On Birthdays | Burgers | & Turning 31
Welcome back to the Cryptid’s Den.
This is The Crippled Cryptid. A soft-lit corner of the internet where disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and everyday survival magic gather like familiar spirits who know when to sit quietly and when to laugh too loud.
If you’re new here: hi. I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid.
Unwilling amateur cyborg.
Occasional chronic illness and disability advocate.
And as of yesterday… 31.
Some of you are probably wishing me a happy birthday right now. Thank you. Truly.
Some of you already did. Some of you I talked to on the phone. My favorite people, I saw on video call. Not to say I don’t love everyone, but certain family members get special privileges. You know who you are.
Yesterday, I turned 31.
And that is not a small thing.
I used to tell M&M that I would never live to see 30. I said it casually. Repeatedly. Like it was already written somewhere official.
That wasn’t drama. That was math. Or at least it felt like it.
When you grow up in a chronically ill and disabled body, you brace for the shortened version of life. The I’ve-seen-more-hospital-waiting-rooms-than-states version. The I’ve-had-more-surgeries-than-vacations version. You learn to expect the footnote edition.
When I turned 30, the script shifted.
“Well. I’m not done being 30 yet. There’s still time.”
Yesterday marked the day I had to retire that sentence.
My body has been trying to take me out for 31 years.
It hasn’t won.
I have.
And I am still here on purpose.
Thirty-one might not come with glitter cannons or milestone hashtags. It’s not one of the ages people throw theme parties for.
But to me? It feels like an Olympic medal.
It comes with scar tissue. With stubbornness. With love that stayed. With a service dog who refuses to let me faint dramatically in the yard.
So, How Did I Spend the Big 3-1?
Exactly how I wanted.
During the day, M&M and I played video games upstairs in the living room.
Or, as we call it here in Illinois, the “frunchroom.” A word that sounds like it was invented by a casserole. I find it deeply charming.
It was easy. Comfortable. Laughing at pixels. Competing dramatically over nothing that actually mattered.
In the evening, we made burgers.
By “we,” I mean M&M made the patties, because she makes them the same way she makes her meatballs. Which means they are technically giant meatballs cosplaying as burgers. And honestly? Elite behavior.
You already know how I feel about her meatballs. I think that girl needs to open up a restaurant. She makes some of the most phenomenal meatballs, and by default burger patties, in the entire world. I don’t want to go out and eat burgers or meatballs anywhere else. We have burgers and meatballs at home!
Even though False Spring Act 1 has entered the chat wearing flip-flops and lying to everyone, I took those burgers outside to the screened-in porch. Last week we got a few 50-degree days, and a few days that got up to 60. Now, we’re right back to where we started in the 30’s again. And let me tell you something, I am cold.
Could I have cooked them on the stove? Yes.
Was I going to do that when I have a perfectly good Blackstone grill waiting to be fired up? Absolutely not.
Rain. Snow. Existential dread. The grill still works.
M&M and I had ours mushroom and Swiss. Obviously. Because mushrooms belong on burgers and I will not be taking opposing arguments at this time. (Allergies are the only exception)
I added fried eggs. Runny yolk supremacy. Is it messy? Yes.
Is it correct? Also yes.
There is something sacred about having someone who learns how you take your mushrooms and your fears.
BJ, our resident Yard Yeti, prefers Colby-Jack. We allow this.
He had his assigned role: Kinder Garlic Parm Fries.
Much like he is the undisputed Tater Tot Authority, he remains Potato Lord of the Air Fryer. We follow the package directions. They are fine. He does it. They are crisp. Golden. Superior. I cannot explain it. I will not question it.
We kept the night soft. Movies. Snacks. Family movie night.
Popcorn with browned butter was an option, one we didn’t actually end up needing. Twix. Milky Way. Three Musketeers. Sour candies for me because it is not a movie night without them.
My Aunt Dee in Texas had a Banana Pudding cake delivered from Nothing Bundt Cakes, which felt like long-distance love showing up in frosting form. I talked to Aunt Lise in the morning. Familiar voices. The kind of birthday that feels anchored.
There is something sacred about hearing the voices of people who have known you through multiple versions of yourself.
And before you ask.
Yes.
Luna celebrated.
Even in the cold, she got ball time between dramatic zooms. She got puffed yak cheese chews. Salmon skins. Couch compression therapy.
She monitored me at the grill like the tiny professional she is. Thirty-one years alive. Two of them with her. Those two changed everything.
No ambulances.
No dramatic collapses.
Just presence.
And sometimes that is the loudest celebration of all.
But there was one presence I couldn’t stop noticing.
Or rather, one absence.
This was my first birthday without Bear.
Since 2014, he had been there for every single one. Ten years. A full decade of candles and cake and couch naps and “what are we eating and can I have some?”
That isn’t something you get over neatly. Or quietly.
He was my grumpy little old man. My Scooby-Doo dog. My basset-shepherd moose with the dramatic sighs and the impeccable side-eye. He had perfected the art of existing like the world mildly inconvenienced him.
And I loved him for it.
Every birthday since 2015, he had been somewhere in the room. Under the table. On the couch. Hovering near the food like a heavily furred supervisor.
Yesterday, there was space where he should have been.
I felt it in the quiet moments.
I know he wouldn’t have wanted me to be sad. He was never one for emotional theatrics. He preferred snacks and structured naps.
I don’t know if the Rainbow Bridge offers day passes.
But it felt like he was here anyway.
Maybe it was memory. Maybe it was muscle memory. Maybe it was the way my heart still expects to hear his paws on the floor when there’s food involved.
Ten years is not small.
He was part of my twenties. Part of my healing. Part of my worst days and my best ones.
This birthday held joy.
And it held grief.
Both are allowed at the same table.
An Anniversary I Didn’t See Coming
There’s something else about this birthday that feels important.
Yesterday wasn’t just 31.
It was also twenty-one years since M&M sat beside me on my 10th birthday.
Back then, I made a choice that I didn’t fully understand at the time. I invited her instead of a “friend” who had decided to give into the classic childhood ultimatum: it’s her or me.
The kind who suggested we could be “secret friends.”
Even writing that now, I want to reach back and tell little me that she deserved better.
I don’t know why I let her treat me like that. I don’t know why I thought being chosen quietly was better than not being chosen at all.
Actually, I do know.
Because when you grow up sick, when you grow up different, when you grow up feeling like a complication instead of a person, you get used to shrinking yourself. You get used to accepting whatever version of friendship people are willing to give you.
Even the half-hearted ones.
But that year, I chose M&M.
And here’s the part we still laugh about twenty-one years later.
She gave me a birthday card with $20 in it.
She was the first friend who ever gave me birthday money.
And because I had never received birthday money from a friend before, I threw the envelope away without checking it. Not the card, just the envelope.
We were at Golden Corral. Peak early-2000s birthday chaos.
She asked what I was going to do with my birthday money.
I looked at her and said, completely serious,
“What birthday money?”
There had been twenty dollars under the card.
I had already thrown it away.
When we got home that night, I had to rescue my own birthday money from the trash.
We still laugh about it.
Twenty-one years later, she’s still here.
Not as a secret.
Not as an ultimatum.
Not as a conditional friend.
She was there when I turned 10.
She was there when I turned 31.
She will be there for a lot of birthdays because, even though she had other options, she chose me. And she keeps choosing me 21-years later.
Some anniversaries measure time.
Some measure who stayed.
31 Things I’ve Learned
These are not Pinterest quotes.
These are field notes from a body that refused to quit.
- Being chronically ill and disabled does not mean you don’t deserve to be loved.
- You’re allowed to say no.
- You’re allowed to leave relationships that no longer serve you, including family.
- Rest is productive.
- You do not have to earn care.
- Smashburgers fix approximately 12% of all problems.
- Mushrooms belong on burgers.
- Family makes life better. (Even if they’re found family and not blood related.)
- My grandfather was right. Life is better with dogs.
- You are allowed to have goals to look forward to.
- You are allowed to ignore phone calls that will only stress you out.
- There is always tomorrow.
- Saying goodbye doesn’t erase someone. Memory keeps them alive.
- A long drive and loud music fix the other 88%.
- Coffee is not a meal. It counts as medicine.
- Friends are sometimes better than blood family.
- Good books fix more than we admit.
- If duct tape can’t fix it, we might be in trouble.
- Skipping a doctor’s appointment is sometimes better than forcing it.
- Having bad health does not mean you failed.
- Being stubborn is a survival skill.
- Cheese should be a food group.
- Margarine is a lie. Use real butter.
- One soda now and then will not collapse civilization.
- You deserve a treat.
- Moderation is powerful.
- Everything is terrible without boundaries.
- Giving up guarantees you’ll never know.
- If you’re wrong, apologize.
- There’s no shame in being afraid.
- Keep going. It’s worth it.
I earned every one of these the hard way.
I hope you don’t have to.
This is the list 30-year-old me wrote for 31-year-old me.
Next year, 31-year-old me will write one for 32-year-old me.
I don’t know how many birthdays I get. None of us do.
But I am here for this one.
How exciting.
Mini Luna Review: Birthday Edition 🐾
Hello. It is Luna Bean!
Professional Supervisor. Birthday Compliance Officer.
Observations from Mama’s 31st Boofday Extravaganza:
• Burgers smelled correct.
• Eggs were suspicious but allowed.
• Fries were denied to me. Unacceptable but survivable.
• Salmon skins: appropriate tribute.
• Yak cheese chew: five stars. Would celebrate again.
• Mumther stood at grill too long. I monitored. We’ve reduced to using her full government name.
• Couch snuggles achieved optimal pressure distribution.
• Ball was thrown despite cold weather betrayal. Leadership approved.
• No emergency vehicles. Excellent birthday protocol.
Overall rating:
31/10. Would permit aging again.
Returning cryptids, thank you for another year beside me.
New cryptids, you arrived during a leveling-up week.
I don’t know what 32 holds. I didn’t think I’d get this far.
But I’m here. And I’m not done.
Love you. Now say it back.
-Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability, honesty, and a little chaos.
(And as always, dog hair, it’s good for morale.)
If you’re here, you belong here.
If today was heavy, thank you for carrying it with me.
If you’re reading from Bed Jail™, give your service dog an extra scritch for me.
🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
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If you’d like to support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and mobile:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
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