trans-dermal patches.

Materials: small gauze patches, large band aids, and that stretchy athletic tape to hold it all in place.

Method:

Saturate a small patch (cut to a size just smaller than the band aids to prevent leakage).

Place wet patch in the middle of the band aid, and apply to wrist—place it somewhat away from the wrist joint because that part bends and will scratch you, and keep it in place with the stretchy tape. You can refresh the patch by injecting more oil under the band aid twice a day. I think you get a more uniform release of the product in this fashion. If the tape gets soiled just cut it off and begin again.

Heat:

What keeps your infusion from having THC in it, if there is a lesser amount of THC in all CBD strains? Well, THC is not released until the heat in the oil gets to just below boiling point (212°F) or so. This means that the leavings of weed that you have extracted the CBD from is still THC active—it is called a “ball” and can be used to rub on your body after or before a bath—Any Italian will tell you that the olive oil is good for you...or you can use it as a sleep aide. I don’t get high from it but I do feel a sense of peace, which is a good thing.

Websites I have found informative:

www.cancer.gov

www.projectcbd.org

www.cropkingseeds.com

www.maryjuanaseeds.NL

www.cannabis-med.org

www.beyoundthe.com

www.CannabisCBD

Also, the Charlotte Figi story about epilepsy and cannabis.

Miscellaneous

You will need a “Red Card” to purchase anything at a Medical Marijuana dispensary.

The State does not collect (at this time) sales tax on Medical Marijuana.  Some physicians will prescribe for cannabis, and there are lists of them in every area in the state.

Dixie Dew Drops sells a 2-ounce bottle of CBD infusion for $160. I think doing it yourself saves about half for a dropper full, which lasts me at two squirts AM, PM about 3 weeks.

I was a bit squeamish the first time I visited a dispensary. I shouldn’t have been. All of the employees I have had dealings with have been helpful and courteous. If you are dissatisfied with the service, try another dispensary, you won’t have to look far. The transactions are cash only.

I would still be on 6 to 8 Oxycodone pills a day if it had not been for the side effects. The switch, for me, has been a last hurrah. Does it cost too much? Sure. Will the price come down? Depends on how long it will take the Federales to come to reason…and of course, there are many users with Medical licenses that get high and stoned on MMJ by using Sativa. Certainly, it is their choice. Is use of CBD habit forming? Is it being taken to stop pain? If you do not have a headache, would you take an aspirin?  The literature stresses, no side effects, no addiction to CBD, and that the “undesirable” part of cannabis lies in the sativa strain. Yet, the undesirable part of cannabis sativa is being used to treat HIV patients, patients struggling with pain from chemo therapy, epilepsy seizures, all within the Dr. Jeckle/Mr. Hyde definitions.

 Within the legal guidelines, you can grow it yourself, but read up on it first. For a weed, (a weed that has been hybridized) it can be picky.

An unsolicited testimonial

The Gershwin brothers wrote that summertime was "when the livin' is easy." Maybe so, but, nothing is easy when you are 85 years old. At least summertime in western Colorado is definitely when the fruit and other food stuffs are ripe and luscious. Now the wild asparagus is just a memory, and in spite of the early rain, mushrooms don't seem to be cooperating by hatching. But the peaches, pears, cherries, melons, and ... Olathe Sweet Corn... are all available and delicious. I don't try to freeze it anymore, since the process of cutting it off the cob is rather messy, but we do eat it as often as we can and enjoy it while it is available.

I'm not sure when Olathe Sweet Corn came to market, but I have seen it distributed in stores in a lot of other places besides around here. I've watched in wonder when they send those automatic pickers into the fields with people working on the platforms and ta-da! In only a little while a whole field has been picked, packed on ice, and is on its way to markets near and far. For us locals, there are plenty of entrepreneurs who pick corn by hand, throw it into the back of their pickup trucks, cover the crop with ice and blankets, and bring it alongside the highways and do a thriving business selling it. We are told that Olathe Sweet is so good because the Colorado nights are cool. The nights have sure been cool this year.

One of the drawbacks for do-it-yourself consumers has always been that you can't buy the seeds for Olathe Sweet and grow the corn independently if you are a gardener. The owners of the patent do not release seeds to anyone except commercial growers. I've tried to find seeds but have always been told that they aren't available. Not that I blame the people who developed the crop or the farmers who grow it. But there are some changes on the horizon. Competition! Capitalism! I love it!

Last Sunday's Denver Post ran a story about a new type of sweet corn, supposedly superior (sweeter and earlier) than Olathe Sweet, that was developed in Montrose, CO. The name of the corn is Mirai (pronounced Me-Rye). The Post article reported that in Japan the corn is sold as a dessert. It is such tender eating you don't need teeth! At this time, limited production goes to selected restaurants but seeds are available from Park, Jung, and Harris. I've ordered seeds and can't wait to try to grow some. This location, near Olathe and Montrose, should be just right.

My mother-in-law used to plant her sweet corn, wait until it came up, and then planted Kentucky Wonder green beans right beside the corn stalk, using it as a stake for the beans. Saves looking about for a fence, because we 85 year olds don't like to squat to pick beans, either. (To squat is easy, to get back up again, divine.) I like green beans with beans in them, and the green beans you get in the grocery store now just don't fill that need. Sufferin' succotash, all I have to do is last long enough to garden another year...

What's in a name?

I have to disagree with Mr. Shakespeare. Parting has no part of sweet sorrow. There is nothing sweet about parting, if the people with whom you part are those you love.

Then there was the time I had to have blood drawn and as I was in the physician's office at the time, he delegated that job to his staff. Let it be known that everyone in that office was professional, trained, and able. But also consider that I am a lousy blood drawee, with veins that collapse whenever they even sense a needle a mile away. Both the Licensed Practical Nurse and the Registered Nurse poked and poked, but the result was a dry hole, both arms, not that they didn't diligently try. Too diligently. They wouldn't admit failure. Now that is an admirable quality in the case of courage, paying taxes, or going to the dentist for a root canal, but not if you are the drawee who started out squeamish in the first place. So I was sent to the hospital. As I was waiting to see who would come into that tiny room loaded with vials and mission statements, all of which I noted, read, and disbelieved, there entered this cute little hippy-type girl who bounced in and said "Hi! My name is Kizzy, and I'm here to draw your blood!" She seemed actually happy about the assignment. My thoughts were, "OH, S***! Now I have to deal with this little snippy kid and I am too young to die myself, I am one year away from Social Security". But the chair they put you in has an arm that keeps you in there, and as I said, it was a tiny room, she was between the door and me, and I was trapped. So I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth and tried to relax while she put the tourniquet on, and three seconds later, Kizzy said, "All Done!" and sure enough she had a syringe full of that dark red stuff and the ordeal was over and I hadn't felt a thing. From that time to this day, my motto is, Phlebotomists Rule, even if their name was Kizzy.

On the other hand, you can't argue with Gertrude Stein when she said, "A rose is a rose is a rose" now, can you?

There are times when politicians put "spin" on what was actually said, to explain what was actually meant, when the person actually meant what was actually said but it's too embarrassing to contemplate...

There are times when another, nicer, more socially acceptable word is used to dilute actions or feelings we'd prefer to not acknowledge, a euphemism, such as "cowardice" for "gutless". Most of the words our Saxon ancestors left us have been relegated into something prettier. It loses a little (sometimes a whole lot) in the translation, however.

And there are word phrases that lead you down a primrose path into thinking you have something valuable and you don't really, like "limited warranty".

The word "recovery" has been kicked around a lot lately. So far, the means of how we will deal with the consequences of the debt involved have not been disclosed. I haven't heard "raised taxes" or "inflation" to pay back the debt with cheaper dollars (too bad, Mr. China), yet, but I suspect we will before the next election.

I understand from TV this morning that "health care reform" has been changed to "health insurance reform" hoping to take the wind out of the sails of the protesters. I think we should be changing the name of "town hall meetings" to "hornet's nests". Why are living wills which have been around for over 20 years being called "death panels" when they can prevent a person's being comotose and tied up to feeding tubes as long as they draw breath artifically? Just get a copy of one and read it and decide for yourself. Have you lost the ability to read and think?

So, what's in a name? It depends. Get a dictionary if you have to. Don't take anything for granted.

Home Sweet Home

If I had the time or the inclination, I would work a cross-stitch sampler and hang it on the wall of my cabin, my little grey home in the West. Built on the side of a draw, it clings for dear life to the four steps down to where the land eases off, and is poised towards the creek which runs year-round and circles the building about four feet away (and another three feet down). That extra space gives peace of mind during spring run-off. Once it came up to within six inches of the building, which gave "cliffhanger" a new meaning to us overnight, but then it subsided and the relief was palpable.

The noise of the water racing 2,500 feet down from the mountain, past the cabin, got attention and brought forth words like "roaring" and "thunder," not to mention "catastrophe," "did you leave the car running?" and "is that our dog on the other side of the creek?" But it all turned out alright.


When we bought it, there were no bedrooms, just a four foot dressing space opening into the bathroom. It had (still has) of all things, a pink tub, sink, and toilet, quite a surprise to find in the mountain west. Eventually the cabin got added on to, several times, and perched as it was on the incline, we used to joke that there were no plumb walls or square corners, and that I should answer the telephone "House of Shims."

The first summer we spent there we had five children, and since our double bed was squeezed into that four foot dressing space, during the night it was not unusual to have kids gingerly stepping between us, and on us, in order to get to the john. It was togetherness with a vengeance. They all slept in the living room. The boys were encouraged to find a bush, outside, but the girls insisted on using the indoor plumbing. We adapted. It was no big deal.

Now there are two bedrooms, a media room (small but oh so beautiful looking out over the waterfall), two baths, a utility room, and a spa room. All added one stick at a time whenever we had enough money scraped together to buy the 2x4s and nails. The setting was, is, a grove of aspen trees, but the first year I purchased 50 evergreen pines and spruces six inches tall from the Forest Service (at 50 cents apiece), and they have now reached maturity at 40 to 50 feet. The aspens are dying out, but provide firewood for the taking which includes a tremendous amount of effort. Wild lupine, penstemmon, fireweed and violets grew wild along the paths, and they live happily (well, no complaints) alongside of the introduced vincas, tulips, and daffodils that we planted.

The creek is about the same as it was 35 years ago -- no larger, no smaller. It bursts forth at the top of the mountain as a rivulet that collects spring outflows as it goes along, gathered together in a man-made slough. It then heydays down the 2,500 feet past the cabin and eventually ends up as irrigation water in orchards and alfalfa fields in the flatlands, then on to the Gunnison and Colorado River. Does any of it end up in Mexico? Doubtful. But it has done its job adding life, fruit, and oh yes, native trout to the environment in between.

I love to trout fish in the creek, because if you put your bait into the creek, and you wait a few minutes with no action, move on, there are no receptors in that particular location. I don't own a real fishing pole. I have an old cut off broken pole with a few of the eyes left to thread the line through, and I let myself have about 20 feet of it because I don't have a reel, either. When I get a bite, I furiously pull on the end of the line that is tied off by the broken handle, and flip the trout onto the bank and run over and cover him gently with my foot lest he flop back into the water. That is, I used to run over. Now I don't execute this part of the process as quickly. Come to think of it, I haven't caught any fish lately, either.

However, nothing tastes better than a trout, freshly caught, gutted, salted and peppered and floured, fried up in a bit of oil for breakfast. "We're living off the land!" I used to say enthusiastically. We also had chokecherry jelly for our toast -- it is an acquired taste which means it is good if strawberry is not available. But then, a gin martini is an acquired taste also, and I don't see anyone faulting it for that.

There was a time in Colorado when the Game and Fish Department let citzens over 65 have life-time fishing and small game licenses for the ridiculous sum of less than $5. It is a prized possession -- both Dick and I have one -- because once a year, in the fall, when the land-locked salmon run upstream from Blue Mesa to where they were implanted in the Roaring Judy, milked salmon are given away to Colorado fishing license holders. We went two years ago, and intend to repeat it this fall.

It runs like clockwork. You form a line at the fish hatchery, and it pokes along for about two or three miles until you come to the enclosures where the milked salmon are let back into the creek. Then there is a young man (just getting started, I'll wager, and literally getting his feet wet in the system) that is down in a pool. He dips his net into the water and brings it up wriggling and thrashing -- it is so full of fish he can't lift it over his head, and on the bank there is another strong young man who takes the net and dumps it out onto a slough where workers sort fish five into a sack, and bring it down to your car and put them into your ice chst. So we got ten fish (five to a license that year) -- Big Ones -- and brought them home and cleaned, fileted, and smoked them. It took almost an entire day for a couple of pounds of dry fish, but they were FREE! We were living off the land.

It is one of the few things that stay in place. They used to give away slabs cut off of the evergreen trees at the sawmill. We built a barn out of them. There may still be a few cattle drives that go past the cabin on the way up to the National Forest; I would clean the streets of manure after they had passed for my compost pile, but you can't put a value on the thrill of watching them go by and hoping they didn't stray off into the garden to make the deposit first hand. The cattleman's dogs saw to that.

The mountain is still full of wild strawberries that bloom prolifically, but I hardly ever see any strawberries to pick. Once I did, and the kids and I spent two happy hours filling a cup -- they are so small, about as big as your little fingernail, but the taste, the taste -- is nectar. Dividing up one cup of heaven amongst one adult and three or four kids doesn't take long, but the memory outlasts social security, arthritis, homework duties, a root canal, or other losses too numerous and insignificant to mention.

One advantage that still exists is stalking the wild mushrooms. I think it was the year 1985 that there was a 100 year mushroom "bloom" on the Mesa. There was hardly a space where mushrooms didn't grow abundantly. Lately there have been a spate of the poisonous ones, the gorgeous red ones with white fly killer specks on top, but if you know not to try them, let them be and admire their beauty, is my motto. The ones you want to find are the boletus, the French call them Ceps, look them up in your handy mushroom book. They don't have gills, they have pores, but not every mushroom with pores is edible, so go the first time with someone who is knowledgeable. Sometimes the forest service has classes. In every locality there are mushroom experts to identify your treasures. Find out who they are and use them. Some people are allergic to fungus; it is best to try just a little if you are eating them the first time. Stay AWAY from any fungus with white gills, just to be sure they are not Death Angels. They can kill you. You don't want to die whilst living off the land.

I've never seen a poisonous snake at 10,000 feet, but Sidewinders are present down at the lower altitudes. Just so you know. They live off the land, too.

Like every location, there are good things and not so good things. The best thing about Colorado that is not spoken of often is the air. You forget how good the air smells after you have been gone for a while. Take a deep breath. Sleep with the windows open. If you are comfortable at sea level, take a little while to get used to the altitude. Carbon monoxide in the mountains is just as deadly as carbon monoxide on the coast. Find yourself a little place on the Western Slope, away from the Madding Crowd, use less electricity, plant something, build a fire in the fireplace to take the chill off at night, see how many stars there are that you can see in the sky, and watch yourself grow.

To grow makes living exquisite, and ends this piece on a positive note...