Finding My Way Back to Books (Eventually… Hopefully)
Filed under: cryptids wearing oversized hoodies, lukewarm coffee, breakfast casserole, chronic illness gremlin energy, and whatever the Hell Monday just was.
CW: Mentions of chronic illness, medical trauma, seizures, car accidents, and emotional struggles with reading.
Welcome back to The Crippled Cryptid-
Your snow-dusted corner of the internet where disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and everyday magic curl up together like mismatched socks by a radiator.
Winter has officially sunk its icy claws into Illinois, and whether we wanted it or not, the world outside looks like a shaken snow globe.
(Luna’s toe beans are cold. She hates it.)
Here, though? It’s warm. It’s soft. It’s honest. (Maybe too honest.)
A place to drop your bones, thaw your fingers, and be exactly as tired, chaotic, or emotionally feral as you need to be.
Grab your coziest blanket, your warmest drink, and maybe a dog who snores like a gremlin.
Let’s settle in.
❄️~❄️~❄️
A Year That Stole My Spark
The cold is being unbelievably rude this week, and my body is taking it extremely personally. My joints are staging a coup. My immune system feels like it’s made of damp cardboard. Thanksgiving chaos lingered like a haunted casserole, and I’m pretty sure I’m getting sick all over again.
(If anyone wants to ship me Campbell’s chicken noodle soup and Canada Dry Ginger Ale, I won’t stop you.)
And with that chaotic little cocktail of chronic illness, winter rudeness, and my body’s complete lack of chill, one truth has been haunting me louder than Luna’s tiny jet-engine snores:
I haven’t been reading.
Not really.
Not the way I used to.
Not the way I want to.
I made myself a fall TBR- stacked it with beloved favorites and shiny newcomers.
I didn’t touch a single one.
Before the October car accident that stole my happiness, my mobility, and my Cherokee, M&M and I made weekly library trips (often with Luna). I’d wander the shelves until a book called to me. A home with two covers and hundreds of pages between. But when I sat down to read?
Nothing happened.
I used to joke that I didn’t “read” so much as watch books. Stories didn’t stay on the page; they unfolded in my mind like films.
Lately?
It’s like the projector is broken.
I reread the same paragraph over and over. I stare at sentences like they’re written in a language I don’t know. My comprehension just isn’t there. And I don’t know how to fix it.
Honestly? I don’t think I’ve read a full-length book this entire year.
This slump didn’t begin in 2025.
It began in 2023, with the Chicago car accident that t-boned me, rattled my life, and scrambled my brain in ways I’m still discovering. I’ve been pretending I bounced back.
But the truth?
My reading never fully returned after that first accident.
And the second one in October only made it worse.
Webtoons have been my lifeline- bite-sized, manageable, gentle on a foggy brain. Stories like Suitor Armor keep the thread alive. But novels… the worlds I once inhaled like enchanted oxygen… still elude me.
I miss them like old friends.
I miss me– the me who lived in books, who devoured fantasy like it was sunlight.
I keep hoping a reread will reignite something: ACOTAR. Anita Blake. Interview With the Vampire.
Libby even delivered Interview today- my old favorite. Teenage me named her first snake Lord Lestat de Lioncourt, which honestly tells you everything.
But the spark hasn’t lit.
Maybe soon.
Maybe eventually.
For now… I’m waiting. I don’t have many options.
❄️~❄️~❄️
The Week That Decided to Body-Slam Me
Because this past week?
Monday punted me directly into the sun.
It started with Wednesday’s passing-out episode and seizure- a brand-new party trick I did not need. Then Friday’s x-ray adventures. Then Saturday’s hours in the ER because the on-call nurse worried I might have another one.
By the time Monday rolled around, I was held together with vibes, heating blankets, and maybe the ghost of a prayer.
And Monday said, “Cute. Let’s make it worse.”
This is when I found out- for sure this time– that there are retained lead tips in my spine at L5-S1 from the DRG stimulator explant that was supposed to be completed in March 2024.
Meaning:
If I ever want an MRI again, I need spinal surgery.
A laminectomy.
And bonus: my pain management doctor made me wait all afternoon for a telehealth call his office scheduled, only to call an hour late. When the portal dinged, it was from RN Jessica- my nemesis, my villain origin story, my living migraine trigger.
She’s the same person who told me for months to lie to MRI techs and say I never had a DRG implant because “it was removed.”
Spoiler: it wasn’t. Not fully.
And now I’m the one who needs surgery because of it.
Then, during the actual telehealth, the doctor said the sentence that nearly launched me into the stratosphere:
“If an MRI is that important to you, you’re just going to have to have it surgically removed.”
As if wanting accurate medical information is trivial.
As if my spine is a craft project.
As if insurance didn’t already pay him to remove it the first time.
I have the paperwork.
I have the scars.
I have the chronic nerve damage.
I lived through the surgery he apparently… didn’t finish.
He claimed it’s “common” for these lead tips to be retained after a DRG explant, like the one I had on 3/11/24… except after the surgery, both M&M and I asked whether everything was removed and whether I’d be able to get MRIs in the future.
He said yes.
Confidently.
Repeatedly.
Liar. Liar. Liar.
And now he wants me to consider getting another spinal cord stimulator? From him?
I swear, I’ve been saying it for weeks- that I’m going to write about my DRG stimulator experience. And I will, I promise. But every time I try, the saga isn’t done. There’s always another chapter. Whether it’s x-rays proving the retained metal fragments, MRI staff saying Abbott’s notes contradict his, Jessica telling me to lie to medical professionals, or the looming neurosurgeon consult so I can begin the process of removing this abandoned medical waste from my spine.
It makes you wonder what “do no harm” even means, because I’m seeing a lot of harm.
It also makes me feel like I need to be done with this doctor once all this is over. He doesn’t want to alter my medications. He just wants to put more tech in my body- but after abandoning DRG leads in me without telling me, he’s lost all my trust.
When I say I was pissed, I mean scorched-earth.
I screamed.
I blew out my voice.
I scared Luna.
I startled M&M.
I probably disrupted local wildlife.
Meanwhile, my uncle was in the hallway fixing the water pump like an NPC witnessing a boss battle under a cracked door.
Mondays earn their reputation.
❄️~❄️~❄️
The Bright Spot in the Blizzard
The only good thing?
The Christmas tree finally went up.
Kind of.
While waiting for the doctor who eventually called (late), Luna and I curled up watching The Christmas Cookie Challenge while M&M summoned the cryptid-skeleton tree from circa 2002. That thing has been labeled, relabeled, and mislabeled so many times that assembling it is basically spellcasting with mismatched runes.
Only one “tabarnak” was uttered, which should earn her a medal. I almost offered help when she started looking frustrated- but honestly, I’m hoping the more this tree degrades, the more everyone will see things from my POV and agree that a new one is overdue.
This tree has history. Too much history. At least two generations of incorrect labeling. It takes two hours to assemble, before the lights or ornaments go on. I would love an LED tree with remote-controlled colors. I know M&M wants white fiberoptics. I want rainbow options.
Maybe next year.
But this year, the tree leaned like it was trying to flirt with gravity, but she eventually won.
Tomorrow’s plan: decorating the leafy beast, probably while baking something cozy and waiting for Instacart to bring our groceries. Her Aunt Lise says we have until December 15, but honestly? With the Bear-shaped hole still echoing through the house, maybe we just need the glow.
Luna didn’t bark at the tree this year- not even once. Last year she spent a solid hour yelling at it. M&M found her puppy winter pajamas in the box. Hard to believe she once needed a tiny medium. Now she’s large, though we buy XL for comfort.
No one deserves cold toe beans.
Through all the chaos- the screaming, the symptoms, the grief- Luna has been glued to my side, alerting like the sunflower-clad guardian gargoyle she is.
I truly won the lottery with her.
❄️~❄️~❄️
The Soft, Warm Corner of the Chaos
Even in the whirlwind, there’s one small warm spot.
A fragile little ember.
Right now I’m wrapped in my Nightmare Before Christmas onesie, sipping winter punch Sparkling Ice, with Luna curled against my hip like a gargoyle on union-mandated cuddle break.
Maybe- just for a breath- that’s enough.
But truthfully, I want more.
Healing has never taken a straight path for me. Mine prefers the scenic route, potholes included, usually with a raccoon in a reflective vest rerouting traffic.
Maybe, eventually, the spark for reading will come back.
Maybe I’ll find the book that pulls me home again.
Maybe one of you will name yours in the comments, and that little click inside my chest will return.
Even if the pages stay blank a while longer, the books are still there.
Waiting.
Patient.
Loyal in the way stories always are.
❄️~❄️~❄️
Thawing- One Page at a Time
Thank you for curling up in this snowy corner of The Crippled Cryptid with me.
Whether you’re deep in a reading slump, navigating medical chaos, missing someone with fur and a grumpy little face, or just surviving winter one lukewarm beverage at a time- you’re welcome here.
Take what you need.
Leave what you can.
And remember: even when the world feels frozen, we thaw slowly, together.
–Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid– Disability, honesty, and a little chaos.
https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
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Support Sky’s Journey to Health and Mobility:
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