Medical Marijuana & MS: A Dark, Sarcastic Survival Story from the Wheelchair Trenches

So I dove into medical marijuana—not literally, though falling headfirst into a sack of flower sounds kind of comforting right now. But yeah, here we go.

Do I personally think medical cannabis (flower and THC-CBD oil) has helped me?

Yes. Yes indeed.

But let’s rewind the VHS to the 1970s. Picture it: secret greenhouses in sheds, hidden like Cold War bunkers, where growers whispered to their plants like they were the Messiah. I’ve been smoking Mary Jane since she wore flares and listened to Pink Floyd on vinyl. Long before your wellness influencers made it trendy with avocado toast and crystals.

I only vape these days. No tobacco—because, apparently, that’s “bad for you.” Allegedly.

Chronic Hell, Meet Green Salvation My pain is biblical. My spasms? Think exorcism, but with less Latin and more bone-snapping contortions. My body goes full Cirque du Soleil without consent. And you know what helps?

Medical-grade cannabis.

They finally made it legal in the UK (sort of, in that "you can have it, but good luck affording it" kind of way). So I did the dance: filled out forms, proved I’m broken, gave them my medical records, swore on my own spinal cord—and voilà. Legal weed. I just smiled like a man who finally got invited to the cool table... 40 years late.

It’s not free. Of course it’s not. Nothing good ever is. But it’s worth it. No side effects, no weirdness—just help.

So What Does It Actually Do? Well, it doesn’t turn me into Gandalf or cure MS (I checked). But it:

Lessens my spasms by about 30%

Helps calm my body’s electric storm of spasticity

Softens the pain—not erases it, but dulls it enough so I can breathe again

Evens out my mood (though I’m still delightfully twisted and full of sarcasm)

Lets me live a calmer, less rage-inducing existence

THC-CBD oil, in particular, is liquid zen. The flower? A pain-relieving smoke cloud that takes the edge off reality. And reality has many, many sharp edges.

And Then the MS Said “Plot Twist!” But hey, it’s not all rainbows and reefer. Just an hour ago, I had a full-blown bowel incident. Pain, sweats, the works. The kind of pain that makes you question whether your intestines have unionised and gone on strike. MS is a cruel and confusing beast. It’s got more plot twists than a Netflix thriller, and most of them involve sweat, cramps, and existential dread.

And where are wheelchair services? Missing in action. Four months and counting. My MS nurse? On an eternal holiday in some parallel dimension where no one has to reply to emails.

Holidays for me? Ha. Unless your idea of fun is custom food prep, dodgy bowels, and extreme heat sensitivity. Sign me up for the Hell Cruise 2025.

Closing Thoughts from the Padded Room So yes, medical cannabis helps me. But this body is still a riot. The spoons are gone. The demon weed whacker was round earlier and now I’m emotionally broken, physically drained, and ready to weep into a vape pen.

But you know what? I’m still here. Still rolling, ranting, and roasting life with dark English humour and a beard that’s survived the 70s, the 80s, and now the end of the NHS.

Sleep, that precious thang. Come and get me.

               “The views in this post are based on my personal       
                   experience. I do not intend harm, only honesty.”   

                 “By ink and breath and sacred rage, I write.
                     By storm and silence, I survive.”

             @goblinbloggeruk   sick@mylivinghell.co.uk