Hey Cryptid Crew,
Let’s call this my official Disability Pride Month kickoff post, because it turns out nothing says “I’m disabled and full of rage” quite like being elbowed off your own rollator walker at the local food pantry by someone who thought it was a public bench. Spoiler alert: it is not. -and if the next words out of your mouth are “what the fuck?” Spooky bestie, same.
But before we get to that goblin-worthy moment of chaos, let’s rewind a little.
💥 The Knee Saga: Part 1 of 400?
Tuesday night, I wound up in the ER because my left knee- already a drama queen thanks to my alphabet soup of conditions- decided to swell up like a cursed balloon. I’ve got a hefty disability resume already (hEDS, MCAS, CRPS I & II, POTS, fibro, tremors, seizures, migraines, etc.) so when I say something new is wrong, it’s usually extra wrong.
I first noticed the Saturday before after my Rheumatologist appointment but, I thought I’d just tweaked it, I’d woken up with it out of place, and my EDS peeps know that it’s a quick fix sometimes. So, I went on with my day, when it was still wrong a few days later? That’s when I knew I was in trouble, and Babe (the Moss Maiden) and the Yard Yeti finally convinced me to go get seen, along with a good friend named Autumn.
The ER ran a CT scan and an ultrasound. The results?
- CT: No fractures (yay), but a ton of free-floating fluid.
- Ultrasound: also a lot of swelling (double yay).
- Time spent waiting: 6 hours- pretty sure you saw me whining about it on Tiktok and IG instead of posting here.
- Final result: Knee immobilization brace and a referral to ortho.
- Ortho’s response: [crickets] (but hey, it was the 4th of July week, so maybe they were too busy blowing things up to call me back.)
Now I’m hobbling around in a brace that makes bending impossible. Even if it was possible my kneecap feels like its trying to tap dance off my leg. My usual cane isn’t cutting it, so we’ve dusted off my rollator walker for the first time in two years- because when life gives you chronic illness, you collect mobility aids like Pokémon.
Which brings us to Saturday. (Yesterday, July 5th)
🍞 The Food Pantry Incident: A Love Letter to Boundaries (and Basic Human Decency)
My partner and I went to our local food pantry- because disability, inflation, and late-stage capitalism are a hell of a combo. We got there early, as you do, because our pantry does this lovely thing where they let disabled and elderly folks inside first before opening to everyone else. (Truly, shoutout to them for that. It’s one of the few places that actually gets it.)
We brought the rollator with me because, again, immobilized knee. I genuinely look like I’m hobbling around like a broken penguin both with and without the brace- it’s bad. While waiting in line, I was sitting on the walker’s seat trying to keep weight off my leg and avoid bursting into flames from sheer pain. That’s when she arrived.
Let’s call her Bench Karen.
She ignored the line.
She refused to go to the back.
She wedged herself in front of me.
She elbowed my arms off my walker.
She physically grabbed my walker.
And then she. started. leaning. on. it.
Like it was her own personal park bench.
I was shocked, in pain, and entirely too tired to process it in the moment. Thankfully, my partner stepped in and literally had to block this woman from continuing to lean on me- because Bench Karen was determined to treat me and my medical device like we were part of the street furniture.
And when I, understandably upset, began explaining to my partner what happened?
Bench Karen looked right at me… and laughed.
I wish I were making this up.
Luckily, we got called in shortly after for early disabled access, and she had to stay outside. But honestly? That moment has stuck with me. Because here’s the thing a lot of people don’t seem to get:
🚨 Your PSA of the Day:
You don’t touch someone’s mobility aid. Ever.
If you wouldn’t grab a stranger’s leg or lean on someone’s shoulder uninvited, then you don’t get to grab their walker, cane, wheelchair, scooter, or crutches. These aren’t optional accessories. These are medical devices, and often, literal extensions of our bodies.
I do not care how we dress them up. I do not care that my cane is covered in stickers, and has a pumpkin pop fidget hanging off of it. I do not care if my walker is decorated. All of those things are for my personal comfort and happiness. Okay? Okay.
Touching a mobility aid without consent can cause injury, pain, instability, and even trauma. For many of us, it’s not just rude- it’s dangerous.
I shouldn’t have to say this in the year 2025. But here we are.
💜 It’s Disability Pride Month. Please Fucking, Act Like It.
Disabled people are out here surviving systems built without us in mind, or built to hurt us, navigating public spaces that actively exclude us, and dealing with constant pain, fatigue, and medical trauma. Do not add to that trauma. The very least anyone can do is treat us- and our mobility aids- with the respect we deserve. We are people too.
So yeah, this post is part rage, part reminder, and part love letter to all my disabled cryptids out there just trying to survive in a world that keeps forgetting we exist unless we inconvenience someone.
But we do exist.
And we’re not going anywhere.
Especially not quietly.
Happy Disability Pride Month.
Stay weird. Stay witchy. Stay angry.
-and Babes? Hydrate, it’s too hot out there not to.
🖤♿🖤
-Sky, The Crippled Cryptid
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