Content Note: Discussion of chronic illness, disability, medical procedures, surgery recovery, chronic pain, anxiety surrounding a beloved pet’s surgery, and brief references to upcoming spinal surgery.

Welcome to The Den

Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid.

Disability. Chronic illness. Service dogs. Survival without the performance.

If you’re new here, hi. I’m Sky.

Professional cryptid. Unwilling amateur cyborg. Writer. Advocate. Human being with a medical chart that reads like a haunted library archive nobody was supposed to open after midnight.

Most days are lived in a haunted meat suit with a questionable warranty and a long-standing blood feud with my nervous system.

I cope with sarcasm, snacks, strange little joys, and building something honest in a world that really prefers disabled people to either disappear quietly or become inspirational posters with good lighting.

This week?

We’re running on electrolytes, too much caffeine, and fueled by anxious dog mom vibes.

But this week, no one can blame me.

My baby.

Our cryptid mascot.

Luna Bean.

Got spayed yesterday.

And that’s a hell of a milestone.

So, instead of her being the one hovering, it’s 100% me.

I’m the one checking her breathing.

Watching the incision like a hawk.

Making sure her surgery suit is sitting the way it should.

Watching to see whether the Kong blow-up cone needs to make an appearance.

Because if it does?

It absolutely will.

Whether she likes it or not.

But Thursdays are quieter somehow.

Less performance.

Less noise.

More truth.

So, pull up a chair in The Den for a while.

What This Space Is (And Isn’t)

This isn’t a rant.

This isn’t a medical update disguised as emotional homework.

This isn’t one of those “despite everything, stay positive!” speeches people hand disabled folks like participation trophies for surviving capitalism in a collapsing body.

This is a check-in.

With me.

With you.

With the Den.

Because this space was never supposed to be one-sided.

It’s a place to exist together.

To talk honestly.

To admit when things hurt.

To laugh anyway.

To say, “Actually? I’m not doing great,” without somebody rushing to turn your pain into a motivational quote written in beige script font.

No inspiration porn.

No forced gratitude.

No pretending wellness is measured by productivity.

Just honesty.

Even when it’s messy.

Even when it’s exhausted.

Even when it’s a little feral around the edges.

Especially then.

The Creatures Who Keep Me Here

I spend a lot of time in Bed Jail™, but I’m rarely alone.

There’s Luna.

My medical alert service dog.

Guardian. Tiny health department employee. Service Dingo™. Best Girl™.

Focused.

Persistent.

Always watching.

Following me like she personally filed paperwork against the concept of me being unsupervised.

Her spay was scheduled for June 3rd, and I’ve been trying to prepare for everything ahead of time because that’s what love looks like when you live in survival mode.

You overprepare.

You make lists.

You build soft landing spaces before you need them.

I want my baby comfortable, safe, and set up for success while she heals.

Which also means no working, limited playtime, enforced rest, and approximately one full week of convincing a high-energy dog that parkour is no longer an approved indoor activity.

If you’ve ever had a working dog with opinions?

You already know this is less “recovery plan” and more “active hostage negotiation.”

Don’t worry.

We’re doing our best to keep her under control.

But in all fairness, we’re the hostages here.

Not Luna.

Luna Bean’s Recovery Report

Yesterday was surgery day.

And honestly?

She did great.

The waiting was probably harder on me than it was on her.

The veterinary team took wonderful care of her, and she came home sleepy, confused, and more than a little offended by the entire experience.

She’s currently recovering in true Luna fashion.

Alternating between wanting to cuddle directly on top of me and trying to convince everyone she’s fully healed and ready to resume normal dingo activities.

Unfortunately for her, the answer is no.

Hell no. Fuck no.

Just no.

No zoomies.

No parkour.

No launching herself off furniture like she’s auditioning for an action movie.

We’re keeping a close eye on her incision, staying on top of medications, enforcing rest, and bribing her with every enrichment activity known to dog-kind.

So far everything looks exactly how we’d hoped.

She’s tired.

She’s sore.

She’s healing.

And she’s very, very loved.

We also picked up some of the Purina Meaty & Moist pouches to mix into her regular lamb kibble while she recovers.

Partly because soft food sounded like it might be easier on her stomach after surgery.

Mostly because we wanted to spoil her a little.

They were always one of Bear’s favorite treats, and every time I open one, I still think about him.

Luna certainly isn’t complaining about the arrangement.

She got the burger with cheese Tuesday night as a pre-op dinner, since the rules were that she stop all food and water at 10pm the night before surgery.

As far as she’s concerned, surgery recovery should probably include a buffet.

The funniest part is that she keeps forgetting she’s recovering.

One minute she’s curled up beside me snoring hard enough to rattle the furniture.

The next she’s staring at me like:

“So, we’re throwing the ball now, right?”

Absolutely not.

But I admire the optimism.

🐾 Luna Note:

Recovery status: unacceptable.

Energy levels: returning.

Prison sentence: fourteen years.

Appeal filed.

Then there’s M&M.

My Player 2.

My soft place to land.

Currently in their “please sit down before your spine files a formal complaint” era.

And believe me.

It’s filing paperwork as we speak.

Especially now that the garden is finally planted and we’ve both been working our butts off outside lately.

And here’s the truth I keep circling back to lately:

That instinct to push through everything?

That reflex that says keep going, keep going, keep going no matter what your body is screaming at you?

It kept me alive once.

But survival habits are not always safety habits.

Sometimes healing means learning that rest is not failure.

Sometimes surviving long enough means admitting you were never meant to carry everything alone.

So, let me say this clearly.

For you and for me.

Don’t shame yourself for the coping mechanisms that got you here.

Even if you’re trying to outgrow them now.

Even old cryptids can learn new tricks.

I promise.

🐾 Luna Note:

Mumther continues attempting activities beyond factory-recommended settings.

Current intervention strategy includes:

• leaning aggressively
• emotional surveillance
• dramatic sighing
• tactical cuddling

Monitoring continues.

The Actual Check-In

Alright.

No dodging.

No “I’m fine, but…”

No escape hatches.

If it doesn’t work for me, it’s not going to work for you either.

So, tell me.

How are you doing… really?

You’re allowed to be honest here.

You are not difficult for having feelings.

You are not “too much” because your body hurts.

You are not failing because you’re tired.

You are not weak because this world asks more from disabled people than it was ever built to give back.

Take a breath with me.

In for four.

Hold.

Out for six.

Again.

Unclench your jaw.

Drop your shoulders.

Let your tongue leave the roof of your mouth.

Get some water.

🐾 Luna Note:

If you are not drinking water, I will escalate.

This is a formal warning.

I’ll wait.

If the big question feels too heavy today, try this instead:

• One word for today
• One thing your body needs
• One thing you made it through

That counts.

It all counts.

And if your body feels loud right now, try naming five things you can physically feel.

Fabric.

Air.

Warmth.

Pressure.

Something steady beneath you.

You do not have to fix yourself to deserve gentleness.

You only have to exist.

Where I’m At

I’ve been working my butt off lately.

Mostly in the garden.

Everything’s finally planted unless I suddenly black out in the garden center and come home with seventeen more plants and a tomato variety nobody’s ever heard of.

Which, historically speaking, is not impossible.

But honestly?

It’s not really a good idea either.

I have a lot on my plate between Luna’s spay and my surgery coming up.

Besides, we already have a dozen strawberries out in the deck boxes.

Still green.

Still growing.

Still making me ridiculously excited.

If you want to see what we’ve got growing this year, wander over to the Garden of Whimsy tab sometime.

I’ll be listing plants, updates, weird garden lore, and assorted plant facts because apparently my final evolution is disabled forest goblin with mulch opinions.

We’ve also been trying to get out on more adventures lately.

Even if they’ve only been little ones involving garden centers, pharmacies, grocery stores, and other places a lot of people take for granted.

Tiny freedoms start feeling enormous after chronic illness steals enough time from you.

Sometimes healing doesn’t look big or cinematic.

Sometimes it looks like wandering through a weird roadside shop with your favorite people and realizing your nervous system unclenched for five whole minutes.

We’ve got a few more adventures planned too.

All carefully scheduled around Luna’s healing.

Because she’s the priority right now.

Always.

She keeps me here.

And that means if she’s hurting, stressed, or scared, I’m not leaving her side either.

She’s a mama’s girl.

Which means if she needs me close while she heals, then close is exactly where I’ll be.

At the same time, I’m trying to prepare for my own surgery on July 10th, which somehow arrived much faster than my brain agreed to process.

It’s strange thinking about how this time last year I was trying to figure out why my leg was failing again.

And now we’re here.

Another spinal surgery.

Another recovery.

Another chapter in the ongoing saga of:

“Well, that’s medically unfortunate.”

Not ideal.

But necessary.

And somewhere along the way, I think I stopped asking whether I’m brave enough for this and started asking how to make it gentler on myself while I go through it.

That feels important somehow.

🐾 Luna Note:

Medical leave was not discussed with management.

I would like to formally return to:

• ball
• squirrel observation
• advanced chaos
• unauthorized zoomies

My requests continue to be denied.

A Small Win Before I Go

Before I wrap this up, I want to celebrate something.

The Jeep.

Not because it’s a vehicle.

Because it’s freedom.

Because chronic illness steals enough from us without apologizing.

Because getting a piece of independence back feels different when you’ve spent years learning how quickly it can disappear.

The Great Pumpkin has already become part adventure rig, part mobility aid, part goblin transport system.

And I suspect that’s only going to get worse from here.

Honestly?

I’m looking forward to it.

Meanwhile my body is doing its usual weather-related rebellion tour.

Pressure changes.

Headaches.

The background static of chronic pain humming like old fluorescent lights.

The Midwest deciding to leap from the 50s into the 80s overnight like it personally has beef with connective tissue disorders.

The AC has become a permanent soundtrack in this house.

And the rest of this week has mostly been the crash afterward.

Exhausting.

But honestly?

Still kind of good.

There’s been joy tucked between the hard parts lately.

Little Jeep customizations.

Safety kits.

Tiny pieces of ownership and freedom returning after a long time without them.

Having a vehicle again still feels unreal.

Not because it fixes everything.

But because independence, when you’ve lost pieces of it before, feels almost sacred when it comes back.

I think I spent so long surviving that I forgot survival wasn’t supposed to be the final form.

Maybe there’s supposed to be something after.

Rest.

Joy.

Safety.

Tiny adventures.

Letting people love you without apologizing for needing them.

I don’t know.

But I think I’m trying to learn.

And of course, there will be Luna updates.

A lot of Luna updates.

Whether that’s here on the blog, on Instagram, Facebook, or wherever else you’re used to finding us.

Because let’s be honest.

You might come here for my writing.

But Luna?

Luna is Baby.

Not just my baby.

Sometimes she feels like all of ours.

Our furry mascot.

The reason many of us get up in the morning.

The piece of my soul that lives outside of myself and somehow manages to spread joy everywhere she goes.

Is she a ball goblin?

Yes.

Is she a bed hog?

Absolutely.

Could I live without her?

Not in a million years.

A few people have asked whether there’s a way to send Luna a little recovery gift while she heals, so I finally put together an Amazon Wishlist for her.

There is never any expectation or pressure.

Truly.

But if sending a get-well toy, ball, chew, or card sounds like your kind of thing, the option is there.

My aunt already announced she’s sending Luna a recovery card, which may be the cutest sentence I’ve typed all week.

Apparently, my father is her Grandpaw… and now my aunt is getting in on the pet family.

For You, Wherever You’re At

If this week is kicking your ass, I see you.

If you’re barely holding it together, that still counts as holding it together.

If you’re exhausted from surviving things nobody else can see?

That exhaustion is real.

And if things are good right now?

You’re allowed to say that too.

Honestly? I want to hear about all of the good things.

Joy does not cancel out struggle.

Struggle does not disqualify joy.

There is room for all of it here.

Even if you don’t have the words today.

Even if all you managed to do was make it to this moment.

You still showed up.

And honestly?

That matters more than people give it credit for.

🐾 Luna Note:

Pack accounted for.

You are included.

Do not wander off unsupervised.

The Door Is Open

If you want to talk, my DMs are open.

No pressure.

No expectations.

No requirement to package your pain into something digestible first.

If all you’ve got today is a couple paw print emojis because you need some extra Luna love?

I’ve got you there too.

I am fully stocked on soft, sleepy, devastatingly cute Luna photos this week.

No words required.

I’ve also got some ball goblin pictures, and some other silly Luna photos stocked and ready.

The house is finally quiet tonight except for the AC humming and Luna snoring somewhere behind me.

The Den is still here.

So am I.

So are you.

And I hope the rest of your week is kinder to you than the beginning was.

I’m really glad you’re here.

I mean that.

Love you.

Yeah.

I said it first.

Your turn.

-Sky

🐾 Luna Addendum:

The pack has been emotionally perceived.

That is all.

🐾 Luna’s Official Assessment

Hydration status: suspicious.

Stress levels: monitored.

Pack cohesion: acceptable.

Unauthorized overexertion attempts: ongoing.

Recommended treatment plan:

• snacks
• rest
• emotional support
• supervised blanket time

Some weeks survival looks loud.

This week, I think it looked a little softer.

© The Crippled Cryptid
Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(But softer today.)

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

There is never pressure to donate. Reading, sharing, lurking quietly in The Den, or simply staying another day is already more than enough.

If you’d like to support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and still wandering when I can:

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