Gardens, grief, service dog supervision, and the strange healing power of finally being able to leave the house again.

Content Notes: chronic illness, disability, medical discussion, surgery mention (spay procedure), healthcare access struggles, medication access barriers, grief/loss discussion, emotional discussion of dependence and isolation, service dog discussion, brief mention of financial hardship.

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.
And any vibes suspicious enough to deserve a second opinion.

I interrupt spirals.
I apply Deep Pressure Therapy like it’s a sacred ritual.

Because if you didn’t already know, it is.
I’m learning to retrieve what Mama drops when hands stop cooperating.

Some call me a dog.
Others call me medical equipment.

Mama calls me freedom.

Mama also says that I have “main character energy.”

Whatever the fluff that means.

I consider myself a very important business partner. Maybe even a sidekick.

Most days move slowly. Some happen entirely from Bed Jail™.

That’s okay. I’m excellent at staying close and making sure Mama doesn’t drift too far away from herself.

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 absolutely be fur.)

If you’ve been here before, welcome back.
If you’re new, you’re safe here.

Welcome to the Lunatic Café.

On Today’s Menu: Friday Takeover 🐾

Hi, hello!

Sit, stay! If you’ve made it to today, then you know what that means, don’t you?

It’s Friday.

Fridays are the best days because humans get excited about weekends, and honestly? I support anything that gets people to rest more.

Lately, Mama hasn’t been getting enough of that.

So, before we get settled, you know I’m going to ask:

Have you eaten something today?

Drank water?

And no, do not be like Mama. She will tell you that coffee is a meal.

It is not I have checked. Multiple times.

If the answer is no, go do both of those things before we keep going.

I’ll wait.

Ask Mama. I’m extremely good at waiting.

…

Okay. Good.

I’m proud of you.

Sometimes I don’t think people, especially grown-up humans, hear that nearly enough.

I think we should fix that.

The Garden Situation 🌱

This week has been THE BUSIEST™.

I know I say that a lot lately, but I mean it this time too.

Mama and Mama #2 planted the garden, and it is beautiful.

And I’m not just saying that because they’re my mamas and I love everything they do. I’m saying it because I mean it.

There are zucchini, tomatoes, cherry tomatoes, radishes, cucumbers, green beans, sugar snap peas, jalapeños, bell peppers, something called a “Mad Hatter Pepper” which honestly sounds fake but apparently is real, and parsley growing on the deck.

There’s more coming too.

Mama wants strawberries for the deck and one of those lettuce bowl planters.

She says lettuce can’t go in the garden because the rabbits will treat it like an all-you-can-eat buffet. They have in the past when my big brother Bear was a puppy, he had to chase them all.

Personally, I think I could handle security.

Nobody listens to me.

The whole backyard smells like tomato plants, wet dirt, sunscreen, and summer trying its best.

Mama says gardening is fun for approximately four hours and then the consequences arrive like a medieval curse.

I think that sounds medically accurate.

Important Medical Announcement: The Big Snip is Scheduled

On the 3rd, I’m getting spayed.

Mama says that means surgery, but not because I’m sick.

Not every dog needs to become a mama.

There’s a rude beagle next door who thinks he’s my boyfriend.

He is not my boyfriend.

I do not want his babies. And his parents refuse to make sure he stays out of our yard.

We live in a place where animal control takes hours to come out to us, so they’re not much help, unfortunately.

There are already so many dogs waiting in shelters for somebody to love them properly.

Accidents happen sometimes.

But not here.

Mama added healing things to my wishlist because after surgery I won’t be allowed to run around like the cryptid athlete I was clearly born to be.

Lick mats.
Busy toys.
Recovery snacks.

Mama’s nervous.

I’m not.

I have the best family possible, and I know they’re going to take care of me.

Even if it means I’ll be off-duty for a little while.

The Great Pumpkin™ and the Strange Shape of Freedom 🎃

And on top of everything else, I’ve entered my Jeep Dog™ Era.

Possibly the greatest era of my life.

The old vehicle was more SUV-shaped. Still Jeep-shaped just… in a different way.

This one?

This one lets me sit up high enough to see everything.

I can put my head out the window.
I can smell the world.
I can supervise traffic like a tiny fuzzy cryptid gargoyle.

It rules.

The Great Pumpkin™ has a home here now.

And I know Mama wishes Bear was here to see it too.

Especially because it’s orange.

Orange was his color.

I think he would’ve loved the windows down.

The wind in his ears.
His tongue hanging out.
That grumpy old man face softening into one of his happy ones while we drove around together.

Sometimes I catch Mama getting quiet after the happy moments.

Not because the happiness is bad.

Just because grief is strange like that.

Sometimes loving what you have now also means noticing who should’ve been here to see it.

I would’ve shared the backseat with him.

Probably.

Mama smiles every time she sees the Jeep.

And I don’t think most people realize what freedom actually does to disabled people.

Not inspirational-poster freedom.

Real freedom.

The kind where you can go get your medication without begging someone else to help you survive.

The kind where running out of water jugs doesn’t become a full emotional crisis because somebody ghosted you again.

The kind where grocery shopping stops feeling like gambling.

No more ordering fresh vegetables and wondering whether they’ll arrive bruised, rotten, or looking like they lost a fight in the parking lot.

No more pharmacy delivery disasters.

No more sitting on the phone crying because medication exists somewhere nearby but might as well be on the moon.

People talk a lot about independence without understanding how much invisible labor disabled people perform just trying to access basic life.

Not thriving.

Not adventuring.

Just access.

And now?

Mama can leave the house.

I go too, obviously.

She’s still sick.
Still disabled.
Still in pain a lot of the time.

But something changed anyway.

There’s life in her again.

And honestly?

That’s more than enough for me.

Mama Note 🖤

I think one of the cruelest parts of disability is how often joy gets framed as “extra.”

As if survival should be enough.

As if disabled people shouldn’t want gardens. Or adventures. Or silly orange Jeeps. Or fresh strawberries on the deck. Or the freedom to leave the house without coordinating a small military operation first.

But joy matters.

Not because it cures anything.
Not because it makes suffering inspirational.

Because I’m going to be real with you boys and ghouls and everyone in-between… nothing out there is going to fix my Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, POTS, or anything else that’s wrong with me. No silly fad diets, no amount of yoga, no essential oils. None of that will do anything for me. It might hurt me, it might make my conditions worse but, it won’t help.

So, instead I’m choosing to do the best I can with what I’ve got.

Because we are still people inside these bodies.

And people deserve lives that feel alive.

Before You Go 🖤

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 do not have to earn care.
You do not have to prove pain.
You do not have to be productive to deserve gentleness.

I’ll be right here.

Watching Mama’s breathing.
Listening for the quiet shifts.
Ready to interrupt, ground, retrieve, supervise, or dramatically flop across someone’s legs as needed.

If you want to spoil me, Mama did make me an Amazon wishlist.

No pressure. Ever.

It’s just there for people who enjoy expressing affection through chew toys and tiny acts of kindness.

And if nobody told you today:

I’m still proud of you.

Until next Friday,
Luna 🐾
(on behalf of Mama)

© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(And an alarming amount of dog fur.)

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

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If you’d like to support the long, exhausting, deeply unglamorous work of survival and mobility:
💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility