Content Note
This post discusses chronic illness, grief, medical trauma, anniversaries of loss, and upcoming surgery.
Images throughout include visual scales representing fatigue, pain levels, and recovery using dogs, dragons, and soup.
Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid
Disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and survival without the performance.
If you’re new here, hi.
I’m Luna Bean.
Medical alert service dog.
Certified Good Girl.
Full-time nervous system supervisor.
Mama’s body is very dramatic.
My job is to notice before it steals the spotlight.
I alert to:
- Migraines
- Seizures
- Heart rate spikes
- Muscle spasms
- Suspicious vibes requiring investigation
I interrupt spirals.
I apply Deep Pressure Therapy like it’s a sacred ritual.
I’m learning to retrieve things when hands stop cooperating.
Some call me a dog.
Others call me medical equipment.
Mama calls me her freedom.
I consider myself a very important partner.
Possibly the main character.
Most days move slowly. Some happen from Bed Jail™.
That’s fine. I am excellent at staying close.
There’s also M&M.
Mama #2.
Belly rub-giver. Treat-giver. Emotional support human.
She belongs to both of us.
This space is for:
- Chronic illness without shame
- Disability without performance
- Care without conditions
(And yes. There will be fur.)
If you’re new, you’re safe here.
If you’ve been here before, welcome back.
It’s always good to have friends!
Welcome to the Lunatic Café.
Official Alert Status
Before we begin, please refer to my professional assessment scale:
On Today’s Menu: A Red Zone Kind of Week
Hi, hello. Sit, stay. Good hooman. 🐾
If you’ve made it this far, you already did something important.
You made it through another week.
I hope it was a soft one.
Ours was not.
This week?
We were deep in the Bed Jail™ Red Zone.
(Please consult the official scale.)
If I had thumbs or a panic button, we would be at DEFCON: Snacks Immediately.
Friday the 13th (But Make It Emotional Damage)
It started last Friday.
We had:
- Bed Jail™
- Snacks
- Scary movies
But also…
Big feelings.
The quiet kind.
The kind that sits heavy and doesn’t announce itself.
The big pine tree fell.
The one Bear loved.
The one Mama grew up under.
The one that made the yard feel like home.
And it hurt her in a way that didn’t have words yet.
So, she did what she does.
She tucked it away.
Saved it for later.
Let it sit inside her like a storm with no thunder.
I don’t like that.
That’s when I begin my intervention:
- The Stare™
- The Paw™
- The Emergency Mlem™
And if all else fails…
I bring her my favorite toy.
Sometimes to play.
Sometimes just to say:
“Here. This helps me. Maybe it helps you too.”
Sunday: The Kind of Grief That Stays
Then Sunday came.
The anniversary of Mama’s mom passing.
Six years.
I didn’t get to meet her.
But Bear did.
Dogs remember things differently.
We carry stories in quieter ways.
Sometimes I wish Mama and I spoke the same language.
Because I would tell her:
- You’re not alone
- I’m right here
- You are still loved
Also, throw the ball.
I think that’s why she wants to teach me talking buttons.
And I will be VERY good at them.
Top of my class. No notes.
Monday: Bravery (Even When It Looks Small)
On Monday, Mama did something big.
She went to the hospital. Alone.
Uber. CT scan.
Humans like to call that “just an appointment.”
Incorrect.
Especially since Mama has been having seizures, and we don’t let her leave the house by herself much anymore.
That is bravery.
The Migraine Dragon has also been… active.
Please review current threat level: Burn Down the World.
Here’s what we know from the scan:
- They found what the doctor left behind
- There is more surgery coming
Mama is not thrilled.
But it’s necessary.
And I will be supervising.
Closely.
Tuesday: Soup Magic and Survival Alchemy
Then Tuesday happened.
Mama made magic.
Chicken. Water. Spices. Veggies.
Time passed.
And suddenly…
Soup.
I do not understand the process.
But I respect the results.
The house smelled safe.
Warm. Grounded. Like everything might be okay for a minute.
Recovery status improved after Soup Magic was deployed:
This is not just food.
This is strategy.
This is care.
This is survival with seasoning.
Meanwhile: Illinois vs Everyone
Also.
False Spring betrayed us.
Snow. Again.
Four inches of disrespect.
Mama’s joints hate it.
My toebeans hate it.
The Yard Yeti (snow shoveler) hates it.
But we adapt.
We always adapt.
Sometimes survival looks like:
“Not today.”
And that counts.
Weekly Status Report (Official)
Bed Jail Level: 4 (Full Sentence)
Migraine Dragon: Rude and Unsupervised
Soup Reserves: Stable
Mama Condition: Needs rest, snacks, and supervision
Luna Condition: On Duty. Always.
Your Turn, Hooman
What did you accomplish this week?
And I mean really.
Did you:
- Get out of bed?
- Drink water?
- Survive something hard?
That counts.
Tell me about it.
Before You Go
Be good.
Have a treat.
Pet the dog. If you don’t have a dog, any pet will do. Even humans can have headpats, that’s okay too.
Thanks for staying with us.
If something here felt familiar, you’re not alone.
If today asked too much of you, it’s okay to rest.
You don’t have to earn care.
You don’t have to prove pain.
You don’t have to be productive to be worthy.
I’ll be right here.
Watching Mama’s breathing.
Listening for quiet shifts.
Current status:
Somewhere between High Alert and Code Red.
Handled.
Support & Spoiling (Optional, Always)
If you want to spoil me, Mama made me an Amazon Wishlist.
No expectations. Ever.
Just love in chew toy or ball form.
🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
No pressure to donate. Reading and sharing count.
If you want to support the long, unglamorous work of survival and mobility:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
Until Next Friday,
Luna 🐾
(on behalf of Mama)
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(And yes. So much dog fur.)
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