Mark and I have gotten pretty good at making this whole traveling thing look easy. Fly here, stop there, pop over to that country, dip into this beach, strap on my FreeWheel, toss Mark the bags, maybe he’ll have to make an extra trip up the steps, maybe I’ll need to crawl like a monkey sometimes, bum down a few stairs, and use the men’s toilet with the door open occasionally, but we’ll handle it. We are pretty easy going people and look at travel and the possible barriers it presents as adventure. I accept that the natural earth was not made for wheelchair users, but am also encouraged to see more cities and countries and landmarks around the world working to improve access for disabled travelers, (and their own citizens!) I understand that I need to plan and problem solve probably more than the average traveler and I’m okay to take that on…for now. However, the most frustrating part of our trip, and the part I can accept the least, is usually not the rugged ground, or the historical building with no elevator, or the old hotel with narrow doorways, but rather…. the dreaded airport experience. As an industry serving millions of customers every year, with frequent advancements and passenger experience upgrades, there is less and less excuse for the seemingly ongoing lack of disability awareness and informed customer service training at airports which leaves me to feel disrespected, misjudged, and helpless nearly 100% of the time.
Disabled travelers have become accustom to adapting like nobody else. We’ve spoken to other disabled travelers, read every blog on tips and tricks for airplane travel, and called ahead. We have packed, planned and problem solved meticulously. We’ve bought the gadgets, we’ve fasted, taken more stomach flushing meds, (than is probably even safe), to avoid needing a toilet mid-flight. We’ve rehearsed lines, practiced our seat transfers, organized every inch of our carry-on and judged every item’s importance relative to the extra weight we’ll have to carry. We’ve gone without a head pillow and our morning coffee cause our hands are already completely full of bags + wheelchair pushing, (and remember coffee will only lead to bathroom trip that we can’t access anyways). We have done our part to make travel as easy on, (mostly others actually), and ourselves. It’s time the airline industry check their ableism, examine their policies and take some responsibility for improving travel for a growing group of their customers. Here I finally put into words the thoughts that I have almost each and every time I travel, and the message I’d like airport staff to truly hear and consider.
I know more, and I know better, than anyone (about how I’ll manage on this flight).
So it’s probably best as airport staff that you speak to me, directly. I rarely have need to travel solo, so am almost always with my husband, friends or other family members. For all of my travels I can probably count on one hand the number of times I was addressed as the most responsible or knowledgeable person in my party, even when the communication shifts from the general, typical travel screening questions, (“where are you headed to today?”), to direct questioning about MY specific mobility and needs. I can faintly hear the queries coming from behind the towering countertops, “How is she getting on the plane?” “How wide is her wheelchair?” “Does her wheelchair fold?” “Does she walk at all?” “What kind of assistance will she need?” I experience the constant assumption from airport staff that I am not capable of conversing about even myself, as well as a constant lack of effort to make themselves heard by me, as it usually requires they stand up and step around 5 foot tall countertops.
Don’t assume I’ll be your most difficult passenger.
Please don’t assume I’ll be a headache. My husband and I have this routine down to a fine, fine art. He can swoop me up, while I hold tea in one hand, grab my seat cushion in another hand, while holding my handbag with my teeth, while he folds down the back of my chair, backpack on his back and FreeWheel in one hand, faster than it just took you to read that. Disabled passengers have planned and worked out, and likely even practiced, the best way to do things. I am acutely aware that should I hold up an almighty able bodied passenger for even half a second, it’ll spark their ‘UGH, these disabled folk’ mindset, (yes, even I have apparently internalized ableism and sometimes feel that I don’t have any right to take up time and space). Meanwhile the average abled passenger still hasn’t figured out proper etiquette for putting away a bag without holding up an entire jet. Honestly, truth.
This wheelchair is mine, and it’s my life.
Wheelchair users must unfortunately accept (for now at least), that in order to travel about this world by air, we will need to be temporarily separated from the very thing that gives us our mobility and freedom. We are forced to hand over our only source of independent movement and let it completely out of our sight. My wheelchair was designed specifically and exactly for me. I worked alongside other specialists for months to decide on dozens of features and options that were suited for my height, weight, range of motion, activity level, strength, lifestyle and mobility needs. Changing or eliminating just one aspect of my specially crafted wheels can render me suddenly, totally dependent. Wheelchairs are absolutely, positively NOT one size fits all and airport wheelchairs do NOT represent a typical design for people who require a wheelchair as their sole source of mobility. I don’t expect the average person to share the same level of appreciation and affinity for my wheels as I have, but I do think it’s reasonable for airline staff to learn the basic differences between a personal wheelchair and airport wheelchairs, to understand that personal wheelchairs are highly customized and damn expensive, and to respect the immense attachment between a traveler and their chair. My wheelchair should never be compared to luggage, a bag, or even a stroller. When my wheelchair was lost in transit by our airline for 36 hours during our trip to Kauai, well-meaning individuals would try to sympathize by sharing their stories of a “similar” experience with a lost suitcase. I would listen politely but internally let out a disappointed sigh, realizing how few people really recognize the value and necessity of my wheels. My wheelchair is truly the equivalent of another person’s legs. It would be ludicrous to expect someone to be comfortable with temporarily giving up the function of their legs and have to fully depend on another person to dictate when their function can resume. It should then also be reasonable for airline staff to show some empathy towards my semi-anxious state and spare me from their sometimes flippant, irritated or condescending remarks when I ask about the safety and whereabouts of my wheelchair. Unfortunately the sum of my past experiences do not lead me to assume my wheelchair will be handled with the respect and care it (and I) deserve. Acknowledge that airlines are seriously failing on accessibility (if it was important to the powers that be, it is mostly definitely possible for aircrafts to be far more accessible to disabled passengers than they currently are), and assure me that my wheelchair is in responsible, understanding hands.
I like to think that every time I fly is just another much needed opportunity for airline staff to learn and be trained on disability etiquette and wheelchair handling. (Though disabled people as constant educators is a whole other topic!) Airport travel IS possible with a disability. It’s not always the most comfortable, or dignifying, but with planning, a strong voice and a little sharing from your disabled travel buddies (hi! ask me any questions!), it can most definitely be worth it!
