Finding small victories in the garden while trying very hard to convince my service dog that I know what I’m doing.

Content Note

This week’s update includes discussion of chronic illness, disability, medical trauma, an upcoming spinal surgery, healthcare frustrations, and recovery planning. As always, please check in with yourself before reading. The Lunatic Café will still be here when you’re ready.

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 author 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.

Or it might be…if my cardiologist hadn’t decided my service dog was “fake” and that POTS was a “TikTok disease,” whatever the hell that’s supposed to mean.

That’s okay.

We’re shopping for a new cardiologist anyway.

Most days are lived inside 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 awarded 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’s notoriously good at ignoring red flags from your own body…

…you need a spirit guide with teeth.

Then there’s M&M.

My Player Two.

My soft place to land.

The person who quietly gives 90% when I only have 10%, who appears with ginger ale, soup, heating pads, and enough calm to convince me that tomorrow is still worth showing up for.

This space is for chronic illness without inspiration porn.

Disability without apologies.

Honesty without pretending everything is tidy.

There will probably be dog hair involved.

If you’ve been here before…

Welcome back.

If you’re new…

Pull up a chair.

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

Welcome to the Lunatic Café.

The Ghoul That Never Sits Down

So…

It’s fair to say I’m starting to relate a little too much to that Taylor Swift lyric.

“It’s me. Hi. I’m the problem. It’s me.”

Honestly?

Luna would agree.

There is a baby ball gremlin who is approximately 100% done with my nonsense.

She keeps telling me it’s time to sit down.

Somehow, every single time she says that…

…my listening skills mysteriously stop working.

Funny how that happens.

I could argue.

But what’s the point?

I know it.

You know it.

Luna knows it.

M&M knows it.

The Yard Yeti knows it.

Aunt Lise knows it.

At this point I’m pretty sure my neighbors know it.

I’m an incredibly stubborn cryptid.

We’ve established this.

The only thing I won’t get yelled at for is that I’ve actually been staying hydrated, and according to my Apple Watch I’ve been spending more time outside in the sunshine lately.

That’s something.

I’ll take the win.

Tiny Harvests Still Count

Thursday gave us one of those victories that probably sounds small until you remember whose body we’re talking about.

We harvested four radishes.

One very determined little sugar snap pea.

I hacked down a respectable amount of weeds. (Something awful and spiky that calls itself “wild lettuce.”)

The garden is starting to look like someone actually loves it again.

Luna, however, spent the entire time supervising me with the expression of an exhausted middle manager wondering why her employee keeps inventing extra work.

She never wandered far.

Every few minutes she’d look up as if to ask,

“Are we absolutely certain this is a medically approved life choice?”

Probably not.

But sitting outside with dirt under my fingernails for a little while felt good.

Sometimes healing doesn’t look like getting better.

Sometimes it looks like four radishes.

Surgery Countdown

For anyone who’s missed the latest chapter in the Medical Saga™, July 9th is surgery day.

Cue approximately four hundred phone calls.

The kind reminding you not to take this medication.

Or that medication.

The kind explaining what to wear.

What not to wear.

When to stop eating.

When to stop drinking.

When to arrive.

Apparently, they think there’s a real possibility I’m going to show up for spinal surgery dressed for the Met Gala.

Friends…

It’s going to be pajama pants.

Probably flip-flops.

Maybe vampire bat slippers.

Definitely something with a zipper.

Future Me has enough problems without trying to wrestle a hoodie over fresh surgery.

They also asked about mobility aids, whether Luna would be attending, and whether I’d have someone staying with me overnight.

The Bean will be staying home.

M&M will be with me.

Assuming everything goes according to plan, I’ll be coming home the same day.

A Terrible Patient’s Recovery Plan™

Will I completely stop writing?

Probably not.

Will I attempt tiny writing sprints if I’m feeling okay?

Absolutely.

I already told you.

I’m a terrible patient.

If I get bored…

…I invent chores.

And absolutely nobody benefits from that.

So, the current recovery strategy includes books on my Kindle, short writing sessions if they’re approved, lots of naps, and making a genuine effort to listen when my body says enough.

Will I succeed?

Ask Luna.

She’s taking bets.

Dragon Claws & Purple Hair

One of the hospital instructions made me laugh.

No nail polish.

Now…

I understand why.

But my nails have been filed into little dragon talons for years.

They’re almost always painted black.

That’s part of me.

So yes.

The earrings are going back in.

The rings are going back on.

The necklaces are coming home with me.

My Apple Watch is returning to my wrist.

And before too long…

The black nail polish will be back where it belongs.

We all have something that helps us recognize ourselves again.

For me…

It’s purple hair.

Dragon claws painted black.

The tiny rituals that remind me I’m still me underneath the diagnoses.

Maybe yours is your favorite hoodie.

A well-loved baseball cap.

A necklace.

A favorite perfume.

Whatever it is…

I hope you hold onto it.

Chronic illness already asks us to surrender enough.

Looking Ahead

I’m trying to slow down.

Trying not to overthink.

Trying to batch-write enough posts that The Crippled Cryptid keeps shambling along while I’m recovering.

Will I disappear completely?

Absolutely not.

There will almost certainly still be Facebook updates.

Instagram photos.

And enough pictures of Luna to satisfy everyone who comes here primarily for the Service Dingo™.

Just know that after July 9th…

…I may be a little quieter.

I’ll still be here.

Just healing.

🐾 Luna’s Notes 🐾

🐾 Mumther still thinks “taking it easy” means doing seventeen smaller jobs instead of one big one.

🐾 I remain unconvinced this counts as rest.

🐾 Garden inspections continue daily. Squirrels remain suspicious.

🐾 Please remind your humans to drink water before they become raisins.

🐾 Recovery plans should include blankets, naps, snacks, and at least one dog.

🐾 I will be accepting belly rubs in exchange for emotional support services.

Love,

Luna Bean
Professional Service Dingo™
Chief Recovery Officer
Ball Enthusiast

If something here hit close to home…

You’re not alone.

If you stayed anyway…

Thank you.

Before you go…

A gentle little check-in from the Lunatic Café.

Take your meds if it’s time.

Drink some water.

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

No gold stars required.

Just a reminder from one haunted meat suit to another.

See you next week.

💜

-Sky

© The Crippled Cryptid

Disability. Honesty. Survival without the performance.

🔗 https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

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