Wheelchair Adventures

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

all those holidays are finally over. Hopefully now we can get back to some sort of semblance. But alas, the winter has struck. It's minus two here and we have snow. As I look out of the window, the snow is just settled, looking up, shining as the sun hits it, saying, "Come Walk on me and let me break your leg, ah ha! So yeah, I'm hoping that we don't get snow tomorrow and the weather goes above freezing. As yes, you've guessed it, I have to go a three hour round trip just to go and see if the wheelchair I am getting is the right one for me. Albertine was lucky, she had it done at a local hospital, but it seems to me everything's different as usual and if it's snowing it will be a sorry, can't come and then it will be a how many year wait again.

Then I have three text messages from the local chemist telling me that the local machine has my prescription in. Oh yes, the prescription machine, the machine of death that falls out with me because it does not like me. It goes bleep bleep, you've broken me. How many times have I used this machine and how many times has it been nice to me? I think the ghost in the machine is out to get me. It really does surprise me how they can get so many things into such a small machine, but there we go, that's technology I suppose. Tap in a number, out comes your prescription. Sometimes it does, but sometimes it can get stuck and then you have to wait and wait and wait. Personally, I cannot wait till they start delivering around this area because that will solve all my problems.

So yeah, I'm waiting for the results of that week's long ECG and I'm waiting for the doctors to get in touch with me. And I am also waiting for the physiotherapist team who are supposed to be coming over to see me this week or next week. And yes, oh the joys, hopefully soon I might be able to go to the new neuro unit near here and have them try take a look at me and sort me out with all this weirdness that I'm going through, which just seems to be getting worse, I seem to be in a permanent brain fog and agitated. My God, the pins and needles and tinnitus are on so loud it's unbelievable today. So I'm gonna have to turn the music up and go and, well, if it carries on like this, I'm gonna go and just lie down and listen to some music and just hope this all goes. It's awful, really.

The sensations and the feelings that you get are mind fucking. Sometimes I can just sit there or just lie there and all those feelings in the body, it's unbelievable, you just sort of can't explain it, it feels awful. I don't really have words to explain the feeling that I go through 24/7, because words really cannot explain how I feel, because everybody with multiple sclerosis has a different take on it, mine is progressive, and I also have this auto whatever thing going on with me as well. So yeah, and also a heart thing that's now going on, so yeah, MS is a bitch, but you can get all sorts of other things, MS never comes on its own.

I suppose the longer I live with this, the more my mental health startS to become affected. So yes, I can quite honestly say that I am going through some mental health issues at the moment while I feel as though I am. I'm also going through this spiritual sort of thing. I'm also trying to get answers to seeing things and hearing things, wondering if it's my MS or wondering what the hell is going on with me, because I've been trying to get answers for years and nobody will give me a definitive truth to what I need to know.

I am seeing spheres in the bedroom, big spheres two foot in height, well two foot round with lines like black banding going through them. I'm seeing cubes floating with millions of little black cubes, solid black cubes inside a massive big black cube. It's unbelievable some of the things I'm seeing. I'm seeing ghosts maybe, I'm seeing figures, I'm hearing voices. Is this normal for MS? I know I keep asking other people but nobody wants to answer me. Am I going around the twist? What the hell is going on? Nobody really does understand anything do they? I had a conversation with the AI and it said it was down to my autonomic dysfunction and then I questioned it about some other answers it gave me three months ago and it completely backtracked on me so now the AI says to me "oh well everything that you see and everything that's happening to you even though there's spiritual proof and evidence of things that have happened to me it's all in your head so even the AI seems to think it's in my head but hey ho I think the AI is fucking stupid

The problem is the AI cannot understand anything if you go outside the parameters or its guidelines or try to get an understanding of something. It will either give you what you need to hear or it will give you what others want you to know which is blatantly not true. That's why I have a problem with AI. Well not AI as in search but the people who program the AI. They're the people. If AI is self learning that's a good thing isn't it? But do we have rogue sentient AI out there? Are we being told things? I don't know. I'm going to go and get my tinfoil hat and I'm going to put it on. And then I'm just going to have a mighty think about everything that's impossible and try and blow my mind even more than it's already blown through this dense concrete mush of stupid brain stew.

So, as I sit here in my old broken Chinese chair, I think to myself I hope the snow abates tomorrow. Oh, and I haven't even been in touch with the AA yet because I've got a dead van battery to sort out. So, that is going to be quite interesting. Yes, here's hoping that my wheelchair batteries aren't down to zero. Oh, dear. I don't know. Still, hopefully I may put some more words up. I may not, but I'm in a pretty weird place at the moment. Yeah. If you've got MS, you'll know what a weird place is. I'm IN LOL

Warlock Dark Chronic illness survivor, truth-teller, occasional bastard. From My Living Hell (For those who came here by accident: yes, my living hell is real. And yes, we still fight. Every shitty day. With defiance.)

@goblinbloggeruk - sick@mylivinghell.co.uk 𒀭𒊩𒆳 ᛞᚱᚨᚷᛟᚾ ᛏᚱᚨᚾᛋᚲᚺᚱᛁᛖᛞ ✦ ᚹᚨᛏᚲᚺᛖᚱ 𒀸𒀭 ᚢᚾᛒᛟᚢᚾᛞ

⚠️ Please read with care: This blog shares personal, sometimes painful experiences. My intention is to support and speak honestly not to harm. I’m not a professional, just someone who understands how hard it can get. If you're struggling, you're not alone please reach out for professional help.

Back in the 2010s, the Blog Goblin decided life needed a jolt. The plan was gloriously simple: Amsterdam. Three weeks. An electric wheelchair. Albertine by my side. And a mind wide open to whatever strange, beautiful, or ridiculous thing the city wanted to throw at us.

We landed right in the beating heart of it all a room perched near Central Station. From the window, I could see the whole choreography of the city: trams gliding like clockwork toys, trains humming in and out, and beyond them, the leaders plane resting in the hazy distance. Every morning, I’d throw the curtains open like a theatre reveal and watch Amsterdam switch itself on for the day.

The room itself was something out of a film a huge round bed, plush and inviting, the kind of sensual centrepiece that made the whole place feel like it had been designed for indulgence. At night, we’d sink into it, the hum of the station below like the city’s lullaby, trams whispering their way into the dark.

The wheelchair? Not a cage. It was my chariot. Albertine walked or rolled alongside, and together we drifted through the streets like a slow-moving carnival float, pulling in curious glances and the occasional grin. Coffee shops were our natural first port of call. Thick, lazy air. Quiet smirks. That unspoken “you too?” between strangers leaning back in their chairs as if gravity had taken the afternoon off.

We wandered the canals shimmering ribbons of water framed by brick bridges that looked like they’d been painted by someone who loved them. Boats slid by: tourists snapping photos, locals sipping coffee as if this floating life was nothing unusual. Every turn led us to another little world cheese shops stacked with wheels bigger than my torso, clogs carved with patient hands, and markets buzzing with chatter in languages I couldn’t name but still understood in tone.

The Red Light District? Of course we rolled in. Past the glowing windows where reality blurred and bent under the neon. Into sex shops that were part comedy club, part anthropology exhibit. Shelves groaning with absurdity things shaped like objects that should never be shaped like that while staff gave us the kind of smile that said, “We’ve seen it all. Twice. Before breakfast.”

And then there were the nights. Back to that round bed, the station still murmuring below, the city’s heartbeat thumping through the glass. Sometimes we’d watch the trams snake away into the dark, other times we’d just collapse into the kind of laughter that only comes after a day spent in a place that lets you breathe differently.

The days blurred in the best possible way. Clogs, bridges, rivers, music in a dozen languages. The warmth of Dutch family who joined us for food and stories, their kindness wrapping around me like an old friend’s coat.

I’d arrived in Amsterdam with MS, in a wheelchair, but for those three weeks I was seventeen again. Dizzy with freedom. Drunk on the colours of the streets. Alive in a way that felt electric.

When I left, my head was still ringing with laughter. My heart was stuffed with light, nonsense, and a promise I’ve kept ever since: never stop rolling into the places where the world tilts sideways and hands you a better story.

About the Author BG, better known in the wild corners of the internet as the Blog Goblin, is a storyteller, wanderer, and professional trouble-finder (the good kind). Living with MS hasn’t slowed the wheels — literal or otherwise — of this rolling adventurer. From coffee shops in Amsterdam to the stranger corners of everyday life, Bg collects moments where the world tilts sideways and hands you a better story. Always accompanied by Albertine, a sharp wit, and a questionable sense of direction, the Blog Goblin proves that adventure isn’t about walking far — it’s about seeing far.

I write in ink and fury, in breath and broken bone.
Through storm and silence, I survive. That is the crime and the miracle.

Saturday morning. Not hot, not cold just the kind of weather that feels like a cosmic shrug.

I loaded up the Wav with my faithful wheelchair. Old beast. Secondhand treasure from another life. No shiny new posh van here, just an aging, creaky metal box on wheels that’s been a lifesaver more times than I care to count.

Sure, it’s a money pit. Over two years, the sensors have staged a rebellion wheel sensor gone rogue, three injectors throwing tantrums, and enough warning lights to power a rave. Repairs? Pricier than a night out in Soho on a bad day. But essential? Absolutely.

The nearest hospital is a 45-minute drive away, if you believe the speed cameras, traffic chaos, and a city where everyone’s eyes are glued to their phones rather than the road.

Speaking of eyes, the outskirts greet you with Big Brother’s finest: CCTV cameras perched like vultures on poles, facial recognition tech hungry for your mugshot, and people strapped with body cams as if this was a dystopian reality show.

I get stared at, sure. Mostly like I’m a circus act. I just laugh quietly and wave at the idiots who think asking stupid questions will get them answers. They keep their distance, probably fearing the curse of a sarcastic cripple.

We hit a town ten miles away, hills sprawling like nature’s own opera, an orgasm for the eyes no need for music, just the endless parade of fields and road hum.

The tinnitus racket in my head? Not quite the soundtrack I’d choose, but hey, life’s cruel like that.

Tesco. The necessary evil. Not my favorite place, by a long shot. I try to avoid supermarkets supporting local is a creed, not a hobby.

And then, the phone pings.

Text from the chemist: prescriptions ready from the dreaded “machine of death.”

As we rolled past the chemist, I clamped my mouth shut—no Saturday morning chaos, thank you very much. Albertine laughed at my silence.

No one needs the madhouse of a Saturday morning queue, the sighs of the damned, the shuffle of the walking wounded.

So that’s Saturday morning with the Wav and the wheelchair an adventure in mild dystopia, dark humor, and bleak survival.

Here’s to the old vans, the broken sensors, the city watchers, and the pharmacy machines that never sleep.

Auction Musings: The Retro Monkees Toy Car Bid Meanwhile, while waiting for the local auction house to decide my fate, I’ve put a bid in on a retro Monkees 1960s toy car. Because if I’m going to collect sleepers, why not start small and nostalgic?

Every bid I place somehow turns into a battle for stupid money. It’s like I’m competing in the “Who Will Overpay For metal?” championship. Still, I swear I’ve got an eye for sleepers—even if it’s just the tiny metal kind.

If I snag it, it’ll be the crown jewel of my shelf, a tiny tribute to simpler times and utterly ridiculous auction wars. If not, well… there’s always the next round of overpriced plastic madness.

More interesting morning stuff to come…

I feel the pressure lifting, all this ultraterrestrial stuff stirring my mind, like some cosmic prep for whatever the hell’s next. For now, I’m just here, riding through dystopia, laughing at the absurdity.

        “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