My father had terrible rheumatoid arthritis.
- Whenever he needed anything from the store, I would regularly be the one to take him, or I would take care of the shopping.
I enjoyed doing things for my father because I knew he needed the assistance. This past week, I had been terribly sick with the flu. My head throbbed with a painful headache. Breathing actually felt like someone had poured molten steel into my lungs. I was on some powerful meds that made me sleep more than be awake. When my father called and asked if I could grab his medication, I could hardly even talk. He was certainly concerned about my well-being and agitated that I hadn’t contacted him to tell him I was severely sick. I croaked out that I would get it for him and asked where it had to be picked up from. He explained that it was his medical cannabis. I was never so glad to hear that he wanted medical cannabis. I knew that the local cannabis dispensary would actually deliver the cannabis medicine. They had once told us that we simply had to call for delivery services. I was about to take them up on their offer. I told my father to call the cannabis dispensary and give them his information. He hesitated, and I relented, telling him that I would call them up. After apologizing for my terrible voice, I finally told the guy at the cannabis dispensary who I was and what I needed to have delivered. I gave them my father’s address and his medical ID number. They promised to get the medical cannabis to him by the end of the day. They weren’t even going to charge a delivery charge which was awesome.