Case File Tags: Mobility, Disability, Chronic Illness, Service Dog, Medical Alert Dog, Accessible Living, Jeep Life, Reading Journey, Spoonie Life, Disabled Blogger, Invisible Disability, Luna Bean, Personal Update, Disability Rights, Chronic Illness Community, Summer Adventures, Recovery, Life Update

Content Note: Discussion of chronic illness, disability, invisible disability, prescription medications, seizures, accessibility accommodations, service dog recovery after surgery, and public attitudes toward disability.

Welcome to The Crippled Cryptid

Disability, chronic illness, service dogs, and survival without the performance.

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 a jump scare.

I cope with sarcasm, snacks, and narrating my life like it’s a field report.

Sometimes there’s coffee.

Those are the best days.

Today, there are electrolytes.

Lots of them.

Because your ghoul is rocking sore muscles and Blue Raspberry Liquid I.V. like it’s a personality trait.

Since I can’t find the pear flavor anymore, which is honestly a tragedy, I’ve apparently decided this one is my entire identity now.

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

And on Tuesdays…

We document it.

The appointments.

The adventures.

The spirals.

The “we left the house and now we have a story” moments.

Sometimes that story is just me sitting in a waiting room mentally drafting a rant while staring at outdated magazines.

Sometimes it’s “we found a place afterward and the food changed my life.”

Sometimes it’s both.

I spend a lot of time in Bed Jail™, but when I do venture into the wild, I’m rarely alone.

Luna is there.

Medical alert service dog.

Guardian.

Enforcer.

Service Dingo™.

Public access professional.

Emergency “we need to sit down right now” decision-maker.

There’s also M&M.

My Player 2.

My soft place to land.

Snack provider.

Voice of reason when I have none.

Which is often.

I’m a very stubborn cryptid.

And, in spirit (and usually at home), the Yard Yeti.

Keeper of the home base.

Guardian of the Wi-Fi.

Champion of “I support you from this chair.”

This space is for chronic illness without inspiration porn.

Disability without apologies.

Life as it actually happens.

Including the messy.

The mundane.

And the unexpectedly good.

If you’ve been here before, welcome back.

If you’re new, you’ll find your footing.

Welcome to the Cryptid Dispatch.

Field notes from the chaos.

📡 Cryptid Dispatch Incoming…

Today’s report includes life updates, quiet revelations, and something that changed my life in a way I didn’t expect.

This isn’t a rant.

Just a “we left the house” post.

Something that still feels a little wild.

A little bit of adventure.

🎃 The Great Pumpkin™ Era

If you haven’t been keeping up with the blog, I’ll say it again:

Your resident Cryptid is mobile again.

Yeah, I know.

I’ve been saying it a lot lately.

But until the excitement wears off, you’re probably going to keep hearing it.

Sorry.

After seven months, we were finally able to get a vehicle.

She is a 2019 Jeep Renegade Trailhawk.

And yes.

I’ve already named her.

She is The Great Pumpkin™.

Complete with a Stay Weird bumper sticker and conversation-heart jack-o’-lantern decals on the back window.

Don’t worry.

That’s not the last of the customizations.

There are pumpkin tire valve covers too.

Though if M&M keeps adding puppy paw prints and dog-themed accessories, I may have to start calling her the Pupkin’ Spice Latte.

I’m not saying the Jeep is becoming emotionally-support-coded.

But I am saying there are paw prints involved.

And honestly?

How could I be upset?

Luna is one of the biggest parts of my life.

Every time I climb into The Great Pumpkin™, part of me is still a little surprised that I can simply decide to go somewhere again.

Seven months ago, that freedom felt impossibly far away.

Now the keys hang by the door.

And that still feels a little magical.

For a lot of people, getting in the car isn’t something they think about.

For seven months, every appointment, every errand, every outing depended on someone else’s schedule, someone else’s availability, someone else’s ability to get me there.

I don’t think I realized how much of myself I’d tucked away while waiting.

Not because I wanted to.

Because sometimes survival gets very small.

Sometimes it has to.

So, every trip right now still feels a little like getting a piece of my world back.

🛍️ Mini Mall Adventures, Mothman, & Nail Polish

I think it might go without saying that now that we have a car, we’ve been going out a lot more lately.

Like on Saturday night, when we got home from the food bank.

M&M wanted to play a game on her PS4, so I went down to my desk and started taking off all of my nail polish.

It was that time of the week.

I wanted to file my nails down to nothing.

Put on a true crime podcast.

Let my thoughts wander.

Solve problems in my head while I paint my nails.

Because sometimes, that’s how I do my best thinking.

Through little acts of self-care.

At the thrift store the other week, M&M found me a nail drill kit for $2.99.

Brand new.

The exact kind I’d had sitting in my Amazon wishlist for over $30.

The kind I couldn’t justify buying.

So naturally, I wanted to try it.

And then she came downstairs crying.

Her controller was dead.

Or at least, that’s what we thought.

The troubleshooting had failed.

The internet had failed.

Technology had chosen violence.

My nails weren’t painted.

They weren’t shaped.

And if you know anything about me, it’s that I’d almost rather die than leave the house without black nail polish.

It’s been a personality trait for over fifteen years.

But when the person you love is crying, priorities change.

My first thoughts are usually:

“Who do I need to fight?”

followed closely by:

“How do I fix this?”

Because when you love someone, you try.

So, we loaded up books and games for trade credit and headed toward Gurnee Mills.

Halfway there I remembered:

There was still a GameStop nearby.

A rare species these days.

The controller couldn’t be saved.

But between trade credit and some old LEGO Switch games, M&M walked out with a replacement controller for around ten bucks.

Small victory.

We wandered afterward.

We went searching for a candy store called It’s Sugar because I was on a mission for those sprinkle-covered gummy bears.

The mission failed.

Tragically.

I am still accepting thoughts and prayers.

What I did find were 3D gummy peaches, pineapples, sour octopus gummies, peelable gummies, and enough sugar to make questionable decisions.

Then we wandered into Hot Topic.

And somehow, I walked straight back into my teenage years.

The chain pants are back.

The corsets are back.

And sitting on a shelf were Boba Beastea blind boxes.

With Mothman on the front.

M&M didn’t even hesitate.

Neither did I.

We bought the last two on a BOGO sale.

Once back in The Great Pumpkin… we opened them.

She opened Mothman.

I opened the Jackalope.

She immediately traded with me because she loves me.

Mothman now lives on my Jeep keys.

The Jackalope joined our summer adventure bag.

Everyone won.

When we got home, I painted my nails black and gray to match my new pajama pants.

M&M got to play Days Gone.

Peace was restored.

Mostly.

♿ Equality Isn’t a Special Privilege

The funniest thing happened while we were out this week.

I needed to pick up prescriptions.

A completely normal thing.

Because I’m disabled, I use my handicap placard and park near the front of the building.

From the outside, a lot of people probably wouldn’t know I’m disabled at a random glance.

Invisible disabilities are funny that way.

Unless you’re paying attention, you might not notice the stiffness in my leg.

The balance issues.

The heat intolerance.

The things my body is constantly negotiating behind the scenes.

Because contrary to popular belief, I don’t always need a cane, walker, or wheelchair to appear disabled.

But somebody recently made a comment that disabled people shouldn’t get “special privileges.”

And that’s where I think people miss the point.

Disabled people aren’t receiving special treatment.

We’re receiving access.

There’s a difference.

Disability is one of the few marginalized experiences that can enter anyone’s life at any time.

Age.

Illness.

Accidents.

Genetics.

No one is guaranteed permanent health.

Accessibility measures don’t put disabled people ahead.

They help put us on the same playing field.

The accessible parking space isn’t a reward.

It’s a tool.

The same way senior shopping hours exist.

The same way accommodations exist.

The same way mobility aids exist.

They aren’t shortcuts.

They’re bridges.

And I wish more people understood that.

Because using a handicap placard, an EBT card, a mobility aid, a transit pass, or any other accessibility support isn’t taking advantage of a system.

It’s using a tool that exists because life isn’t equally accessible to everyone.

📚 Finding My Way Back to Reading

Sunday, I started reading again.

Now maybe it’s too soon to celebrate.

It was only a few hours.

Only one day.

But reading used to be one of the biggest parts of my life.

And somewhere along the way, I lost it.

Part of me thinks it started after the seizures.

Part of me thinks it got worse after the medications.

Then came the car accident.

The migraines.

The concentration issues.

The headaches.

Looking at words for too long became exhausting.

Reading stopped feeling like an escape.

It started feeling like work.

But this weekend I picked up The Half King by Melissa Landers.

Technically, I picked it up on Kindle Unlimited.

I own the hardcover.

The problem was that the font and page size just weren’t working for me anymore.

The Kindle version let me make the text larger.

Change the background.

Adjust it to my brain instead of forcing my brain to adjust to it.

And for the first time in a long time, I found myself reading.

More than anything, it felt familiar.

Like finding an old piece of myself sitting exactly where I left it and realizing it had been waiting for me the whole time.

If you’ve been around for a little while, you know how much books used to be part of my life.

So, picking one up again felt a little like finding an old friend.

Who knows.

Maybe book reviews will make a comeback.

🐾 Luna Watch

At the time you’re reading this, M&M and I are probably out grabbing groceries.

But let’s be honest.

We all know why you’re here.

Luna updates.

Since her surgery on June 3rd, our resident Service Dingo™ has been recovering beautifully.

Her incision looks great.

Her appetite comes and goes.

She’s drinking normally.

Potty breaks are normal.

And she hasn’t needed pain medication or CBD since Day Two.

Unfortunately, she has also reached the stage of recovery where she no longer believes she is recovering.

Her veterinarian, her mothers, and reality itself disagree.

Every morning she wakes up convinced that today will be the day management restores her constitutional right to Ball.

Every morning management says no. Loudly.

Negotiations remain tense.

Luna has also somehow located six tennis balls.

I don’t know where they came from.

At this point I’m beginning to suspect she maintains an emergency tennis ball reserve hidden somewhere in the house.

Or possibly has contacts.

The doggy stairs have already been retired because she decided on her own that she was perfectly capable of getting onto the bed again.

We’ve upgraded water bowls.

Increased cuddle quotas.

Provided premium snacks.

Allowed sweater privileges due to the shaved tummy situation.

And yet.

The Ball Ban™ continues.

🐾 Luna Rating Scale™

Category	Rating
Snack Quality	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Emotional Stability of Humans	⚠️ Questionable But Improving
Roadside Safety	🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾
Couch Recovery Efficiency	11/10 Would Nap Again
Chance of Mom Overdoing It Again	🚨 Elevated
Peanut Butter Cookie Compensation	Still Inadequate

🐾 Official Statement from Luna Bean, Service Dingo™

🐾

I would like the record to reflect that I have done absolutely nothing wrong.

My incision looks good.

I have taken my medicine.

I have accepted my snacks.

I have supervised all household activities.

I have successfully recovered at least six previously lost tennis balls.

Yet despite these accomplishments, I remain the victim of an ongoing injustice.

The Ball Ban™ continues.

Every appeal has been denied.

Every request for reconsideration has been rejected.

Every attempt to present evidence that I am “totally fine, actually” has been ignored.

Management cites something called “healing” and “internal stitches.”

I do not recognize these authorities.

Furthermore, I would like to file a complaint regarding excessive cuddling, unauthorized tummy inspections, and the continued confiscation of my emotional-support tennis balls.

Compensation in the form of peanut butter cookies has been inadequate.

I remain brave.

I remain strong.

I remain oppressed.

Respectfully,

Luna Bean

Service Dingo™

Defender of Tennis Balls

Survivor of the Great Ball Embargo of 2026

🐾

Cryptid Research Note: Luna is currently recovering so well that her biggest medical concern appears to be whether or not she can convince the humans that “no running” is merely a suggestion.

🌻 The Quiet Shape of Freedom

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how recovery doesn’t always look the way people expect.

Sometimes it isn’t getting cured.

Sometimes it’s getting a little piece of yourself back.

A driver’s seat.

A bookstore.

A mall trip that turns into a story.

A service dog asleep beside you.

A book you’ve been trying to finish for a year.

Sometimes that’s enough to remind you that life is still happening.

Seven months ago, most of these stories wouldn’t have happened.

Not because they were extraordinary.

Because they were ordinary.

And sometimes ordinary is the first thing disability takes away.

The ability to decide you want to leave the house.

To wander a store.

To solve a problem together.

To go looking for gummy candy and accidentally come home with a Mothman.

That’s what makes these little adventures matter.

👻 From One Cryptid to Another

If you’re low on spoons, grab a couple from the snack table.

I keep extras there.

Drink some water.

Take your meds if it’s time.

Eat something.

Even if it’s only a few bites.

If your life feels like a string of strange side quests, you’re not alone.

Some days feel like D&D with a character you didn’t build.

Some days feel like Jumanji and someone else already disappeared into the jungle.

Some days are big.

Some days are just:

we survived the appointment.

we survived the body.

we survived Bed Jail™.

All of it counts.

The body still hurts.

Luna is still recovering.

There are appointments on the calendar.

There always will be.

But the Summer of Adventure is still on.

Even if adventure looks like a local fairground.

A root beer stand.

A family dinner in pajama pants.

Or a dragon-hatted gnome riding shotgun in an orange Jeep.

It still counts.

Current Status:

Part cryptid.

Part cyborg.

Fully mobile.

Mildly unsupervised.

Thanks for coming along with me.

-Sky

Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.
(Occasionally field-tested.)

💜 Reading, sharing, or simply staying is more than enough.

There is never pressure to donate.

But if you’d like to support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and still wandering when I can, thank you for being here.

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

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