Content Note: This post discusses chronic illness, disability, medical appointments, bloodwork, bruising, fatigue, upcoming surgeries, and the ongoing realities of living in a medically complex body.

Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid: Saturday Health Updates

This is your gentle heads up before we begin.

These posts talk openly about chronic illness, disability, medical trauma, hospital visits, symptoms, and the unfiltered reality of living in a body that doesn’t always cooperate. Some weeks are soft reflections. Some weeks are heavy. Please check in with yourself before reading and come back when you’re in the right headspace.

No one will ever judge you for skipping a post here.

We understand that things get heavy, especially in spaces like this.

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.

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, she upgrades to:

“Mumther, we are not negotiating with your bad decisions today.”

I like to joke that she’s the sassiest spirit guide there is, but when you’re a cryptid who is notoriously good at ignoring red flags from your own body, you need a spirit guide with teeth.

There’s also M&M.

My Player 2.

My soft place to land.

The one who shows up with ginger ale, soup, and the kind of quiet strength that keeps the world from tipping sideways when my body decides to startle everyone. She gives the 90% when I only have 10%, and she reminds me that survival is still a team effort.

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.

If you’ve been here before, welcome back.

If you’re new, take a breath.

You don’t have to prove anything to exist here.

Welcome to the Lunatic Café.

The Birds Are Eating Spicy Bird Seed Again

On today’s health update: I just couldn’t make it through another week without a doctor’s appointment, could I?

Because your ghoul just couldn’t make it through another week without seeing someone from her care team.

Of course.

I hope everyone out there is having a good week and staying hydrated.

If you’re M&M, I’m looking at you, you dehydrated ass raisin. I bought you that cute pink Stanley at the thrift store for a reason. Go fill that bitch up with ice and water, right now.

No, soda doesn’t count as hydration.

I don’t give a damn if there’s water in it.

For everyone else reading this, at the time of writing this, I’m sitting at the back table watching the birds eat their spicy bird seed.

Yes.

Before you ask, that’s what the bag says.

My Aunt D sends it to me.

It keeps the squirrels from climbing on the feeders, breaking them, and scattering seed everywhere. It also stops them from eating what isn’t meant for them.

Does that mean I don’t feed the squirrels?

Absolutely not.

I’m a lot of things, but a monster isn’t one of them.

At the time of writing this, it’s Friday afternoon.

The condensation from an iced chai latte is collecting on the table beside me.

The birds are arguing over sunflower seeds.

Luna is stretched out nearby, entirely convinced supervising me is a full-time profession.

And honestly?

I’ve had worse offices.

My Veins Chose Violence

Yesterday I had to go see the hematologist.

Shockingly enough, I had to get bloodwork done.

I know.

Nobody saw that plot twist coming.

Meaning today I’m sitting here with bruises, blown veins, and an arm that still hurts despite drinking enough Powerade and electrolytes to hydrate a small village.

They still struggled to get all the blood they needed.

They still found out my iron is low.

My blood counts still aren’t where they’d like them to be.

And honestly?

I’m not surprised.

Some things you just deal with no matter how many changes you make.

No matter how many medications you take.

No matter how many supplements you add.

Believe me.

I’m on plenty.

Part of why I wanted the Blackstone.

Part of why we cook almost exclusively with cast iron.

We do everything we can to keep my iron up.

But some bodies hear your best efforts and respond with:

“That’s adorable. Anyway…”

Doctor Fatigue

Which is why when the doctor’s office called and said they had an opening for me the very next day, part of me wanted to pretend I never heard the voicemail.

I wanted to say I didn’t have time.

I wanted to say I had somewhere else to be.

I wanted to say absolutely not.

Because sometimes when you’re chronically ill, taking care of yourself becomes exhausting.

And I don’t just mean physically.

I think we go through something I’m calling Doctor Fatigue.

Not appointment fatigue.

Not medication fatigue.

Doctor fatigue.

The endless administrative marathon of being sick.

The calendars.

The phone calls.

The referrals.

The insurance paperwork.

The medication refills.

The blood draws.

The scheduling.

The rescheduling.

The mental checklist that never really shuts off.

Sometimes being sick feels like a full-time job you never applied for and can’t quit.

And I think that’s the part people don’t always see.

Not the appointments themselves.

Everything surrounding them.

The invisible labor of staying alive.

Sometimes I think people assume chronic illness is a puzzle you’ll eventually solve.

That if you’re disciplined enough, careful enough, hydrated enough, persistent enough, you’ll eventually unlock the right combination of medications, supplements, appointments, lifestyle changes, and positive thinking.

But some bodies aren’t puzzles.

Some bodies are ongoing negotiations.

Mine certainly is.

Even so, I keep going.

Because I know that’s what I have to do.

For me.

For my family.

For Luna.

Summer of Healing

So, today I’m trying to be gentle with myself.

Even if gentle looks like iced chai lattes, sour belt candies, Nerd Gummy Clusters, electrolytes, and a little writing.

Later, we’ll make burgers for dinner.

The Yard Yeti found me a gorgeous burger press at the thrift store- cast iron, one from Lodge that we got for $1. We scrubbed it to death, reseasoned it, and now, it’s time to use it.

Sunday I’ll head over to my dad’s place for dinner.

A sentence I’m still getting used to saying out loud.

Life has a funny way of changing chapters when you least expect it.

Sometimes healing shows up in places you never thought to look.

I’ve also been spending as much time in the garden as my body allows.

Not because everything is thriving perfectly.

Trust me, the squirrels, rabbits, weather, and assorted garden goblins all have opinions.

But gardens remind me that growth rarely happens on my preferred timeline.

Seeds take time.

Tomatoes take time.

Healing takes time.

Bodies take time.

Some days all I can do is sit outside and look at what’s growing.

I’m learning that counts too.

We’ve also been trying to give Luna as many adventures as possible before surgery day arrives.

Nothing huge.

Just the little things.

Extra car rides.

Extra trips out of the house.

Extra opportunities to sniff every blade of grass she decides deserves a full investigation.

June 3rd is coming faster than I’m ready for.

Once surgery is over, she’s going to be resting until she’s healed and cleared by her veterinarian.

No expectations.

No training goals.

No pressure.

Just healing.

She’s spent so much time taking care of me that for a little while it’ll be my turn to take care of her.

It’s funny, in a way.

Luna spends so much of her time watching me.

Watching my symptoms.

Watching my heart rate.

Watching for the things I miss.

But for the next few weeks it’ll be my turn to watch her.

To make sure she rests.

To make sure she doesn’t overdo it.

To make sure she heals properly.

I have a feeling she’s going to be a terrible patient.

And before I know it, I’ll be the one having surgery on July 10th.

If I’m being honest, I don’t know exactly what this summer is going to look like.

I know there will be surgeries.

I know there will be recovery.

I know there will be days when neither Luna nor I are particularly thrilled about doctor’s orders.

But I also know there will be tomatoes.

There will be iced chai lattes.

There will be family dinners.

There will be birds at the feeder.

There will be Luna snoring somewhere nearby.

And maybe that’s enough for now.

It’ll be the summer of healing, so many tomatoes, and hopefully adventure.

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.

Before you go, a soft little check-in from the Lunatic Café:

Take your meds if it’s time.

Drink some water.

Eat something small, even if it’s just a few bites.

No gold stars required.

Just a reminder from one haunted meat suit to another.

-Sky

© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. Survival without the performance.

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

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If you’d like to support the long, unglamorous work of survival and mobility:

💜 https://www.gofundme.com/f/support-skys-journey-to-health-and-mobility