Seven months ago I was surviving. This summer, I’m finally learning what it feels like to start living again.

📂 Case File Tags

Disability • Chronic Illness • Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome • POTS • Service Dog • Medical Journey • Healing • Recovery • Family • Jeep Life • Independence • Surgery Prep • Summer Adventures • Mental Health • Personal Essay • Luna Bean • The Great Pumpkin™ • Accessibility • Hope

⚠️ Content Note

This post contains discussion of disability, chronic illness, medical trauma, surgery, grief, depression (brief retrospective mention), recovery, family relationships, ableism, dangerous driving, service dog life, and the quiet ways healing changes a person.

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.

Although…

Hopefully not for much longer.

(Surgery is coming much faster than I’d like to admit. July 9th is sprinting toward me.)

Occasional disability advocate.

Full-time medically complicated person.

My chart has become large enough that I suspect it now has its own gravitational pull.

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’s survival kit includes coffee, Arctic Raspberry Liquid I.V., and enough determination to qualify as a personality trait.

I’ve also been living almost exclusively on Pomegranate Izze lately.

Since I still can’t find the pear Liquid I.V. anywhere, which I maintain is a national tragedy, I’ve apparently decided sparkling pomegranate is my new emotional support beverage.

Most days are lived inside 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 somehow now we have a story” moments.

Sometimes that story is me sitting in a waiting room mentally composing an angry Yelp review for outdated magazines.

Sometimes it’s,

“We found a little restaurant afterward and the food permanently altered my personality.”

Sometimes…

It’s both.

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

Luna is there.

Medical alert service dog.

Guardian.

Enforcer.

Professional Service Dingo™.

Public access expert.

Emergency “Mumther, we are sitting down RIGHT NOW“ decision-maker.

Then there’s M&M.

My Player Two.

My soft place to land.

Snack provider.

Voice of reason when I have absolutely none.

Which is…

More often than I’d like to admit.

I’m a stubborn cryptid.

And, in spirit (and usually somewhere inside the house), there’s the Yard Yeti.

Keeper of Home Base.

Guardian of the Wi-Fi.

Champion of saying,

“I support you… from this chair. Come home safe.”

(Though he’ll absolutely emerge from his cave for a Ren Faire or a good thrift store.)

This space is for chronic illness without inspiration porn.

Disability without apologies.

Life exactly as it happens.

The messy.

The mundane.

And the unexpectedly wonderful.

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 beautiful chaos.

🐾 Luna’s Notes

Mama keeps drinking weird people water.

I continue offering my water bowl as a perfectly acceptable alternative.

For reasons I still don’t understand…

She says no.

Very suspicious behavior.

📡 Cryptid Dispatch Incoming…

I kept thinking this week’s post was about buying a Jeep almost 2 months ago.

Or hosting family.

Or getting ready for surgery.

Turns out…

it isn’t.

It’s about something much quieter.

For a long time, my world fit inside a bedroom, a waiting room, and whoever happened to be available to drive me somewhere.

Lately…

it doesn’t anymore.

Some adventures are road trips.

Some are huge milestones.

And some are realizing you can run to Wendy’s for a Frosty, throw the ball for your dog, and spend the evening drinking iced coffee on the deck while the weather behaves itself…

…for approximately twenty-seven minutes.

From what I hear, Illinois has decided we’re all going to marinate this week.

Part of me hopes the forecast is wrong.

Part of me knows it probably isn’t.

Because your resident ghoul and hot weather have maintained a deeply personal feud for years.

I’d also really appreciate not fighting ninety-degree temperatures while trying to keep my garden alive.

This week’s field notes aren’t about anything too dramatic.

They’re about the quiet kind of freedom.

The kind that sneaks up on you wearing muddy paw prints and carrying grocery bags.

Today’s report includes life updates, quiet revelations, and something that’s changed my life in ways I never really expected.

This isn’t a rant.

Just…

A “we left the house” post.

Something that still feels a little wild.

A little adventurous.

And if you’ve been around here for any amount of time…

You already know we like adventures in this family.

Even the little ones.

🐾 Luna’s Notes

Humans keep calling these “small adventures.”

I would like the official record to reflect that every single car ride is a Very Important Expedition™.

Especially if snacks are involved.

🎃 The Great Pumpkin™ Era

If you haven’t been keeping up with the blog…

I’ll happily say it again.

Your resident Cryptid is mobile again.

Yeah.

I know.

I’ve been talking about it a lot lately.

But until the excitement wears off…

You’re probably going to keep hearing about it.

Sorry.

After seven months…

We finally got a vehicle.

A 2019 Jeep Renegade Trailhawk.

And naturally…

She already has a name.

The Great Pumpkin™.

She’s proudly sporting a Stay Weird bumper sticker, conversation-heart jack-o’-lantern decals across the back window, and enough Jeep ducks to qualify as emotional support poultry.

Naturally, we’ve started keeping a bag of ducks in the backseat so we can pass the tradition along. We actually need to buy more can you believe it?

Nothing feels better than being the first ones to duck a Jeep that doesn’t have any yet.

If M&M keeps adding dog-themed accessories and tiny puppy paw decals…

I may have to start calling her the Pupkin’ Spice Latte.

Every time I climb into The Great Pumpkin™…

Part of me is still surprised I can simply decide to go somewhere.

Seven months ago… that freedom felt impossibly far away.

Now… the keys hang by the front door.

And somehow… that still feels a little magical.

For most people, getting into the car isn’t something they think about.

For seven months… every appointment… every grocery trip… every errand… 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 quietly packed away while I was waiting.

Not because I wanted to.

Because sometimes… survival gets very small.

Sometimes…

It has to.

Every trip I take right now still feels like reclaiming another tiny piece of my world.

We’re still waiting for her custom name badge to arrive so we can officially christen her:

Pumpkin.

As it should be.

Looks like she’s finally becoming a real Jeep after all.

They grow up so fast.

🐾 Vehicle Inspection Report

Official findings:

✔ Smells like snacks.

✔ Contains tennis balls.

✔ Mama usually comes home smiling.

✔ Window opens enough for premium sniff quality.

Final verdict:

Approved.

Would absolutely ride again.

🌻 The Quiet Shape of Freedom

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

Something that’s been on my mind a lot lately, if you couldn’t tell.

Especially with surgery looming over me like an anvil while I play the role of the cartoon coyote standing underneath it.

Sometimes recovery isn’t getting cured.

Sometimes there is no cure.

Sometimes…

It’s getting a little piece of yourself back.

A driver’s seat.

A farmer’s market.

A grocery 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.

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 keychain that still makes you smile three weeks later.

That’s what makes these little adventures matter.

The little things.

The things most people never have to think about.

I’ve spent a long time learning that optimism and preparation aren’t opposites.

They’re roommates.

And lately…

it feels like hope has quietly moved in too.

🧊 The Universe Files an Objection

Just in case the universe was worried I was getting a little too comfortable…

Monday happened.

Apparently, ninety-one degree weather was exactly the moment our back room refrigerator decided to stage a dramatic retirement.

Not a graceful one, either.

No.

It looked at the first truly offensive day of summer and announced,

“I didn’t sign up for this hot ass weather either.”

Honestly?

I can’t even be mad.

Terrible timing.

But I respect the commitment to the bit.

Unfortunately, dramatic exits aren’t free.

Neither are replacement refrigerators.

That little rebellion became a surprise $500 expense we absolutely hadn’t planned for.

The replacement itself wasn’t terrible.

We found one for $325.

Another $150 covered delivery, setup, and hauling the old one away before it could continue haunting the garage.

Compared to replacing our kitchen refrigerator…

We got off easy.

It still stung.

Because adulthood has a funny way of redefining “lucky.”

Sometimes “good news” is just finding the cheaper version of expensive.

Sometimes life gives you lemons.

Sometimes it gives you a dead refrigerator on the hottest day of the week and expects you to figure it out.

We did.

Because that’s what adults do.

We grumble.

We swipe the credit card.

We immediately calculate how many groceries that money would’ve bought.

Then we move on.

Not because it doesn’t hurt.

Because the ice cream certainly isn’t getting any colder.

🐾 Luna’s Notes

Cold snacks have disappeared.

I have concerns.

I will continue supervising this situation until treats return to acceptable temperatures.

♿ Apparently We Were Playing “Spot the Disabled Person”

After Refrigerator: The Sequel, M&M and I headed to recycle the mountain of aluminum cans we’d been collecting in the garage.

Nothing glamorous.

Just one of those ordinary adult errands.

We pulled into the accessible parking space.

Hung my permanent Illinois disability placard.

You know… the enormous sky-blue one that’s roughly as subtle as a lighthouse.

My driver’s side door was open.

My cane was exactly where it always lives.

The back seat.

M&M walked over to tell one of the employees we had cans to recycle.

Instead, he told her,

“Can you park a few spaces over? We reserve those for disabled people.”

I blinked.

“I’m disabled.”

He argued.

“My cane is literally in the back seat.”

The conversation continued anyway.

Here’s the thing.

I shouldn’t have to perform disability for strangers.

I shouldn’t have to limp on command.

I shouldn’t have to explain my medical history in a parking lot.

And I definitely shouldn’t have to lift my shirt and reveal enough spinal surgery scars to make it look like Freddy Krueger and Edward Scissorhands collaborated on my lower back just to prove I belong in an accessible parking space.

Invisible disabilities are still disabilities.

And the truth is, most of mine… aren’t even invisible anymore.

Young disabled people exist.

People who can walk a few steps still qualify for accessible parking.

None of that should be controversial.

When we finished recycling, I spoke with another employee and explained exactly why the interaction had been so humiliating.

Not because there were a hundred people there staring.

Not because I wanted anyone fired.

Because maybe the next disabled person who pulls into that parking space won’t have to defend the fact that they belong there.

Your job was weighing aluminum.

Not weighing whether I looked disabled enough.

Kindness is free.

Apparently… on Monday…

So was audacity.

🐾 Luna’s Notes

Mama already had the blue tag.

She already had the cane.

She left me at home because of the heat.

Frankly…

I thought the evidence was overwhelming.

🚧 Route 12 Tries to Kill Me… Again

Because Monday apparently wasn’t finished.

On the way home we hit construction on Route 12.

The signs had been warning everyone for over a mile.

Traffic would merge into one lane.

Simple enough.

I was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Keeping pace with traffic.

Following the truck in front of me.

Waiting my turn.

Apparently, the electronics repair van beside me had other plans.

Instead of zipper-merging like everyone else…

He tried forcing his way into my lane.

Close enough that he nearly sideswiped us.

Close enough that I had nowhere to go except the shoulder.

Then he continued speeding up… slowing down… speeding up again…

Like he’d mistaken construction for an audition.

M&M called the company’s customer service while I explained exactly what had happened.

She insists this makes me a Karen.

I disagree.

There’s a difference between asking to speak to the manager because your fries were cold during the 5pm dinner rush…

…and asking a company to remind their drivers that almost running someone off the road isn’t an approved merging strategy.

I’ll happily be that kind of Karen.

🐾 Traffic Report by Luna Bean

Merge means taking turns.

I learned that playing fetch.

Humans should probably catch up.

🐢 A Better Ending Than Monday Deserved

Thankfully…

Monday still wasn’t finished surprising us.

On the drive home we spotted a painted turtle making what can only be described as a deeply optimistic attempt to cross the road.

So, we stopped.

Helped the little traveler safely across.

Watched them disappear into the grass.

And continued home.

Sometimes people disappoint you.

Sometimes refrigerators quit.

Sometimes strangers make you defend your own disability.

Sometimes another driver reminds you exactly why your blood pressure medication earns its paycheck.

And then… sometimes… you get to save a turtle.

Somehow… that felt like the universe quietly apologizing.

Maybe that’s life.

Not a balance between good days and bad days.

Just moments.

Some that make you wonder what is wrong with people.

Some that remind you exactly what’s right with them.

🐾 Wildlife Report

One painted turtle successfully escorted across the road.

Zero turtles squished.

Mission status:

Complete.

🇺🇸 Prepping for the Fourth of July

If you didn’t know…

We hosted our first big family gathering for Father’s Day.

Part of me is still kicking myself for not taking a picture of the table before everyone arrived because…

It was beautiful.

Thanks almost entirely to Aunt Lise.

She had us bring out the nice white dinner plates.

Dessert plates.

Matching silverware.

Napkins.

Dessert forks.

The whole works.

She had us set the table like a proper supper club.

Big plate on the bottom.

Little plate on top.

M&M rolled the silverware.

If we’d known people were going to want wine… or if they drank wine…

There probably would’ve been wine.

Instead… we focused on something a little more important.

Making everyone feel welcome.

We served Bouille, a French-Canadian beef stew from the same region of Canada our family comes from.

Something we’ve made plenty of times for ourselves.

Something that suddenly felt different when we got to hand the recipe to family instead.

There’s something quietly magical about watching people eat food that’s been in your family longer than you’ve been alive.

Especially when some of those people have only recently become part of your everyday life.

Apparently… we’re gluttons for punishment.

Okay.

Maybe that’s dramatic.

Because we’re doing it again.

Fourth of July.

Burgers.

Hot dogs.

Fireworks.

A classic American cookout.

Though let’s be honest…

We’ll probably sneak something really homemade onto the table too.

That’s just who we are.

I never thought I’d become someone who genuinely enjoyed hosting.

Yet here we are.

I keep surprising myself.

Was Father’s Day a lot of work?

Absolutely.

Would I do it all over again?

Without hesitation.

Because somewhere between setting the table… serving the stew… and hearing everyone laugh…

I realized something.

For years…

This house mostly knew appointments.

Now…

It’s learning birthdays.

Family dinners.

People arguing over who gets the last brownie.

Laughter echoing down the hallway.

Dogs hoping somebody drops a hot dog.

I think…

I like this version of the house better.

Who knows.

Maybe by the Fourth…

There’ll be a couple more chairs around the table than we expected.

At least… that’s the current hope.

🐾 Kitchen Inspection Report

Several humans expected.

Multiple opportunities for dropped food.

Projected snack yield remains disappointingly low.

Overall performance:

Needs improvement.

🌎 The World Got Bigger

Something else has been rattling around in my head lately.

Until pretty recently…

I could count my entire family on one hand.

Honestly… we all could’ve fit into one room… and still had empty chairs.

There was me.

M&M.

Luna

The Yard Yeti.

Bear. When he was still here.

Sure…

Aunt Lise was in Canada.

Aunt Dee was in Texas.

But here… in Illinois… we were our own little island.

If something happened…

There wasn’t really anybody nearby to call.

That was just… normal.

At least, I thought it was.

My grandpa died in 2005.

My mom in 2020.

My grandma in 2023.

My great-grandparents left long before that.

Most of the rest of my extended family were people I simply didn’t know.

Or relationships that ended long before I was old enough to understand why.

And then… this year happened.

Now there are grandparents.

Aunts.

Cousins.

Stepbrothers.

Family recipes.

Old photographs.

Stories.

People who knew people I never got the chance to meet.

There are hugs.

Invitations.

Phone calls that begin with,

“Did anybody ever tell you about…”

…and suddenly I’m learning things about my own family that somehow skipped an entire generation before landing in my lap.

It’s strange.

Not bad strange.

Not uncomfortable strange.

Just… standing in a room you didn’t know existed strange.

Like somebody quietly opened a door that had always been there.

I don’t think I realized how small my world had become.

Part of that was disability.

Part of it was grief.

Part of it was survival.

Because when you’re surviving… your universe gets very small.

A bedroom.

A doctor’s office.

A handful of safe people.

The same walls.

The same routines.

You adapt.

You have to.

And then one day… you look up… and realize there are entire branches of your own life you’ve never explored.

I’m thirty-one years old.

And somehow…

I’m discovering that my world is both much bigger… and much softer… than I ever imagined.

I’m still getting used to that.

I think I will be for a while.

But…

I don’t hate it.

Actually…

I think I like it here.

Not “here” as in this house.

Here… as in this life I’m slowly building.

Meeting my cousin.

Playing with her puppies.

Planning dinners.

Talking recipes.

Learning stories.

Finding people I didn’t know I’d been missing.

It’s funny.

When I started writing this post…

I thought it was going to be about a Jeep.

Turns out…

it was about belonging.

Maybe that’s what getting your life back actually looks like.

Not getting the old one back.

Building one that’s bigger than the one you lost.

🐾 Genealogy Update

I still don’t understand family trees.

But everyone keeps calling me the granddog.

I have accepted this promotion.

🐾 Luna Bean & the Ball

We’re trying something new this week.

Someone in one of my local free groups was giving away a Fi Series 2 collar, and I figured it was the perfect chance to see what all the fuss was about before investing in a brand-new one.

Not because I don’t spend money on my girl.

Quite the opposite.

I’m one of those dog parents.

The ones who think their dog deserves the world.

Especially when that dog helps keep them alive.

So, I brought it home.

Charged it.

Set everything up.

And now we’re giving it a proper field test.

If I end up loving it?

I’ll probably upgrade to the newest model someday and pass this one along to another dog parent who’s curious.

There’s something I really like about that idea.

Somebody helped us.

Maybe someday we get to help somebody else.

Well…

Call your resident ghoul a liar.

Apparently, this post wasn’t even finished before life happened again.

After I wrote everything above, I decided to order one of Spot & Tango’s UnKibble trial boxes for Miss Bean.

Partly because I’ve been curious.

Partly because I’m incapable of resisting an opportunity to spoil my dog.

And partly because the free gift happened to be something we’d already fallen in love with.

A Fi Series 3+ collar.

So…

Looks like “someday” became Wednesday.

According to the tracking information, it should be arriving on July 1st, and honestly…

I don’t know who’s more excited.

Me.

M&M.

The Yard Yeti.

Or Luna herself.

One of my favorite things about Fi is that it isn’t just my app.

All three of us are officially part of Luna’s Fi Pack, which means we can all keep tabs on our favorite little Service Dingo™ wherever she happens to be. And no matter which one of her humans she happens to be with.

The new collar also comes with six months of the Premium membership, which made the decision even easier.

As for the Spot & Tango trial…

I’m ridiculously curious to see what she thinks of their cod recipe.

Knowing Luna…

She’ll either treat it like the greatest culinary achievement of modern civilization…

Or politely stare at me until I produce salmon instead.

There is absolutely no in-between.

The timing actually worked out pretty well, too.

This heat wave has been brutal.

Miss Bean has spent the last several days pouting because her outside time has been cut way back. (Especially now that she’s cleared for play again!)

Not because she did anything wrong.

Because dog health and safety comes first.

She’s got a beautiful speckled coat.

She’s incredibly active.

And while she’d happily chase tennis balls until one of us collapsed…

That’s exactly why it’s my job to know when to call it.

We’re still sneaking outside early in the morning.

Late in the evening.

Taking lots of water breaks.

Finding every patch of shade we can.

Playing shorter games of fetch.

Then coming back inside where the air conditioning doesn’t actively hate us.

Do I enjoy disappointing my dog?

Absolutely not.

Would I rather deal with puppy pouting than heat stroke?

Every single time.

She may not appreciate my decisions today… but someday she’ll forgive me.

Probably.

Assuming peanut butter pie production resumes.

Either way… you know this blog well enough by now.

There will be pictures.

There will be videos.

There will almost certainly be unsolicited reviews written by Luna herself.

I make no promises regarding the amount of adorable content headed your way.

🐾 Luna’s Notes

The humans keep saying this collar tracks me.

This is incorrect.

It tracks where they left me.

There’s a difference.

Also…

I object to these “heat safety protocols.”

I am perfectly capable of deciding how many tennis balls constitute “too many.”

Current human policy remains:

“Just one more throw.”

I believe this policy could be improved considerably.

🐾 Technology Review

Apparently, I upgraded my wearable technology before I even finished writing this post.

I still can’t text anyone.

Zero stars.

Luna, meanwhile… continues living in the future.

🛏️ Preparing for Bed Jail™

As you know… surgery is coming up on July 9th.

Which somehow feels both impossibly far away…

And alarmingly close.

Time has gotten weird.

Some mornings I wake up convinced I’ve got forever to prepare.

Other mornings I glance at the calendar and wonder who keeps stealing entire weeks.

I’ve been trying to batch-write as much as I possibly can before then.

Future Folklore Wednesdays.

Future Bed Jail™ Broadcasts.

Even Wyrm Workbench.

Though admittedly…

Those are a little harder to write ahead of time because I usually spend Mondays talking about whatever project has currently stolen my attention.

Future Sky and Present Sky are trying very hard to work together.

One writes.

The other will hopefully remember to stay in bed.

The doctors say a foraminotomy can take anywhere from three to four months to recover from.

Do I believe them?

…

Maybe.

My connective tissue has always preferred improvisation over following instructions.

So, I’m trying to hold two ideas at the same time.

Hope for the best.

Plan for whatever my body decides to do instead.

I’ve spent a long time learning that optimism and preparation aren’t opposites.

They’re teammates.

One keeps your heart steady.

The other remembers to pack the charger.

I’ve also been trying to figure out what exactly I’m supposed to do while recovering.

Because history suggests I am not particularly gifted at resting.

After three days…

I start inventing chores.

After five…

I’m reorganizing cabinets nobody asked me to reorganize.

By the second week…

I’m halfway through building a project that absolutely could have waited.

The evidence suggests this is not an effective healing strategy.

So, if you’ve had this surgery…

I’d genuinely love to hear from you.

What kept you sane?

Books?

Audiobooks?

Crafts?

Video games?

Podcasts?

An extremely specific hyperfixation that consumed your every waking thought for six weeks?

I’m taking recommendations.

Because boredom has never once improved my decision-making.

And…

Who knows.

Maybe by the end of July…

there will be four extra paws running around this house.

👀

That’s all I’m saying.

For now.

🐾 Recovery Protocol

Current treatment plan:

🐾 Stay in bed.

🐾 Accept blanket.

🐾 Accept emotional support dingo.

🐾 Hydrate.

🐾 Absolutely DO NOT let Mumther reorganize the garage.

Yes…

I’m looking directly at myself.

🐾 Official Correction

The humans keep saying they’re going to take Mama’s iPad away after surgery.

This is inaccurate.

I am taking Mama’s iPad away.

Doctor’s orders.

(My doctor. Which is me.)

🐾 Luna Watch

Miss Bean is officially off medical watch.

Twenty-seven days later… our girl is doing beautifully.

Her stitches are disappearing.

Well… “disappearing” is apparently a generous description.

Instead of magically dissolving after two weeks like they promised…

I keep finding little bits of them on the floor.

Honestly?

She’s just like her mom.

Even our stitches refuse to follow directions.

Her fur is growing back.

Her appetite has returned with enthusiasm.

Her energy has returned with considerably more enthusiasm.

Which is exactly why I’m excited to keep testing the Fi collar.

Unless something changes…

The vet has officially cleared her to return to full-time professional Dingo status.

Which is exactly the news she was hoping for.

As I’m writing this…

It’s offensively hot outside.

Luna has informed me she’d like to play ball anyway.

Which means…

Your resident cryptid is outside throwing tennis balls because there are very few things I wouldn’t do for my dog.

That said…

I’m enforcing water breaks.

Mandatory shade.

Frequent trips inside.

Because Illinois has once again decided to cosplay as the surface of the sun.

I hate the heat.

The heat hates me.

The migraines hate all of us.

Thankfully…

Someone with four paws usually notices long before I do.

When I go somewhere… she wants to come too.

Sometimes the answer is yes.

Because I love watching her little nose sticking out the window while she experiences the entire world one smell at a time.

Sometimes the answer has to be no.

Not because she isn’t invited.

Because safety comes first.

Leather seats get hot.

Parking lots get hotter.

Pavement becomes dangerous.

No errand is worth risking my best friend.

Water is always packed.

Baby Bean has her own Yeti Rambler for a reason.

No exceptions.

She’ll happily settle for a pup cup afterward.

Or Reese’s Barkery.

Or an orange tennis ball.

Or… if the universe would finally cooperate… one of her beloved peanut butter pies.

They’re still out of stock.

Luna would like to file an official complaint.

🐾 Fact Check

Mama has thrown approximately nine million tennis balls this week.

Can confirm.

Could still be more.

🐾 Public Statement

The peanut butter pie shortage remains unacceptable.

We ask everyone to respect our privacy during this difficult time.

🐾 Luna Rating Scale™

Category	Rating
Snack Quality	⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐
Emotional Stability of Humans	⚠️ Improving
Couch Recovery Efficiency	11/10 Would Nap Again
Chance Mom Overdoes It	🚨 Elevated
Peanut Butter Pie Availability	National Emergency
Jeep Ride Satisfaction	🚙🚙🚙🚙🚙
Ball Throw Consistency	Acceptable… for now
Number of Good Sniff Stops	Increasing Daily
Human Supervision Required	Constant

🐾 Official Statement from Luna Bean

Current observations:

🐾 Mama smiles more now.

🐾 Family dinners should happen often.

🐾 Jeep rides continue exceeding expectations.

🐾 Heat remains illegal.

🐾 The refrigerator was weak and has been replaced.

🐾 Recovery appears to be progressing according to my extremely scientific observations.

🐾 Humans continue requiring supervision.

🐾 I continue carrying this entire family on my remarkably fluffy shoulders.

Current recommendations:

🐾 Continue adventures.

🐾 Continue healing.

🐾 Continue family dinners.

🐾 Continue throwing tennis balls.

🐾 Increase snack distribution by approximately 400%.

🐾 Investigate suspicious rumors regarding “possible puppy.”

Approval Status:

🐾🐾🐾🐾🐾

Approved for publication.

Signed,

🐾 Luna Bean

Professional Service Dingo™

Chief Medical Alert Specialist

Head of Security

Director of Ballistics

Snack Acquisition Consultant

📡 Current Cryptid Status

🚙 Mobility: Restored

☕ Coffee: Present

🧃 Hydration: Aggressively Attempted

🌱 Garden: Somehow Still Alive

🧊 Backroom Refrigerator: Replaced with Honors

🐢 Painted Turtles Escorted to Safety: 1

🐾 Luna Supervision: Constant

🦆 Jeep Ducks: Multiplying

🔥 Outside Temperature: Illegal

💜 Current Mood: Hopeful

👻 From One Cryptid to Another

When I first started writing this…

I thought I was writing about a Jeep.

Then I thought I was writing about family.

Then Monday happened.

The refrigerator quit.

A stranger questioned whether I belonged in an accessible parking space.

Someone else decided construction zones were merely suggestions.

We spent money we hadn’t planned to spend.

I spent energy I hadn’t planned to spend.

And somehow… by the end of the day… we’d also saved a turtle.

Life has a funny way of refusing to stay inside the outline you drew for it.

Seven months ago…

I was waiting.

Waiting for rides.

Waiting for appointments.

Waiting for answers.

Waiting for my body to cooperate.

Waiting for my life to begin again.

Today… there’s an orange Jeep waiting in the driveway.

The keys hang by the front door.

There are muddy paw prints on my deck.

Books stacked beside my chair.

Family recipes sitting on the kitchen counter.

People I didn’t know I had.

A Fourth of July cookout to plan.

A surgery countdown taped to the calendar.

And a Service Dingo™ who firmly believes tennis balls are a constitutional right.

The body still hurts.

The appointments still exist.

Surgery is still coming.

Some days still ask more of me than I think I have to give.

But something has changed.

Not because life suddenly became easy.

Because my life became bigger.

Big enough to hold grief… and joy.

Fear… and excitement.

Broken refrigerators… and family dinners.

Road rage…and rescued turtles.

Recovery… I’ve realized… isn’t about getting your old life back.

Sometimes… it’s about building one that’s so much larger… that one day you look around and realize you don’t miss the smaller one anymore.

I don’t know what the next few months are going to look like.

Maybe recovery will go exactly according to plan.

Maybe my connective tissue will read the instructions, laugh, and improvise.

Honestly… either feels equally likely.

But for the first time in a very long time…

I’m excited to find out.

If you’re reading this while your own world feels very small…

I hope you hear this.

Small doesn’t mean forever.

Sometimes surviving shrinks your world because it has to.

That isn’t failure.

That’s adaptation.

And when the time comes…

When your body, your heart, your circumstances, or simple dumb luck finally crack the door open…

You don’t have to fling it wide.

You don’t have to sprint through it.

Sometimes all you have to do…

Is take one ordinary Tuesday at a time.

Maybe that’s a trip to the grocery store.

Maybe it’s a family dinner.

Maybe it’s throwing a tennis ball until your shoulder complains.

Maybe it’s helping a turtle cross the road.

Maybe it’s simply hanging your keys by the front door again.

It all counts.

Because life isn’t made out of milestones.

It’s made out of Tuesdays.

Ordinary ones.

Messy ones.

The kind where the refrigerator dies before breakfast and you still somehow end the day believing people are worth believing in.

Those are the days that quietly build a life.

Those are the days worth remembering.

Thank you… for walking beside me while my world got bigger.

My hope… is that somewhere along the way… this little corner of the internet helps yours feel a little bigger too.

Until next Tuesday…

Stay weird.

Be kind.

Help the turtles when you can.

And if someone else’s disability doesn’t look the way you expected… remember that your job was never to decide whether it was real.

🖤 -Sky

Disability. Honesty. A little chaos.

(Occasionally field-tested.)

🔗 Find me around the internet:
https://linktr.ee/skylanarissa

There’s never any pressure to donate.

Reading.

Sharing.

Commenting.

Or simply spending part of your Tuesday with us… is already more than enough.

If you’d like to help support the long, slow work of staying alive, stable, and mobile, you can do so here:

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