This is not a scientific blind study with placebos and multiple subjects. It wasn’t sanctioned by a major university and performed by doctors and medical students, nor was it planned by committee and overseen by statisticians. In fact it involves only one person – me, and the data consists solely of my own observations and reactions based upon my considerable experience.
In other words, impartiality and objectivity are out the window as once again I enter the fray of fact vs. fiction.
In truth, it’s foolish for me to post something of this nature on the Internet, as all sorts of unfortunate consequences could result. But honestly, if you’ve followed me this far you realize that there’s much more at stake here than worrying about pin-head employers and social network monitors. Ultimately, the information here is interesting if not valuable, and should be posted somewhere. Why? Because there’s someone out there who may benefit from it. Someone out there has been wondering about this exact thing.
I have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, or something akin to it. On my best days I don’t notice it. On my worse days I can barely walk. I’ve also had a close, intimate relationship with marijuana for forty years and counting. I’m a stoner, no doubt about it. The amount of pot that has passed through my various pipes, joints and bongs would certainly have to be measured in cubic yards… at least a couple I’d guess. But like millions of others, I am a productive stoner: I have a responsible job, have raised a daughter, make art and eat my vegetables.
I guess what I’m saying is – I have enough experience with it to recognize when things change. I know the essence of a marijuana high and I know all of the subtle variations around the edges. I can see what pot does to the Parkinson’s and what the Parkinson’s does to the pot.
* * *
“Huh?” is a basic staple in the lexicon of the stoner. It represents a mind gone elsewhere when the conversation is unexpectedly directed back to it. It’s not a circumstance exclusive to pot use, it happens to all of us. It’s just that pot opens the senses up to so many other things that the mind just naturally tends to wander. Until recently I could effectively stall when I spaced out, remaining calm on the outside while I grinded the gears trying to regain my train of thought. I always succeeded.
But lately (since I started taking the dopamine supplements) I find myself going straight to black and staying there without a clue as to what I was just talking about. Internally a panic sets in. It wasn’t ever like that before.
Marijuana intensifies the effect of the Parkinson’s. My feet get heavier, my gate gets sloppier, my voice slurs, my extremities tingle, and I become dumber and stupider. Now you may be saying: “Well that sounds like normal pot use to me,” but I tell you, it’s different. In a sense, it allows me to glimpse the road up ahead and how I’ll be with Parkinson’s in the future… maybe sooner, maybe later. It’s a preview of coming attractions and it’s not pretty. I become absolutely zombified. It takes“dumb and stupid" to a whole new level.
Whether the pot is stupefying my nerve receptors or interacting with the dopamine drug itself, I have no idea… I’m sure someone does. But the effect on my total body control is to effective turn me into a stumblebum: arms unswaying at my side, feet shuffling, body stumbling forward. The momentary hesitations become longer, the twitching more pronounced, my voice becomes even softer. PLUS, the munchies end up throwing my center of gravity way off and the stumbling gets worse.
The cure for this particular facet of my dilemma would seem to be obvious: stop smoking pot. But that doesn’t make the Parkinson’s go away, and it doesn’t account for the fact that I like the curious effect that a little buzz puts on the day. I’m sixty years old. It’s my life. I’ve got it down to a science… or at least I did until this Parkinson’s thing came along. Now I have to adjust my plans. Plans B through G have always been my strong suite.
Who knows? I may still seek a prescription for medicinal marijuana. I may still blissfully and shakily stumble off down the road to the future trailing a thin cloud of sticky blue-grey smoke. I may retreat to my keyboard and never be seen again. Or I may tire of the hassle and give it all up entirely. All of it. ALL of it.
It’s my life.
Huh?
In other words, impartiality and objectivity are out the window as once again I enter the fray of fact vs. fiction.
In truth, it’s foolish for me to post something of this nature on the Internet, as all sorts of unfortunate consequences could result. But honestly, if you’ve followed me this far you realize that there’s much more at stake here than worrying about pin-head employers and social network monitors. Ultimately, the information here is interesting if not valuable, and should be posted somewhere. Why? Because there’s someone out there who may benefit from it. Someone out there has been wondering about this exact thing.
I have been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease, or something akin to it. On my best days I don’t notice it. On my worse days I can barely walk. I’ve also had a close, intimate relationship with marijuana for forty years and counting. I’m a stoner, no doubt about it. The amount of pot that has passed through my various pipes, joints and bongs would certainly have to be measured in cubic yards… at least a couple I’d guess. But like millions of others, I am a productive stoner: I have a responsible job, have raised a daughter, make art and eat my vegetables.
I guess what I’m saying is – I have enough experience with it to recognize when things change. I know the essence of a marijuana high and I know all of the subtle variations around the edges. I can see what pot does to the Parkinson’s and what the Parkinson’s does to the pot.
* * *
“Huh?” is a basic staple in the lexicon of the stoner. It represents a mind gone elsewhere when the conversation is unexpectedly directed back to it. It’s not a circumstance exclusive to pot use, it happens to all of us. It’s just that pot opens the senses up to so many other things that the mind just naturally tends to wander. Until recently I could effectively stall when I spaced out, remaining calm on the outside while I grinded the gears trying to regain my train of thought. I always succeeded.
But lately (since I started taking the dopamine supplements) I find myself going straight to black and staying there without a clue as to what I was just talking about. Internally a panic sets in. It wasn’t ever like that before.
Marijuana intensifies the effect of the Parkinson’s. My feet get heavier, my gate gets sloppier, my voice slurs, my extremities tingle, and I become dumber and stupider. Now you may be saying: “Well that sounds like normal pot use to me,” but I tell you, it’s different. In a sense, it allows me to glimpse the road up ahead and how I’ll be with Parkinson’s in the future… maybe sooner, maybe later. It’s a preview of coming attractions and it’s not pretty. I become absolutely zombified. It takes“dumb and stupid" to a whole new level.
Whether the pot is stupefying my nerve receptors or interacting with the dopamine drug itself, I have no idea… I’m sure someone does. But the effect on my total body control is to effective turn me into a stumblebum: arms unswaying at my side, feet shuffling, body stumbling forward. The momentary hesitations become longer, the twitching more pronounced, my voice becomes even softer. PLUS, the munchies end up throwing my center of gravity way off and the stumbling gets worse.
The cure for this particular facet of my dilemma would seem to be obvious: stop smoking pot. But that doesn’t make the Parkinson’s go away, and it doesn’t account for the fact that I like the curious effect that a little buzz puts on the day. I’m sixty years old. It’s my life. I’ve got it down to a science… or at least I did until this Parkinson’s thing came along. Now I have to adjust my plans. Plans B through G have always been my strong suite.
Who knows? I may still seek a prescription for medicinal marijuana. I may still blissfully and shakily stumble off down the road to the future trailing a thin cloud of sticky blue-grey smoke. I may retreat to my keyboard and never be seen again. Or I may tire of the hassle and give it all up entirely. All of it. ALL of it.
It’s my life.
Huh?
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