I was fully engrossed in an episode of History’s “Forged in Fire.” Four bladesmiths were challenged with creating a knife out of ball bearings and fish hooks using a canister Damascus technique. I took a drag off my PAX 3 vaporizer.

“That’s a rookie mistake right there,” my son, Greyson, said, jarring me from my THC-facilitated introspection. A brief moment of panic rushed through me. It still feels like I’m getting busted sometimes.

Greyson took a hit from his own vape pen and began educating me on the finer points of bladesmithing.

“You have to let the Wite-Out dry in the mold first,” he said. “Otherwise, the mold will stick to the billet and they’ll end up wasting like thirty minutes trying to separate them.” I was enjoying the new shared experience with my adult son.

Learning about and consuming cannabis with him has been a total silver lining in an otherwise stormy year.

It’s the fall of 2021, and we continue to watch contestants hammer away at hot steel. It's been seven months since my 22-year-old youngest son, Greyson, got married...five months since he suddenly started having seizures.

Meanwhile, his wife, Hannah, strives to establish her newly born art business, as well as coach JV soccer at a local high school. Prior to their marriage, Greyson was a thriving, athletic and brilliant student following in my footsteps at the United States Air Force Academy. However, undiagnosable and “potentially dangerous health issues” forced him to resign from military service. We now know Greyson was experiencing the onset of epilepsy.

“You want anything from the kitchen?” Greyson asked, standing.

I look at my son and scarcely recognize him. He’s lost nearly 100 pounds due to anti-seizure medications that fiercely suppressed his appetite. He looks much shorter than his 6’2” frame; he now stoops and walks with a cane because of nearly daily violent seizures that can wrack his entire body for over an hour at a time. Hannah tries to comfort him in his fleeting moments of lucidity between fits.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Hannah says in a whisper as she strokes his hair. “You’re safe.”

“I... I can feel it coming on aga–” and then he's gone as seizing starts anew.

The constant abuse of his nervous system has negatively impacted his cognitive abilities. Day-to-day, he has no memory of the day before, and living a hellish version of 50 First Dates is depressing for him. He feels like he’s missed out on things, like family visits and favorite meals. We constantly remind him, “You didn’t miss it, son, you just don’t remember!”

It’s easy for us to say this, but he has a point. If you don’t remember something, did it happen? Even with the introduction of cannabis, both THC and Element Apothec’s broad-spectrum tincture, the physical and mental tolls combined have diminished the young man I once knew. Yet, even in his weakened state, Greyson strives to be helpful, useful, and relevant.

“Sure, I’ll take a water while you’re up, please.” His hands shake as he gives me the drink, but I’m happy to give him a task he can do while I try to make sense of our new reality. After losing my job in September 2021, I discovered it was a blessing in disguise to suddenly have abundant time for “Seizure Watch” with my adult, disabled son.

I also get to keep an eye on Greyson’s adorable service-dog-in-training, Bailey (short for Baileys Irish Cream). We rely on family friends, and strangers to contribute to a GoFundMe to help us pay the tens of thousands of dollars it costs to train and certify a service dog. While this situation is overwhelming at times, I take encouragement from Bailey. If she can be the anxiety and seizure support he needs in an animal, then certainly I can be the Emotional Support Dad he needs in a father.

Greyson’s condition affected us in other ways you might not immediately think about. Remember when I mentioned that Greyson got married to Hannah shortly before the seizures began? We tried to give Hannah and Greyson the privacy all newlyweds deserve, yet my new Emotional Support Dad duties required me to drive the 20+ minutes to their apartment on an almost daily basis, and I came to view the traffic laws as unhelpful suggestions. I also ran errands for them so Hannah could watch Greyson.

Conversely, I would keep an eye on Greyson while Hannah painted, took a nap after being up all night or went out to lunch with her sister. Sometimes I would just come over and take Bailey on a walk to give her parents a break from puppy madness. Otherwise, Hannah’s time was almost exclusively spent caring for her new husband, who literally wastes away before our eyes. Similarly, Greyson’s time is almost exclusively spent avoiding potential seizure triggers. In those rare moments of relative normalcy, Greyson and I sit on his couch, vape weed and binge-watch Forged in Fire.

It wasn’t always like this. I worked in the cannabis industry for three years and only started using THC in late 2019. I knew just enough about cannabis to be dangerous. I’d ask unhelpful questions like, “Why are you getting that top-shelf vape? Stick to the cheap stuff, it works just as well.”

“Dad! This is live resin, the cheap stuff is just made from isolate.” His unspoken “idiot” was implied, the rolled eyes were not. The situation with Greyson motivated me to learn more and catch up. Equipped with greater knowledge about cannabis, I now organize our flower purchases into airtight containers, which are categorized and labeled by strain, its most prominent effects and what medical symptoms they help relieve.

Fast forward to just after the new year. We’ve settled into a fairly stable routine, but Greyson continues to have seizures nearly every night. There is no relief from anti-seizure medications, other than the seizures are no longer random, just nightly. And after three attempts, doctors are still unable to capture seizure activity during an EEG (a crucial step in correctly diagnosing and treating the condition). Nonetheless, I am strengthening my relationship with my son, as well as learning a lot about pot and bladesmithing (separately). Yet to come, I was about to learn something I never knew about myself.

Around 1 a.m. on January 10, 2022, Greyson endured a seizure at home that lasted over an hour. Unable to get the seizure to decrease in severity with both RSO and prescription rescue medication, Hannah reluctantly called 911 for help.

Hannah was reluctant because, a few months prior to this incident, Greyson had a seizure in a Walmart where he fell and hit his head. The responding ambulance service EMTs incorrectly assumed Greyson was an addict faking the seizure to score Ativan. Hannah insisted that they immediately take him to a hospital emergency department. Once there, the EMTs told the ER doctor that Greyson was faking. They even deceived the doctor, claiming Hannah had not even been with Greyson at the time, and that he did not fall - both outright lies.

Unfortunately, more of the same and worse came from this particular January incident. The same ambulance service responded to Hannah’s call, and they once again judged incorrectly that Greyson was “faking.” Hannah witnessed them poke and prod Greyson to get a reaction, even calling him names like “junkie.” All the while, Hannah is telling them he’s epileptic.

Being overly confident in their inaccurate judgment, they withheld medication intended to mitigate the risk of choking to death while seizing. Greyson is occasionally and briefly aware between fits of seizing. Greyson felt and heard the EMTs, but was physically unable to communicate. He had another fleeting moment of lucidity in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. Still vainly trying to prove that Greyson was faking the seizure, the EMT inflicted pain upon Greyson long enough and hard enough that my son was finally forced to cry out,”WHY?!”

Once they arrived at the hospital, the EMT’s non-clinical diagnosis and unethical behavior quickly bled over to the hospital staff. As nurses barred Hannah from entering Greyson’s room, the attending doctor jabbed his fingers near Greyson’s jugular, seeking to confirm what the EMTs later stated in their official report: “patient was able to be aroused by painful stimuli.” Finally allowed to be with her husband, Hannah’s picture of Greyson clearly reveals the bruising, just above the medical alert pendant that bears “EPILEPSY” around his neck.

Ten days after the incident, an ultrasound revealed bruising that was still present. Despite this, no attorneys are interested in holding accountable those that swore to do no harm. Due to Greyson’s epilepsy-induced memory issues, he remembers this incident every day like it’s the first time. He still struggles to understand how he could be verbally and physically battered by people who are supposed to heal others. And every day we have to console him while he cries and once again asks, “Why?!”

Without going into my own struggles with anxiety and depression, it suffices to say I did not react well to what had happened to my son. No amount of cannabis or knife-forging could overcome the intense overflow of emotions I experienced. The welds of my reality cracked and split. I ended up spending three nights as an involuntary guest of the Denver VA. Unlike Greyson’s experience, these health professionals were nothing short of amazing.

I am still working to recover, and part of my therapy is also Greyson’s therapy - more weed and more “Forged in Fire.” It’s simply amazing how an unassuming plant can resolve what other pharmaceuticals and teams of doctors seemingly cannot. Cannabis allows us to take our minds off things and just be in the moment. This is even easier for us to do presently, as we’ve recently remodeled our home so that Hannah and Greyson could move in. Not exactly the dream of every newlywed or empty-nester parent, but we look for the silver linings - Greyson isn’t ever alone, Hannah can have a life outside of watching Greyson 24/7 and my wife and I get to spend time with and care for our son.

Just yesterday I watched Greyson emerge from their upstairs “apartment” and slowly work up the courage to make his way downstairs with the cane. I didn’t try to help him, even though we both knew he needed it. Instead, I immediately switched into Emotional Support Dad mode.

“Dude!” I said as I waited by the banister. “I just watched this joker make a Damascus mold, but then he forgot where he put his mild steel when he went to forge the billet. I bet his blade will snap on the strength test!”

“Really?!” he asked with the enthusiasm I love to see but rarely witness. I figure it’s time to strike while the iron is hot (pun intended)!

“Yeah! Go take your tincture, eat a gummy, grab your vape and let’s watch to see if his blade breaks!”

I don’t tell him that we’ve already watched the episode, or that I’ve used this kind of trick on him several times before. When you’re given the opportunity to reforge a relationship with a son you love while still you can, you take a deep toke, make sure he does too and watch reruns of their favorite show.

Emotional Support Dad: How Cannabis Helped Forge a RElationship with my Epileptic Son

I Miss My Old Dealer

Useless Stigma