I Count on Cannabis for Relief from My IBD Symptoms

Ancient civilizations used it to soothe physical and mental pain, so why couldn’t I use cannabis to make my chronically ill life easier?

“Weed is bad for your body; it’s not medicine,” my gastroenterologist said, shrugging off my query and redirecting me to yet more medication to manage my flaring symptoms from ulcerative colitis (UC), a type of inflammatory bowel disease (IBD).

After struggling with chronic stomach issues since childhood, I reached my mid-20s exasperated, terrified of food, and wrestling with re-triggered eating disorder behaviors.

I had exhausted numerous medicinal and holistic remedies, so I dug into the research on cannabis and found studies espousing its benefits for a wide range of medical conditions, which I brought up to my doctor.

Despite studies and surveys confirming that cannabis eases IBD-related stomach pain, nausea, low appetite, and diarrhea, my doctor’s reaction in 2019 was dismissive, to say the least.

Instead of listening to my ideas, he suggested opioids, something I’d cut out in my early 20s after developing an addiction while using them to cope with fibromyalgia and undiagnosed endometriosis, other conditions I struggled with.

I’d already seen how well topical CBD treatments and occasionally smoking THC managed the pain associated with fibromyalgia, so I forged ahead with my treatment plan, even without his OK.

Despite his doubts back then, cannabis is still the primary thing I use today to manage the symptoms stemming from my many different diagnoses, including UC, joint hypermobility syndrome, and polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS).

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Searching for solutions

Chronic illness invaded my life at a young age, first appearing when I was 8, with debilitating stomach problems, and gradually worsening throughout my teenage years.

My symptoms rose and crashed like waves, spiking in reaction to everything from a stressful week to consuming the wrong food — all I could do was attempt to ride the waves without drowning.

As a young child, I found little relief from the various diets I tried to improve my yet-to-be-diagnosed IBD symptoms. However, I’m sure my unwillingness to give up treats as a pre-teen with a serious sugar addiction probably hindered the success of this approach.

To suppress the symptoms in my teen years and early 20s, my physicians prescribed medications, including pain relievers and steroids.

Instead of providing relief, however, each medication induced additional symptoms.

I got disheartened every time the doctor suggested a new medication, and sadly, all it ever did was mask or temporarily ease my symptoms before yet another flare-up charged in on its doomsday horse.

I started managing my symptoms from the holistic side: I transformed my diet, sleep hygiene, and work schedule to adapt to this debilitating condition. It forced me to live life at a slower pace, which alleviated the worst of the symptoms.

However, it felt like IBD still ruled my life. I stumbled under the weight of it and gradually allowed my healthy coping mechanisms to drift, repeatedly whirling between eating my feelings, regretting the choice, and starving myself into remission.

Discovering cannabis

I started smoking cannabis recreationally as a young teen, using it to get buzzed with my friends at parties but did not yet understand its potential health benefits.

In my late teen years, a friend recommended leveling up from my topical CBD treatments to smoking cannabis with THC to manage my fibromyalgia pain.

I tried it and found that with each puff, cannabis eased my physical pain and calmed the suffocating panic that sometimes accompanied my fibro pain flares. I started using it intermittently to manage the worst of my fibromyalgia flare-ups.

Fighting myths

Even as my fibro symptoms subsided a bit, my IBD symptoms worsened year after year, throughout my early 20s, until it peaked with an ambulance ride to a hospital emergency room in 2019. It was then that I figured that using cannabis more frequently could be an efficient option to better manage my IBD symptoms as well.

However, my doctor rejected that notion. Instead, he spun warning tales, claiming that “weed” is a gateway drug to highly addictive substances, such as heroin, and that I’d never be able to stop using it once I started.

He also alleged that it would transform me into a deadbeat incapable of functioning like a normal person, as if living with chronic illness wasn’t already eroding my ability to thrive.

But, following that terrifying ER visit, I emulated my consultant’s dismissal and started using cannabis regularly.

The effects were pretty immediate. I experienced significantly less stomach pain and even found that my bowel movements became less painful.

I felt like I’d discovered a secret ingredient to make my life more manageable: I now had enough mental clarity, thanks to the reprieve from pain, to reintroduce healthier lifestyle changes, such as avoiding triggering foods, improving my sleep, and exercising regularly.

Over the next few years, my overall quality of life increased because the cannabis also improved my appetite, relieved severe flare-ups, and eased chronic nausea.

Adjusting my dose and frequency

After a lot of trial and error, I discovered that high-THC cannabis paired with CBD oils or supplements has the optimal effect for me. It helps to ease not only the pain but also the insomnia and nausea that come with my IBD flare-ups.

Throughout this experience, I lived in the UK, where it’s illegal to sell any products with THC. Since I couldn’t exactly walk into a shop and order the precise balance of THC and CBD that works for my flares, it was something of a challenge to find products that were consistently effective for me.

I could access CBD oil and topical treatments, but these only worked on the nausea and fibromyalgia joint flare-ups, not the excruciating internal pain inflicted by IBD.

In 2023, however, I moved to Canada, where access is significantly easier.

Now, I primarily smoke before and after eating if I’m experiencing a flare-up or if I have a nasty bout of gas that refuses to get out of my system. While I still occasionally use topical treatments, I avoid taking edibles because it’s harder to control the dose, and they just send me to sleep.

Luckily, I haven’t experienced any negative side effects from using cannabis as a coping mechanism. I do carefully monitor my usage, though. If I start veering toward using it to just get high, it can interfere with my productivity, making me complacent with work.

I also know that while cannabis is not physically addictive, it’s absolutely habitually addictive, meaning the act of using is habit-forming and easily spins out of control.

Adopting a holistic approach

I respect doctors, and they’ve saved my life more than once, but, in my 23 years of experience being chronically sick, I’ve found that sometimes they rely too heavily on medications to manage flare-ups, when other approaches might be more effective.

Stepping off this prescribed path freed me from extending my decade-long reliance on opioids to stave off the worst symptoms of my various conditions.

I adopted a holistic approach, which includes practicing mindfulness to manage pain, exercising regularly, and using various teas, such as ginger, turmeric, and peppermint, to relieve symptoms as they arise.

And, of course, cannabis features heavily too. I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The takeaway

Fear-mongering misconceptions have overshadowed this drug, which was used for its medicinal properties for thousands of years — for everything from inflammation to depression — before being criminalized in modern times.

I, and countless others, know how effective it can be for managing the symptoms of various chronic illnesses, like IBD.

I await its broad legalization to improve more people’s lives, but for now, I’m grateful I have access to a healthy drug that makes me thrive in chronic life.