Not the Week I Wanted, the Week I Got.
Content Note
This post discusses chronic illness, medical trauma, ER experiences, gaslighting in healthcare, severe pain, and invasive medical procedures.
Please check in with yourself before reading.
If you need to skip this one, that’s okay. This space will still be here when you come back.
Welcome to the Lunatic Café
Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid: Saturday Health Updates.
These posts talk openly about chronic illness, disability, hospital visits, symptoms, and the unfiltered reality of living in a body that doesn’t always cooperate.
Some weeks are soft.
Some weeks are heavy.
This one… is heavy.
If you’re new here, hi. I’m Sky.
Professional cryptid.
Unwilling amateur cyborg.
Occasional chronic illness and disability advocate.
Medically complex enough to make my chart look like a horror anthology.
I cope with sarcasm, stubborn hope, whatever snacks survived the week, and a concerning amount of coffee. (I’d tell you not to tell my cardiologist but, he doesn’t seem to think it’s a problem.)
Most days are lived in a haunted meat suit with a questionable warranty and a long-standing feud with my nervous system.
I spend a lot of time in Bed Jail™, but I’m rarely alone thanks to Luna, my medical alert service dog.
Guardian. Enforcer. Tiny chaos gremlin with a medical degree she absolutely gave herself.
She’s the voice that says,
“Hey. Sit down.”
And when I ignore her:
“Mumther, we are not negotiating with your bad decisions today.”
When you’re a cryptid who ignores your own red flags, you need a spirit guide with teeth.
There’s also M&M.
My Player 2. My soft place to land.
The one who gives 90% when I only have 10%.
The one who keeps the world from tipping sideways when my body decides to startle everyone.
This space is for:
- chronic illness without inspiration porn
- disability without apologies
- honesty without pretending it’s always neat or hopeful or easy
There will probably be dog hair involved.
We also use the word “fuck” here often, whenever it’s medically necessary.
Take a breath. You don’t have to prove anything to exist here.
Where This Week Started
We’re starting this update from Thursday afternoon.
Not because I’m organized. Don’t get used to that.
But because the thunderclap headaches started Sunday, and something about them felt different enough that I needed this written before things got worse again.
The Thunderclap Headaches
It started small. Or… as small as these things get.
Sunday: changing clothes after spilling a drink.
EDS hands doing what EDS hands do.
Then Monday.
I was making breakfast for dinner. Scrambling eggs.
And it hit.
Out of nowhere.
Dropped me to the kitchen floor.
Screaming. Crying. No warning.
Tuesday: pork chops. Same kitchen. Same routine.
Same pain.
Like something sharp and violent driving straight through my head.
By Wednesday morning, I hadn’t slept.
I was making coffee when it hit again.
That was the moment.
Sitting on the floor, sobbing for twenty minutes, I realized this wasn’t something I could push through.
So, I went to the ER.
Thunderclap headaches aren’t just “bad headaches.”
They’re the kind that can signal things like brain bleeds, aneurysms, or other neurological emergencies.
The ER (and the Cost of Being Dismissed)
Do I like going to the ER alone?
No.
I hate it.
I hate the way I’m looked at.
I hate the way I’m talked to.
I hate the way I have to prove that I’m sick enough to deserve help.
But, I did it anyways.
The front desk nurse was cold immediately.
When I said “thunderclap headaches,” she started running through symptoms:
Blurred vision. Yes.
Weakness. Yes.
Nausea. Yes.
Fever. Yes.
Then, in that tone, she asked if I was “just going to say yes to everything.”
And I-
I held it together, barely.
Because I was standing there, in that kind of pain, trying not to collapse on the floor while a child screamed in the waiting room and my head felt like it was splitting open.
I told her the truth:
This is new.
This is not normal.
I am here because I need help.
Advocating While in Pain
Triage was fast.
But the moment the PA walked in and said,
“So you have a headache,”
I knew exactly what kind of night it was going to be.
Not a headache.
I have CRPS. Fibromyalgia. Chronic migraines.
I know what those feel like.
This wasn’t that.
This was something new. Something worse. Something not responding to anything.
And I had already tried everything.
It’s not just the pain.
It’s having to prove that the pain is real while you’re still inside it.
The IV, The Blood Draw, and the Bruises
I told the nurse upfront:
You’re going to need the ultrasound.
I know my veins.
He said he’d try anyway.
Four attempts.
Four blown veins.
At one point, my bottle got knocked over and he told me I was probably dehydrated.
I explained:
I track my intake.
I drink over 72 oz daily.
Electrolytes. Water. Consistently.
He laughed.
Not kindly.
Just… dismissively.
By the fourth attempt, I could feel the vein blow.
You could see it.
Blood pooling under the skin like spilled ink.
I told him it would bruise badly.
He didn’t believe me.
He also didn’t have to stay long enough to see that I was right.
The Room, The Lights, The Second Nurse
The first nurse, Nichole, was wonderful.
Kind. Gentle. Human.
The second one?
No introduction.
Lights slammed on to full brightness.
Hands on me immediately.
Painfully.
When the IV wouldn’t give blood, she kept pushing. Pulling.
I told her it had likely already coagulated.
She didn’t listen.
I laughed, because sometimes laughing is the only thing that keeps me from screaming.
Or using the word “fuck” in place of a comma.
Six Hours Later
Migraine cocktail.
Fluids.
CT scan.
And then a PA came in.
Not a doctor.
He said my labs were “fine.”
They weren’t.
I could see them.
Numbers flagged. Values off.
But I was groggy from IV Benadryl, my brain moving through syrup, and I didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.
He told me to follow up with neurology.
My appointment is in July.
July 23rd, if you want to be specific.
So, I spent nearly six hours in the ER to be:
- dismissed
- talked over
- turned into a pin cushion
And yes.
I have every right to be angry about that.
I took names.
I will be filing complaints.
Not because I expect miracles.
But because this shouldn’t be normal.
Coming Home
I came home.
M&M made me a sandwich.
We tried to watch Wicked: For Good.
We made it halfway.
Not because I fell asleep.
Because it was boring enough that even Bed Jail™ couldn’t justify it.
That’s rare.
What Comes Next
Since then, it’s been quiet.
Bed Jail™.
Rest.
Recovery, or something pretending to be it.
This weekend will be lowkey.
Food pantry, because some things are non-negotiable.
At least that was the plan before my ride bailed on me 10-minutes before they were supposed to pick me up. Am I still feeling unwell? Yes.
Have I had less than 4 hours of consistent sleep? Yes.
Was I going to go anyways? Also yes.
But some things you do because you have to, and now something I was supposed to do because I needed to do it has been taken from me. So, that’s one more mark against this week, and all of the BS that it’s been throwing at me.
And maybe, if my body cooperates and we can get a ride, I want to take Luna to the doggy Easter egg hunt.
She’s officially a “big dog” now.
45 lbs of chaos and devotion.
Mama’s Shadow Mode fully unlocked.
And honestly?
I don’t mind the shadow.
For now, we wait.
We document.
We rest where we can.
🐾 Luna Rating™
- Alert Level: 🚨 High (Mama’s Shadow Mode ACTIVATED)
- Vibes: Concerned. Clingy. Slightly judgmental.
- Naps Taken: Minimal. Someone had to supervise the human.
- Final Verdict: “Mumther needs to SIT DOWN and make better choices immediately.”
If You’re Still Here
If something here hit close to home, you’re not alone.
If you stayed anyway, thank you.
You don’t have to earn your place here.
A Soft Check-In from the Lunatic Café
Take your meds if it’s time.
Drink some water.
Eat something small.
No gold stars required.
Just a reminder from one haunted meat suit to another.
Love you, now say it back.
-Sky
© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. Survival without the performance.
🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa
No pressure to donate. Reading, sharing, and existing alongside me is already enough.
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility
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