At age 87, with stage four breast cancer and a survival prognosis of three months, Rheba recaptured her revolutionary soul.
“I’m going to try marijuana for the pain,” she told me on the phone from her continuing-care retirement community in Seattle. “Some of my old colleagues are shocked. It’s legal here, but they think the only thing that works are M.D.-written prescriptions.”
“The last time we discussed it,” I reminded her, “you called marijuana ‘habit-forming and evil.’”