⚠️ Trigger Warnings:
Medical trauma, medical gaslighting, chronic illness discrimination, injury, chronic pain, mention of pet loss, grief, car accident, and discussion of domestic violence accusations.
🕸️ It’s Thursday, not Folklore Wednesday- but today’s story has monsters of a different sort.
No myths.
No changelings.
No woodland spirits.
Just fluorescent lights, cold tile floors, and an ER that reminded me why so many of us with chronic illnesses dread stepping foot in a hospital.
🌙 Setting the Scene
When M&M (the Moss Maiden) wheeled me into the ER this morning around 10 a.m., I was doing my best to keep things lighthearted- or as light as possible.
We’d just gotten out of an Uber with a lovely girl named Amanda and her friend- someone her brother is dating right now. We laughed most of the ride, which is impressive considering I don’t usually enjoy being in other people’s cars and, well, we were on our way to the ER.
You see, yesterday I tried to get up and put something in the mini fridge, not realizing that my foot was asleep.
One step later- crunch.
M&M heard it from the other room, followed by a very loud, very heartfelt “FUCK,” and me collapsing like a paper bag.
Say what you will about her, but if something’s wrong, M&M will always come running. Even if we’ve been snapping at each other all week- and honestly, who could blame us for being tense lately?
🦴 First, there was the car accident on October 22nd– the day we were supposed to see China Lights in Milwaukee.
🕯️ Then, on the 28th, our sweet Koda Bear crossed the rainbow bridge.
🌧️ And the 29th? My grandmother’s second Heavenly Birthday- and now, apparently, the day I may have broken my foot.
So yeah. Tensions were high.
We didn’t have a car (the accident totaled it), and Uber kept canceling, so we finished the night the best way we knew how- homemade pizza, Hazbin Hotel Season 2, the Yard Yeti, and baby Luna Moth.
Because even when the world is falling apart, you hold on to family time.
🕯️ The Visit
This morning, after striking out on getting a ride from my older brother, we finally managed to grab an Uber. That’s how we ended up at the ER that used to be my favorite.
I say “favorite” loosely- because as far as ERs go, this one used to be decent.
Shorter wait times.
Nurses who could actually find a vein.
The kind of place where, if you had to go, you wouldn’t immediately regret it.
That ended today.
They checked me in quickly, and a nurse came to wheel me back. I explained what happened: my foot fell asleep, I stepped wrong, it crunched, and now it’s swollen and screaming.
But then came the looks.
The kind that say: we don’t believe you.
I tried explaining Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome- that my joints dislocate easily, that my body basically treats collagen like a suggestion. I even demonstrated with a dislocating finger when they didn’t believe me.
They didn’t believe me.
Instead, they glanced at the bruises still fading from the car accident and decided M&M must’ve done this to me.
I showed them photos of the wrecked car. Explained the timeline. But it didn’t matter.
They asked again.
And again.
And again.
By the time I got to the x-ray room, I’d repeated the same story so many times I started wondering if I should print out a PowerPoint.
Car accident.
Ehlers-Danlos.
Walking to the mini fridge.
Crunch.
And still, the same question: “Are you sure that’s what happened?”
🕸️ Broken Trust
The doctor came in like it was all some big joke.
“Good news,” he said, “no fractures, nothing’s broken!”
I told him that wasn’t always reassuring- that I’ve had x-rays miss hairline fractures and torn ligaments before.
Then he said that sometimes, a bruise can hurt more than a fracture- his exact words.
That’s how I developed Complex Regional Pain Syndrome, the condition that left me permanently disabled.
He laughed it off.
Said unless I had osteoporosis, there was no reason for a CT scan.
Funny thing? I do have osteoporosis. Diagnosed in 2021.
But I guess he didn’t read that part of my file between jokes.
đź©ą Reflection
But you know what isn’t funny? Having my partner- the one person who goes with me everywhere, makes sure I remember to eat when times are hard, and is actively trying to make sure I get around the house in one piece- accused of hurting me.
Because that’s how we were looked at today: as though I didn’t stand up from the chair wrong, and she’d done something to me to hurt me.
They wouldn’t listen when I said I was safe at home, no one was hurting me- they just kept asking over and over and over again.
Accusing someone’s partner of domestic violence without evidence- especially when the patient is clearly not signaling distress or fear- doesn’t protect anyone. It causes harm.
It invalidates real victims who need help by turning a vital safety protocol into a casual suspicion.
It stigmatizes disabled people and their partners- suggesting that we are inherently fragile, dependent, and therefore more likely to be abused.
It teaches patients like me that even when we tell the truth, we won’t be believed.
There are ways to ask those questions compassionately, discreetly, and with context- ways that center safety without sowing distrust. What happened today wasn’t that. It was profiling, not protection.
Instead, I got told, “You’re young, you’ll heal,” and instructions to come back in six days if it wasn’t better.
They gave me an ice pack, a stabilizer shoe, and a pamphlet on safe opioid handling- even though I wasn’t offered any medication, wasn’t tested for drugs, and wasn’t even asked what prescriptions I take.
They didn’t treat my pain.
They didn’t listen.
They didn’t believe me.
And that’s what hurts most.
🦴 A Bigger Problem
You know what’s ironic? They’ll tell me there’s “nothing wrong,” but then suggest I see ortho.
If there’s nothing wrong, why the referral?
That contradiction is the heart of the problem.
For many chronically ill and disabled patients- especially younger ones, women, and people with visible differences like mobility aids or dyed hair- hospitals aren’t safe spaces. They’re trauma triggers.
We go in seeking care and come out with shame, pamphlets we didn’t ask for, and the heavy feeling of being disbelieved again.
We’re seen as “too young” to be this sick.
Too informed about our own conditions, which makes us “difficult.”
Too calm in pain, which makes us “faking.”
Too expressive in pain, which makes us “drug seeking.”
We can’t win- and that’s why so many of us wait until we can’t not go before seeking medical help.
Because we’ve learned that sometimes, the ER hurts worse than the injury.
🌙 Closing Thoughts
Today wasn’t just about a possibly broken foot.
It was about a system that’s been breaking people like me for years.
I didn’t walk out of that ER with answers.
I walked out with a stabilizer shoe, an ice pack, and another crack in my trust.
Maybe it’s time to find a new “favorite” ER.
Or maybe it’s time to demand a world where chronically ill patients don’t need one at all.
🕯️ Author’s Note
If you’ve had similar experiences with medical trauma or gaslighting, you’re not alone. Please take care of yourself before and after reading posts like this- stretch, drink water, pet a soft creature if you can.
If this story brought up feelings about safety or past experiences, support is available. You can reach the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-SAFE (7233), or chat at thehotline.org.
You deserve to feel safe- in your home, your relationships, and your care.
The world may not always be kind to disabled bodies,
but that doesn’t make yours any less worthy of care, safety, or respect.
🕸️- Sky, The Crippled Cryptid
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