The Subversion of Quackery

WPA poster, 1936-1938

quacksalver

PRONUNCIATION:

(KWAK-sal-vuhr) 

MEANING:

noun: A quack: one pretending to have skills or knowledge, especially in medicine.

ETYMOLOGY:

From obsolete Dutch (now kwakzalver), from quack (boast) + salve (ointment). Earliest documented use: 1579.

I woke up this morning next to Sophie who proceeded to have a relatively big seizure that I was able to stop by administering a couple of drops of THC. I have no doubt that if I hadn't given her the THC, the seizure would have been prolonged, and she would have been clammy and unresponsive for a couple of hours afterward. Instead, she fell asleep for an hour or so, woke up, ate breakfast and went to school.

I lay in bed after the seizure thinking back over the years of her seizures and the years of various doctors' prescribing her anti-convulsants. I thought about the combinations of these drugs -- 22 of them -- their effects on her brain and body systems, how none of them worked, how her seizures still came and how they, the drugs, wreaked more damage, arguably, than the seizures themselves. I thought about the moment when she was nine months old, writhing and screaming uncontrollably all day and night, when I asked the esteemed neurologist whether my baby might be reacting to the combination of the three drugs he had her on, one non-FDA-approved and the other two approved for use in adults. I thought about his response, a hmmmmm over the telephone that stretched into infinity, followed by that's an interesting idea and then the universe tilting on its axis, folding up and disappearing into a black hole from where it had been birthed. I knew in that moment that no one knew what was up with my baby, and if my suggestion was a good idea (I was 31 years old with a Bachelor of Arts in English and French Literature and a Pastry School certificate), we were traversing a no-man's land.

I thought about the moments when we injected her with five vaccines to protect her health and yours, her tiny mouth an O, the subsequent scream that stretched out for years, my own a mirror image. I thought about the derision, the mockery that those of us who question vaccine safety have been subject and then the smugness of Science.

Quack.

I thought about all those moments this morning as I lay beside Sophie, and then I thought about the thousands of families still subject to the multiple drug combinations that these doctors are still peddling, how a young woman contacted me last week to tell me that her 18-month old baby, on four drugs, was still seizing. I thought about the compulsory and draconian laws that were recently passed in California regarding vaccinations and how grateful I am not to have any babies subject to them. I thought about the CBD and the THC and the fight to get it and then the getting it and Sophie's immediate response. I thought about my great good fortune in meeting Ray at Realm of Caring and Dr. Bonni Goldstein and living in California where we have access to high quality cannabis. I thought about the Coloradans: the Stanley brothers, Paige Figi and Heather Barnes Jackson, all of them instrumental in shifting Sophie's path and countless others. I thought about the FACT that Sophie is now off nearly 80% of one drug and 65% of the other, that these two drugs have done irreparable harm to her, even as they are withdrawn. I thought about the cavalier attitude that most neurologists have toward cannabis, their caution and their ignorance. I thought about Obama's acting Drug Enforcement Administration Chief's statements on November 12:

"What really bothers me is the notion that marijuana is also medicinal -- because it's not," Rosenberg told reporters last week. "We can have an intellectually honest debate about whether we should legalize something that is bad and dangerous, but don't call it medicine -- that is a joke.""There are pieces of marijuana -- extracts or constituents or component parts -- that have great promise," he continued. "But if you talk about smoking the leaf of marijuana, which is what people are talking about when they talk about medicinal marijuana, it has never been shown to be safe or effective as medicine."  

I thought about the wheels of Big Pharma, churning, trying to catch up. I thought about their influence on Science's practitioners, how they pay them to promote and advertise their products, ensure their profits. I thought about the money they must set aside for those damaged by their products, how they are shielded and how little it matters to their bottom line. I thought about quackery and the subversion of quackery -- when what is considered Science is actually not Science at all.

Quack. Quack.

I thought about those who come here and tell me that I'm too angry, that I complain too much, am terrifying, a miserable person. Is there a word for a reverse black hole? For chaos pushing outward, inward? If I were an angry person, I would have long since disappeared. You don't watch your daughter seize for nineteen years and suffer from terrible side effects of drugs and vaccinations that you gave her in good faith and then see her improve dramatically with an oil from a plant that anyone can grow and stay angry. You'd be dead, and I'm very much alive.

Repeat. I woke up this morning next to Sophie who proceeded to have a relatively big seizure that I was able to stop by administering a couple of drops of THC. I have no doubt that if I hadn't given her the THC, the seizure would have been prolonged, and she would have been clammy and unresponsive for a couple of hours afterward. Instead, she fell asleep for an hour or so, woke up, ate breakfast and went to school.

Quack. Quack. Quack.

Pottage: A Message to Publicists About Me and Pot

Public library, Los Angeles

Every day I get multiple emails from various publicists offering me books to review and talk about here on the old a moon, worn as if it had been a shell or even reality shows that I might be interested in sharing with my readers. The books can be about everything from baby pacifiers to parenting techniques, and my favorite pitched reality show was for a couple having sexual problems. You might wonder how and why these publicists get my name, and I just have no idea other than that they're using some kind of search engine that pulls up my name and affiliation with perverse activities because -- you know -- I'm all about that.

A few months ago, I was asked by some publicist to get a free copy and review a book by former drug czar and family values man/blowhard Bill Bennett. The name of the book, which is now published, is Going to Pot:Why the Rush to Legalize Marijuana is Harming America. That I happen to have met and actually argued with the man himself because of his personal affiliation with someone I know quite intimately (but not perversely), and not only found him as insufferable in real life as he is on television, made the pitch all the more ironic. Dear Suzie, I replied, Clearly, you've been reading my blog and know that this is a perfect match for me and will truly appeal to my readers. Please send me the free copy of the book, and I'll take a look and let you know what I think. The book came a few days later, and it took me all of twenty minutes to skim through the chapters, lingering over the brief few lines about dubious medical claims and then to toss it in the trash. Just the other day, while winnowing through my hundreds of books, I came upon a signed copy of one of his American hero books, and I threw that one, too, into the box headed for the library. May some wealthy white woman doing volunteer work at the library stumble upon it and bring it home to her privileged children smoking pot in their bedrooms and be edified. What I should have done is what a friend suggested: shred em, roll em and smoke em.

Anyhoo.

This morning, I got another appeal from a publicist asking me to review a book called Marijuana Debunked, that purportedly uses scientific research to argue a case against the legalization of marijuana. To be fair, the gist of the book appears to be that use of marijuana in the teenage years is detrimental to brain development, and we do know this to be so, but the author apparently projects the dire consequences of marijuana use into adulthood and how it takes a toll on people's relationships, finances, careers and personal lives. There's also a section about the deception of medical marijuana laws and how they encourage teenage use. I had read enough when I saw the tired gateway drug bullshit. The name of this book is Marijuana Debunked, and the email enlarges the title and makes the word Marijuana large and green for emphasis. As my friend said, with whom I shared this ridiculous email, What a crock of shit book. You could use that as a review.

I know that I'm a tad biased, but if you're a publicist and reading this blog post (and I seriously doubt you've ever read any of my blog), you need to do your research because I'm not your gal. My daughter's brain and life were ruined by seizures and legal pharmaceutical drugs, yet saved by medical marijuana. I'm perfectly aware that my sons' brains are at the peak of their development, that they should not interfere with that development by smoking marijuana, just as they shouldn't smoke cigarettes, drink beer, have unprotected sex or drag race on Ventura Boulevard. You also need to tell your writers that they should do some research as well. Take a look at the article in a recent New Yorker about the tunnels built from Mexico to the United States, used until quite recently as marijuana laws have eased (and thus removed the profit), to smuggle gargantuan amounts of marijuana into this country (now it's cocaine) to feed the insatiable desire of Americans. Read about what is, essentially, conscripted or even slave labor to build these tunnels and how workers are duped into the work and then killed when it's done. That article is not only well-written but edifying in a way that underscores just how absurd the continued drug war, particularly against marijuana, really is.

You're wasting your money on me, frankly, and filling my inbox up with garbage.





There's an informative pdf file, published by The International Center for Science in Drug Policy, called Using Evidence to Talk about Cannabis that everyone should read and use when people put up these specious arguments. The link to the PDF (that I can't figure how to load) is also in a recent Huffington Post article here..

Wishing Trees and Medical Marijuana Laws

I forgot to tell ya'll about the wishing tree. I bought that craft kit years ago and stashed it somewhere that I forgot about every year. I'm not a crafty person but have the impulse to be one. I remembered it this year, though, and set it up. Basically, it's a tree with a bunch of branches that you decorate with paper bluebirds of happiness and pink flowers. There's a little box that sits beside it filled with strips of pretty paper. Guests take a slip of paper, write a wish for the birthday girl on it, fold the paper and hang it from the tree. Sophie got the nicest wishes -- no more seizures, sweet dreams, twenty more years, a happy life, etc. -- and that tree looks so cute that I might keep it up all through the spring. Pretty soon my house is going to resemble a tschotchke shop. I can't stop buying candles, especially if they're decorated on the outside and smell like Tabac/Myrrh, and do you know about these fabrics called Kanthas? I have them draped over dirty furniture, my ugly old upholstered headboard and a funky chair that I bought at a yard sale for $5 in Nashville, Tennessee over twenty-five years ago. If I close my eyes, though, I imagine myself in a sort of Vanessa Bell/Virginia Woolf Bloomsbury aesthetic.

Of course, they were real artists, literally painted their own furniture and wouldn't have been caught dead (with stones in their pockets) assembling a cardboard wishing tree, but a woman can aspire to a certain joie de vivre in a cluttered interior.




On another note, I read today that Senators Rand Paul, Cory Booker and Kirsten Gillibrand, a Republican and two Democrats, respectively, are introducing a bill that would end the federal ban on marijuana and institute a series of reforms which include downgrading its status from Schedule 1 to Schedule 2. This is a positive step for any number of reasons, but I felt a prick of annoyance at the language used in the article. The bill will be unveiled, it's a significant step, a first for the Senate, yadda yadda yadda. The operative word is introduced, and the good Lord only knows how long that introduction will go on, given some of the minds of our elected officials and, let's face it, the dodo birds they represent. Dodo birds will take oxycontin for their back pain or give their kids antidepressants and anti-psychotics and all manner of ADHD drugs, but what's going to happen to the moral fabric of this country if people start smoking pot all the time? Don't get me wrong. I'm glad the Powers That Be are getting off their asses and bringing this to the floor tomorrow morning, but I feel irked, too. I responded on Facebook with this comment:

I guess things are moving forward, albeit slowly. Maybe baby steps are good, but there's something always a bit discomfiting when the "powers that be" come together to "approve" of something that "the people" have been wailing about for decades. It bugs me, to tell you the truth. Just do it.

Maybe I'm just an old, jaded. burnt-out reactionary secret anarchist-cum-socialist curmudgeon who smells the stink of patronisation and paternalism. It reminds me, a bit, of the times the Pope comes out with an encyclical advocating some kind of moral order or decides that the faithful need to go easy on the gays. It's rare for someone in power to attribute some action on their part to the people who have actually made things happen, much less to say mea culpa or, in the case of this marijuana prohibition, the collusion of big business and conservative social policy has decimated the lives of tens of thousands of people who might have benefited from medical marijuana during the last seventy-five years, so let's get this thing done and do it now. And while we're at it, let's denounce William Randolph Hearst, Mr. DuPont and Andrew Mellon who conspired to remove access to this beneficial plant so that they could continue to reap enormous and obscene profits from timber, chemicals and oil and make what once was a medicine to ease pain, cure disease, stop seizures and fight inflammation and bacteria an evil substance provoking rape, immoral acts and thoughts and even murder (that's the history of marijuana, but we're supposed to revere these titans of business and capitalism and philanthropy).

Anyhoo.

I'm probably better off squirreling around my ever-growing agglomeration of wishing trees, books, Kantha fabrics and tobacco candles and doling out the cannabis oil than kneeling in some sort of obsequious gratitude to a bunch of senators in a Georgian building across the country.