Magazine

From the July 2011 magazine.

July 2011: Don't Ask Dr. Mom

She prescribed booze and weed for a twisted ankle, which triggered her son’s deadly disease

"The good doctor prescribed another brown bottle of foamy medicine and I realized I couldn’t feel my ankle. It worked!"

Skateboarding was very popular in the summer of 1987. I was 13 and loved it. One day, I took a nasty fall after rail-sliding along a bus bench, and my ankle got messed up. I hobbled home, in pain, to my mother and asked for help. She explained that we had no medical insurance, but she would give me something to help the pain. She placed my swollen, purple ankle on our beat up, walnut-stained coffee table, said, “Wait here and keep your ankle elevated,” and walked out the door.

She returned about 20 minutes later with a brown grocery sack, out of which she pulled a six-pack of beer. Dr. Mom explained, “This is the only thing I can think of that will help with the pain.” She opened a bottle and told me to drink it, which I did. She then put marijuana in a pipe and said, “Suck this in and hold the smoke in your lungs,” which I also did. The good doctor prescribed another brown bottle of foamy medicine and I realized I couldn’t feel my ankle. It worked! Of course, I also couldn’t feel my arms, legs, brain or face, but at that point I didn’t care. Thus, I began my journey, one that no 13-year-old boy should have to take.

-- Jason H.

Stayton, Oregon

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