Hi everyone. This is @CollagenThief's partner @mechanimyn. I know there are a lot of you here who care deeply about them. I need to give you an update.
They passed away late last night. It was their choice. They went free, full of joy, surrounded with song and love, in my arms.
I called my old therapist from hospice:
“Of course I believed you. For one, I believed everyone that came through those doors. But also, you came ready to fight and heal that only grew, never got lost. You taught you me. I still believe in you. I always will.”
A potentially much more useful communication tool! Love this!
I think I was too morphed out to identify and gesture towards items on the chart, I think, but will bring it up with some of my care team in case they know how to hack it from observing me on the outside.
Getting worse. My beloveds thought this weekend would be my last. I was on too much morphine to even notice.
B”H, morphine isn’t prescribed at extreme levels anymore. I have cripplepunk kick back to connect.
🧵
#DisabilityTwitter#NEISvoid#RareDisease
Flop your arm left towards the bathroom or over your genitals to use the commode, or flop your dominant arm up up kind of near your head to say you need help with your phone.
The answer to the dying question has been “we’ll see it when it gets here.”
It’s getting here.
We’ve gone from measuring in long weeks just on Friday to long days today (Monday).
I’m completely held by love and completely heartbroken.
For new followers, I have one of the rarest and most dangerous forms of EDS: kyphoscoliotic EDS. Not only is it rare and they haven’t seen another variant like mine, but it’s heterogeneous so even a kEDS speciality clinic wouldn’t tell people like me if/when/how to expect death.
To clarify, I love questions. I thrive on queercrip mutual aid. I don’t think resistance is possible without storytelling.
The difference is making that extractive anywhere, but especially in my sick room.
Shame on you.
Look y’all, I’m so fulfilled that you can find my experience helpful, but it’s not the time to slide into my DMs and ask me vague questions about “not knowing what to do anymore” with your hEDS because you still need a diagnosis.
Here’s why:
That’s the kicker: these kinds of questions are coming from folks who just found me in hospice like a jackpot. It’s not right to shimmy up to your local hot dying cripplepunk Jew: “hey, I heard you’re dying. bummer. what about how awful my related issue is? fix it?”
Nope.
“I know I only made a fraction of the dent I wish I did on the drug war in my life, but I hope that someday it explodes into something that matters as people after me keep chipping away.” -Me in conversation with
@queerwhosneers