(TW: Pet Death, Mental Health, Medical, Coarse Language, Rats, etc.)
Fuck, at this point, what was supposed to be a blog may as well just end up being a monthly or bi-monthly newsletter because, when I tell you I have been STRUGGLING. Bold. Italics. Underlined. Caps. None of it feels like enough to describe the things on my mind, in my heart, and how I’ve been feeling. As for the trigger warnings, I feel as though I, myself, have become a walking trigger warning/ red flag.
I’ll explain, the last time you heard from me, I was reeling over the death of my Pumpkin, an almost four-year old rat whom I adopted in 2020 alongside her sisters Mocha (my wobbly girl) and Chai (my curly bunbaby) both of which who had already passed away.
(My rat people will know that 4 is OLD for a rat but, still…)
So, for those of you who don’t like rats for, whatever your reasons may be, this may not be the post for you, and that’s okay. I can catch you on the next one. Otherwise, scroll down a bit, and we’ll catch up later on. However, I will say, rude, hurtful, and hateful comments will get deleted so, please just don’t. If you wouldn’t say it to a cat/dog parent, don’t say it to an exotic pet parent. Kind words, and genuine, honest advice and criticisms, however, are always welcome. Kindness is key.
My Pumpkin, she was a good girl, a very smart, bright, and wonderful girl… and once she’d made the decision to leave me, her sister, Cinnamon quickly followed. The pair were inseparable. Neither were the most snuggly rats when it came to their humans; they were loners. They were little nombly with the fingers sometimes, especially if they got too excited for whatever treat you were holding. But even so, they were loved dearly, and they were ours. You see in 2022, Cinnamon’s sister, the rat she came with, Cocoa passed away suddenly. Once she left, I didn’t expect Cinna to last too long.
They were sisters.
Despite the two of them never being the snuggliest of rats, unlike my wobbly Mocha, I still miss the two of them every day. You get used to the nombles. You get used to the rattitude, like any animal, each one has their own unique personality. The next knife in my heart was when our other girl, Café passed away suddenly. It was catastrophic.
Angel was distraught, one second, she was on a video call with her mother, wanting to show her the rat babies, and the next she was screaming. To someone who doesn’t know her, you may have called it a gasp but, the way the air rushed out of her, the way she cried the word “No!” and spoke our baby’s name… I don’t think I need to justify the rest. In no way can I blame her. The two of us got Café together, shortly after Cocoa passed away, when the hierarchy of our rats was disrupted, and everyone decided that they were going to fuss and fight now that their top rat was gone.
She was the baby of the family.
Moreso… she was my silly little snugglebug, who never, ever, wanted treats outside of the cage. In fact, she would quickly pass up any snack (including cheese, rice krispy treats, and our almost never treats a chocolate covered raisin) in favor of some attention, snuggles, or head rubs. I don’t know if I had ever met a rat who loved scritchies more than our little Café.
I am not saying our new babies aren’t lovable, wonderful, or perfect in their own ways.
(Sometime in the not-so-distant future, I may introduce them, however, I am not yet 100% sure when that will be.)
Just that our girls took more of us with them when they left than they will ever realize or understand. Losing a pet is never easy, and I know that- I think anyone who has ever owned a pet knows that losing them means losing a piece of ourselves. I just hope that in rattie heaven, they’re getting all of the cheese, scritchies, and dandelions they could ever hope for.
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For those of you not interested in rats, it’s safe to come out now. (Just saying.)
Aside from the loss of my babies, my life has been… well, hectic, per usual. I think we all know by now that my health has been shit, without me even having to say it or bring it up. After all, if you’re connected with me on Facebook, you’ve probably seen all of my bitching about Chicago and hospitals. Rush is a nightmare, as always, and I still have nothing nice to say about my pain management doctor. His only solutions for me right now are to insert a permanent pain pump into my body (fuck that noise) or to have the Abbott tech fuck around with the program a little and see how that goes. At least he’s stopped pushing the physical therapy for now; not like it helped.
(As if that’s not the same thing we’ve all been doing for the past almost 3-years now?)
In other news, I went to Northwestern in Chicago, which is a whole debacle in and of itself. For the love of all things good in this world, can someone tell me why it is such a fucking nightmare to park in Chicago? I’m someone who believes that hospital parking should not only be FREE to patients but, easy to find, and actually accessible. I don’t just mean that they throw up a handicapped parking sign, and call it good, when they’re all so fucking close together that you still struggle to get your mobility devices out of the damn car.
And no, I will not valet my car. Not in Chicago. Not with my walker. Just. No.
So tell me, why did I have to pay twenty-something dollars to park at the hospital when my appointment was there? They need hospital only parking for staff and patients because, I just don’t know how some people do it. We drove past four parking garages labeled for the hospital/patients that were full aside from monthly pass holders. Even the valet was full.
The cherry on top was as I was talking to Angel in the elevator, and some rude asshat who was quite clearly eavesdropping on our conversation, decided to take it upon himself to comment on what I had been saying. I commented to her that I hate this city (meaning Chicago) due to its lack of hospital parking, all of the people who had been honking at us while attempting to find parking, and also due to the fact that my appointment was on the 22nd flood and I have an immense fear of heights to pair with what I can only call medical trauma and PTSD.
This grown ass man says “it (being Chicago) hates you too” as he is quite literally sprinting out of the elevator to get away from us. Full on sprinting.
I am a cripple. I use a walker.
If you are going to be that person, and talk shit to a cripple, at least have the balls to say it to my fucking face. Sprinting ahead of me ten paces, to outrun me does you no good. Firstly, because I am spiteful, and I will never forget your face, or your receding hairline, which apparently hates you more than Chicago hates me. Secondly, because I will square up in a heartbeat; I may be cripple but, I am spiteful, and I will find a way to temporarily uncrippled myself for all of 5-minutes in order to get shit done. Will I be D.O.A afterwards?
One-fucking-hundred-and-ten percent.
Stack all of that on top of the feeling of impending doom that comes with being disabled, and trying to get recognized as such, in order to get benefits in the USA… it’s fair to say my mental health is just as “good” as my physical health. Almost three weeks ago now, I did my state issued physical exam which wasn’t quite as awful as I expected. I’ll probably make a whole post on this at some point but, I don’t think today is that day. All I will say about it now though, is that it was very long- the chairs were uncomfortable, and hurt my back, they wanted me to try to do things my body is incapable of, and questioning my mobility aids (braces, walker, sometimes cane) it wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected?
I also had the mental evaluation on the 10th, which was something I was in no way looking forward to. There are not words for the anxiety I feel towards that situation. I do not like people, especially strangers, much less people who want to talk to me about my already fragile mental health. Again, factoring in that SSI and SSDI is generally looking for any reason to deny someone, especially my age, and things look rather grim.
(If they knew the extent of it, I guarantee you they’d be sending me away to grippy sock jail and I do not want to go to grippy sock jail.)
Then once you factor in that I have spent the past week being extremely sick; bedridden with almost a constant migraine, intermittent fevers, and boatloads of nausea and vomiting stemming from said migraine, and all of this somehow feels so… trivial and outdated? I had planned to sit down and pen out all of these thoughts so much sooner.
This post for instance, has sat in my drafts for a little over a month now, half-finished, and rewritten more than once. More than twice, three, and four times, if I’m being honest. There are just so many things that I have to say, things that I want to say, and things that I feel like I owe to you, whoever you are, that may be reading this. Because as I have said before, I am an extremely anxious person, and that comes with a lot of people pleasing tendencies- something that makes me a hypocrite, since I am always telling Angel that she does not owe anyone any explanation beyond the words “it’s complicated” when she either cannot or does not wish to explain anything further.
Instead, I’ll say this; to those of you out there still reading, still listening, and who still care, thank you for your patience. Thank you to those of you who have reached out to me personally and privately, as well as those of you who have left comments on my various social media accounts inquiring about my health and such. I will be doing my best to post more, and to also give myself time for my body and mind to heal both from this sickness, and the recent losses of my babies as it is still extremely fresh.
I will write again soon. I know I say that often but, this is the first time I have felt this clear-headed in a long time. It reminds me of why I started writing in the first place, which is something I think I’ll talk some more about in my next post. Thank you again.
Have a day that you can be proud of, even if that just means eating something, taking your meds, and drinking water. You deserve love, respect, and kindness always. If it isn’t good enough for the person you love most in this world, then it isn’t good enough for you either.
-Sky
Skyla N. Lambert
Author | Blogger | Bookwyrm | Insomniac
E. skylanarissalambert@gmail.com
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