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Home / Stories / Personal Histories / Other's Stories / First airline travel as a wheeler

First airline travel as a wheeler

Written by Claire on Friday, June 8, 2007

A couple of days ago I lived another pretender "first"…that of my first airplane trip as a wheeler. The following is the story of my day-long, three-flight voyage crossing the continent with my wheelchair. This story takes the form of notes that I jotted down as it was all happening.

Note for frequent travellers: I have changed city names so the configuration of the airports mentioned might not correspond with the reality of that airport.

Driving to the regional airport in Davidson, I’m excited, and yet nervous. I’m afraid I’ll run into someone I know in Davidson. I’m thinking of plan, and how to handle it, if I do.

In Davidson, I drop off chair, backpack and suitcase at curb. In taking the chair out of the van, I drop my wheel and scratch the rim on my brand new Spinergies. I’m pissed! I move slowly, pretend to be in a bit of pain, not overdoing it, but since I am to be travelling with a wheelchair, I feel that I can’t look terribly comfortable on foot. I leave stuff at the curb and go park. It’s a small airport, my stuff is never out of my sight as I drive around to the parking lot and walk back to the entrance. I enter the airport, walking, pushing the chair, and pulling my suitcase, and get in line to check bags. As I’m checking in, I look behind me at the others in line, MY WORST NIGHTMARE…there’s someone I know! It’s the mother of a kid in my daughter’s 5th grade class; I see her at church and around town. She doesn’t spot me, I quickly look away and continue checking in. So much for my plan, I guess I’ll just hide! I am told that I must check baggage at security (this is new, and weird, but it’s a very small regional airport, I guess they are trying to improve security) so I walk pushing my chair and pulling my luggage, slowly.

Suddenly I hear "Hi Claire!" I turn around, it’s the lady I know. She asks me how I am, I say OK, ask how she is. She says she’s going to a conference in Miami. For radiology! (I swear silently to myself, because whatever I supposedly "have" then I would most likely have gone through her department at the hospital in our small town, at some point). She asks where I’m going, I say to my mother’s, I wish her a good trip and continue on. She didn’t mention the wheelchair, and I didn’t offer any explanation.

At security, they want me to take my suitcase through, then come back and take my carry-on luggage through. This is STUPID, it’s new, never seen it before. So, I’m supposed to lift my luggage up on the conveyor belt. I tell her I can’t. She says she is not allowed to. I tell her "Ok, what do we do, because I can’t lift my luggage." Before she has a chance to answer, the guy behind me lifts the luggage up on the belt and I go through. I thank him.

My suitcase passes through the scanner, and then the security guard tells me to take the luggage off the belt. I say I can’t. She says she can’t. I’m pissed!! I’m walking still, having left the wheelchair by the entry to security. We argue a bit, to no effect, and finally I just pull on the handle so that if falls off the conveyor belt with a large bang. I am directed to another conveyor belt, this one actually quite high, nearly waist hight, upon which I am to place my luggage. I refuse to do it. I argue with the lady, saying "I have severe back problems, I’m in a wheelchair, look." (I point out my wheelchair). I do actually have a bad back, and this rigamarole is ridiculous not only for me, pretender or not, but for anyone with a wide variety of health problems, such as simple old age. She explains that for insurance reasons they can’t handle my bags. I ask her what they do for disabled people? She says it’s the responsibility of the airline to take care of me. I tell her it’s got to be illegal to refuse aid to the disabled. She pulls out the old "It’s not me, I’d help you if I could, it’s not my fault, insurance, bla bla…"

Someone goes and gets the airline ticket agent. He comes over, puts my luggage on the conveyor belt, and leaves. It’s done so fast I don’t even have time to thank him.

I go through security with my carry on, walking, and they pull my chair through, around the metal detector.

They pat down my chair and give it to me on the other end. I can’t bring myself to sit in it, the lady I know is right there in the waiting area (which, in this small one-gate airport, is directly behind security) and she is looking at me. I smile a little weakly and put the backpack on the seat and push the chair into the waiting area, where I sit down, nowhere near the lady I know. I’m totally embarrassed and quite disappointed that I can’t wheel, but more embarrassed than anything.

Boarding is called, with no pre-boarding announcement. I wait and get on last. Someone leans over and says "Are you the one in a wheelchair?" I say "Yes." She asks if I need help. I say no, I only use the chair when I have to walk long distances, I’ll be fine. I walk, pushing the chair on the tarmac towards the plane. I grab my backpack and the guy loading the luggage comes over to get my chair. He asks "Does this fold up?" I say no, as I grab my cushion off of it. He says ok, and just picks up the entire thing, carries it to the plane and places it in the hold. At this point I wonder, what would they do for a power chair? The hold is a good 5 feet off the ground, they just lift the stuff into there manually.

I slowly make my way up the stairs to the twin-propellar-engine plane, pretending a bit to have some trouble. I am HYPER sensitive to the fact that this lady that I know might be watching me. A bit panicky and paranoid. I sit in the first row, having reserved that seat when I bought my ticket. I don’t see the lady I know but I don’t look for her, I just keep looking straight ahead.

After an uneventful flight, we arrive in Atlanta and I decide to be the last to get off. The flight attendant comes up to me looking at a printed list in his hand and asks me "Do you need a wheelchair?" I tell him no, I have my own. He says OK. Before the door is opened to let everyone out, he asks me to wait for him and debark last, he’ll help me. I say OK.

As the lady that I know is debarking, she stops at my row and asks me when my next flight is. I tell her it’s pretty soon, and my flight departs from another terminal. She says OH! She says she has over an hour, she would have had a cup of coffee with me or something. I smile and say I don’t have time. She says OK, smiles and leaves. I wonder if she wanted to ask me what is wrong. As it is, she hasn’t yet gotten an explanation for the wheelchair. Next time I see her in town, walking and perfectly able-bodied, I will have to think of something. Not looking forward to that.

I’m relieved to be the last off the plane because she’s gone now. I just can’t bring myself to wheel in front of her. If she doesn’t see me wheeling, then there’s always a chance that asked to explain it later, I could say it wasn’t my chair. So I debark, and this time get in the chair because it is rather difficult to push it when walking, there are no handles and the back is low. I sit in the chair and wheel into the airport. She’s gone, nowhere in sight…whew. I bypass an escalator by taking the elevator. As I’m entering the elevator, my friend exits the bathroom in full view of me in the elevator with the door still open, and I want to die. I push the up button, hoping not to see her on the next level. Of course she’s there, having arrived before me, but I’m behind her, her back is turned to me, and I kind of hide behind a post until she’s gone! I see her entering another bathroom (again) and I quickly wheel away, trying to get out of the immediate vicinity before she exits.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I exit Terminal 3 and head towards Terminal 1. I know she won’t be going in that direction.

Busy airport terminal

Finally, I am enjoying wheeling. The polished floor is smooth as glass, but I’ve been pushing fast, and I can already feel it in my arms.

I follow the signs towards the departure gates, and as I go to get in the long line for security, the security guard at the entrance to the line smiles and waves his hands as if to say "No, no!" and indicates that I should go around behind him. "Line 1," he says. So I go to Line 1, wheel up to the conveyor belt where the security guard in charge gives me a big smile. I smile back. I take my laptop out of my backpack and then place my backpack on the conveyor belt. I am not sure what to do next, I know I can’t go through the metal detector. The security guard says to come around behind, and he calls over a female security guard. She puts on gloves, and pats me down…my arms, my torso, between my breasts, my legs, my back, my butt even!! She is brisk and professional but friendly, and while it’s a bit weird, I don’t mind because I understand the necessity. I grab my laptop, put it in my backpack and put the backpack on the back of my chair, and wheel off.

As I’m entering the concourse I pass through a type of holding area where there are a bunch of those electric carts that they use to transport people in a hurry, disabled or sick people, and families with small children. The guy in charge there stops me and asks me what gate I’m going to. I don’t know, I dig my boarding pass out of my backpack. Gate 27. He asks me if I want a ride. I say "No thanks." He says ok and have a nice flight. A ride?! And miss up this chance to wheel on this beautifully polished floor, are you kidding me?? LOL

I spot a Starbuck’s and get in line. A girl behind the counter leans over to me and takes my order, which makes me uncomfortable because the guy in front of me hasn’t ordered yet! However, I give her my order, and his order is taken next. My coffee is ready when I get up there to pay. The girl leans down far to place the coffee on a ledge where I can reach it. I pay and leave them a nice tip.

I have a while to wait, so I find a place to stop and plug in my laptop and type up my adventures so far while sipping my coffee.

In the waiting area at the gate, a this lady with a strange accent sits down next to me. She says, "Excuse me, do you know if you need to use US Dollars in Denver?" I say "Uh…yeah.". She says "And how about San Francisco?" Uh…yeah. I decide to be nice, although it’s been a while since I’ve heard a question this stupid. "Yes, although in much of the world most places will take US dollars, in the US, nobody takes foreign bills." "Ohhh," she says. It seems she is in transit in the US from the Caribbean to her home country. Sooooooo, she goes on to tell me her life story… She married a guy she met on the Internet and found out he was a scammer. Now, she’s just married (in the Caribbean) a guy that she met on the Internet (again). She went out there to meet him for the first time, and they decided to get married right then! So she’s going back home to her country, and he’s supposed to follow her in October. I hope it works out for her. But she talked and talked. And isn’t there something about being in a wheelchair that makes people open up to you and talk to you. I tried to talk a bit but she mostly wanted to talk to me. I would have enjoyed talking if I could get a word in edgewise, but since I couldn’t, I eventually told her I had to go see about pre-boarding, and left. Luckily for me, they wanted to pre-board me immediately.

Pre-boarding was uneventful. They asked if I needed assistance boarding the plane, and I said no. I simply wheeled down the jetway, following a gate agent, and at the door of the plane, got out of my wheelchair and walked on, moving slowly. I am not trying to look particularly infirm, but don’t want to leap up and go bounding down the aisle looking perfectly AB either. The agent follows me with my backpack and hands it to me when I’m seated.

I’m on the airplane waiting to take off. There is apparently a storm in Denver so they have us sitting here on the tarmac waiting. I’m going to miss my next flight so who knows what is going to happen. I am not sure if I’ll get on another flight, and no one here is able to tell me anything.

I’m in the front of the plane. The first two rows are First Class and I’m in row 4. There are bathrooms just in the front of the plane, 4 rows ahead of me. I figure that "Claire" can get that far okay, she walked on the plane after all. But the other set of bathrooms is 25 rows behind me. So there’s an announcement "For security reasons, the front bathrooms are for first class passengers only." This pisses me off, because they make no allowance for disabled passengers. Ok, so in an emergency I could walk to the back of the plane, but many people couldn’t, and I consider it to be about more than myself. I decide to bring this to their attention. So I press the call button and I ask the stewardess if I can use the front bathroom. She says, no, that’s only for first class passengers. I point out that I boarded the plane in a wheelchair and there’s no way I’m walking all the way back to the back of the plane. She said that someone would have to go with me! Apparently there’s no consideration for persons with disabilities in this circumstance. So, I take two short flights instead of one long one so I don’t have bathroom issues, and then they delay my flight, sitting here on the ground, and don’t let me go to the nearest bathroom!! I can’t believe it. That, compounded with the issues with security in Davidson…GIVE ME A BREAK!!!

The guy who sits next to me is cool, we chat a bit, complaining about the delay. We eventually fall silent and I pull out my laptop and I start working on my t-shirts with the funny sayings. I have up on the screen one that says "Warning! Legs don’t work, but mouth does!" (I saw one like that at CafePress and I’m designing my own - just for myself - to print out on iron-on transfer paper). It’s in very large characters on the screen. I’m aware of the guy surreptitiously looking at the screen and he starts to silently laugh. I look and him and ask "You like that?" He says "Yeah, that’s great!" So I pull up another one to show him: "Wheelchairs: getting you to the front of the line since 1955." The guy absolutely busts up laughing. And he doesn’t quit. He laughs, settles down a bit, looks at the screen, bursts out laughing again. He’s wiping tears out of his eyes. I start laughing at him, because it’s so funny how hard he’s laughing and he can’t stop. I’m busting up too, but not at my t-shirt, at his infectious laughter. It was hilarious! I pull up one more for him "It’s national handicapped month. Disable someone today!" (Another one from CafePress - great double meaning there for a transabled person!). My travel companion laughs a bit, but then he looks at me sideways and says "You know, that’s kind of twisted." I say "You think so?" He says "Yeah, I’m not sure if that one’s gonna fly." I told him I found it funny, "Crip humor is a bit twisted," I add. "I guess so," is his reply. He’s not offended, he does find it funny, but not as funny as the rest of them. He tells me he has a bit of a twisted sense of humor himself. The rest of the trip passes relatively quietly, I read while he sleeps. But near the end we start talking a bit again and he tells me a bit about some of the harrowing airline flights he’s taken. We land in Denver, and he gets up to leave. I of course stay seated as I’m the last one getting off. In parting he tells me that my t-shirts were really great. :o) They are great, but I didn’t tell him that I got them from somewhere else. Let him think the gimp chick has a great sense of humor.

I debark last, walking, and get in my chair. The stewardess follows with my backpack. I find it hard to push up the jetway and use one of the handrails to pull myself along. I find a bathroom, and have to wait, since someone’s in the only wheelchair stall. I have a tight connection and it pisses me off that with all these stalls empty, this person takes the one stall I can use. A lady comes out, and smiles at me. I give her a halfhearted smile back. One thing about going to the bathroom is quite funny. My backpack is on the back of my chair and it has my laptop in it. It’s very heavy. When I get out of my chair to transfer to the seat, the chair tips slowly backwards. There’s nothing I can do to keep it upright so when I’m in the bathroom I have to just let it tip over, then right it to sit in it again.

My next gate is (again) in another terminal, so I have a long wheel ahead of me. The airport is crowded, people everywhere. I have fun wheeling in and out of people weaving through the oncoming traffic. Some people get out of my way, other’s don’t even look at me. There is a long line to get on the elevator down to the tunnel that takes you to the next terminal. Finally it’s my turn and I start to get on. I follow a lady in, and I’m the last person it, the elevator’s full. The lady I’ve followed in is motioning her husband to get on the elevator with their baby stroller. He says there’s no room and he’ll take the escalator down. She looks down at me distastefully and says to him "No, I don’t want you to take the stroller on the escalator!" I look back calmly. If I wasn’t in a hurry, I would have offered to get off, but as it is, I can’t afford to take the extra time. She gets off. There’s two elevators, she’ll get on the next one I’m sure.

I speed along the tunnel, easily passing all the people standing on the moving walkway, and even those walking on the moving walkway. Most of the people are on the moving walkway so I have most of the aisle all to myself. It’s fun. It’s the first time I’ve ever had the chance to speed along a long corridor of smoothly polished flooring. What a rush!

I make it to the general vicinity of my gate, the area is crowded. I have a few minutes to spare so I purchase a chicken caesar salad in a plastic container to eat on the plane. It looks fresh, and will certainly be better than airplane food. I wheel up to my gate, salad on my lap, and there are two airline employees lounging in airport wheelchairs. They are big, strong young men, very tall. I catch their eye and smile at them. They grin saucily back. I am tempted to go up to them and tease them a bit with "Are you guys disabled, or just lazy?" but I resist. The previous flight is de-planing and they each hand off a wheelchair to an old person needing assistance. They disappear for a few minutes.

I park near the gate entrance, in anticipation of being pre-boarded. I wonder if I should say anything to them, but there are 4 employees there and they all see me, so I don’t say anything, just wait patiently. A lady with two toddlers in a double stroller is parked next to me. One of the kids leans forward to get a look at me, eyes traveling up and down as she takes in my wheelchair, clearly this is something new to her. I smile at her and am rewarded with a beautiful gap-toothed baby smile. Her mom smiles at me, and I smile back.

I get a lot of smiles, in my wheelchair. :o) TONS more than as a walker.

So, we’re waiting, and I pop a wheelie for no good reason, out of boredom. I hear a man’s voice off to my left "No wheelies!!" I turn my head and an older gentleman is grinning at me. He admonishes me, wagging his finger. "Don’t pop any wheelies, you’ll give me a heart attack!" I laugh. His granddaughter, about 5, doesn’t realize he’s talking to me and she looks up at him. "But I’m not popping any wheelies" she protests. He points to me. "No," he says "Her. SHE’S popping wheelies!" The girl looks at me, clearly not understanding how I could pop a wheelie. So I pop another wheelie, a better, longer one this time, and they both laugh. I grin. Several people are looking on and smile at this exchange.

Aisle Chair

The two employees who were lounging in wheelchairs come up with an aisle chair and park it just a few feet ahead of me. I feel a bit conspicuous, actually. The area is crammed with people waiting to get on the plane and it’s obvious to everyone that the aisle chair’s for me. It’s a bit embarrassing. I didn’t ask for one, I was actually going to walk on board like I did on the other flights. I guess they just assumed. I figure that’s good, I LOOK like I can’t walk! Since I haven’t yet had this experience, and they seem to expect it, I decide it’s okay to go ahead with it.

These guys have done this a million times. They’ve boarded paras before. They stand around talking, the aisle chair between them, paying me no mind. When it’s time to board, they just turn around and one beckons for me to approach. They are not cold and unfriendly at all, they are perfectly polite, but they don’t give a shit that I’m in a wheelchair and they do this every day. It’s kind of interesting, and refreshing. I follow the aisle chair down the jetway and they stop near the plane door. They continue chatting to themselves, and simply wait for me to do what I’m going to do. I was kind of expecting them to ask me what I needed, or to tell me what to do, but nope, they are assuming that I will just do whatever I need to do to get myself into the aisle chair. So I put my salad box on the floor, remove the backpack from the back of my chair and place it on the floor, and remove the strap that I have around my knees and put it in the backpack. I transfer to the aisle chair and they buckle me in. One around my knees, and two crossed over my chest. The young man placing the straps across my chest isn’t the least bit embarrassed by this rather intimate contact. He just does it. He moves me backwards towards the plane door. The other follows carrying my backpack. When we get there, he tips me backwards to get me over the threshold, which is a bit frightening. But I am righted OK. The stewardess leans down and puts her face at my level and says loudly and slowly and very cheerfully "Welcome aboard!" I say "Thanks!" very brightly. Sheesh. They get me to my seat and I transfer over. They ask if I want my backpack under the seat or in the overhead bin. I say I’ll take it. I thank them, and they exit the plane. These are two guys who deal with disabled people every single day and it was just funny the difference in their attitudes compared with the majority of other people I have contact with. They barely paid any attention to me, but not out of rudeness, they were perfectly polite and smiling, but I would say more out of respect and not finding anything about me to be a big deal or worthy of special attention. They assumed that I knew what I was doing and had the ability to do it and just let me get to it, or else they expected me to inform them if I needed something special. I liked that. Honestly, they treated me exactly the way I’m used to being treated as a walking client. Which is a weird feeling when I’m wheeling.

The plane is full and I have a window seat at the back of the plane. The middle seat is empty and the lady in the aisle seat chats with me for a minute. As the plane is filling up, a man with his wife and child approaches us and asks us if one of us would be willing to move so that he and his wife could sit together. I wince. Having boarded in an aisle chair I can’t now get up with all my stuff and just move. I tell him "I’m sorry, I would love to, but I’m in a wheelchair." He looks surprised. The lady in the aisle seat next to me remarks "Oh no, we don’t want to have to move you!" So the man turns to her and asks if she could move. She wants to know where she would be sitting, and he indicates the middle seat in the row in front of us. She tells him that she’s sorry, but she has claustrophobia and she’s very uncomfortable in a middle seat. Poor guy!! I consider moving, now, to help them. But the lady in the row ahead of us asks if it would help if she moved. The man says it would, and she does.

Once seated next to me she chats a bit and said she’s never had a longer walk in an airport than the one she just took. I asked her which part of the airport she came from…it was about the same place I came from. I tell her so, only adding, "Except I didn’t have to walk!" with a laugh. They both give me a surprised laugh.

We don’t talk much during the flight, the other ladies reading or watching the in-flight movie. I listen to my MP3 player, and work a bit on the computer. I feel myself getting dehydrated. But this flight is over 3.5 hours long, and I can’t get up to go to the bathroom. Or at least, I feel very odd doing so, having boarded the plane in an aise chair. I decide not to drink anything, but I take out my salad, and eat that. I am getting stiff and sore in my back and legs from not moving all day, and I wish I could get up and use the lavatory, if for nothing else but to just move. Instead, I wiggle, do stretches, and keep trying to find that elusive comfortable position. I’m still thirsty. After a while, a flight attendant passes by offering people water. I accept a half a glass,with ice. The water goes down good, and I suck on the ice cubes one by one until they’re gone. I’m stiff, I’m sore, I’m thirsty, and I am starting to have to go to the bathroom. An hour to go… *sigh*

At long last I feel the plane start to descend. The lady turns to me and asks me rather hesitantly if I need help once we land. I thank you and say that no, the airline personnel will help me. She says OK. When we arrive at the gate, the seat-belt sign is turned off, and everyone leaps to their feet. Of course, I stay seated. I feel a little weird, staying calmly seated, patiently awaiting special equipment needed to remove me from the plane, while everyone else gets up and walks by me. A few minutes later, the plane is empty. There is not a soul in sight. I scoot over to the aisle seat and stick my head out to see what’s going on. Two flight attendants are chatting in the very front of the plane. I’m in row 29. I wonder if anyone knows I’m there. I wave my hand and yell "Excuse me!!" The flight attendants turn to look at me and one calls out "Are you waiting for a wheelchair?" I say "Yes." She answers: "They’re on their way." I settle back to wait, but it’s not long before I see them coming up the aisle with the aisle chair.

The two wheelchair attendants–a small, slim Asian man, and a large, buff woman–say hello and ask me how I would like to transfer into the aisle chair. These people aren’t quite as matter-of-fact as the guys in Denver, they seem "hover" a bit, not exactly sure what to do. It actually looks rather difficult, as there is the problem of the arm rest in the way. I ask them if they can raise it, but they say no. But I make the transfer, going over the arm rest. As they place the three seat belts on me I grumble…"Do they actually think I’m going to fall out?" The guy laughs, and he says "Well, you know, it’s for insurance reasons…" yeah yeah, I’ve heard that one before. They propel me down the aisle and once they reach the galley opposite the plane door, turn me around so that they can back me over the threshhold. I steel myself for the inevitable drop at the plane door and am rewarded with a bone-jarring thud as the aisle chair rolls over the threshhold and drops down onto the jetway as the captain looks on. The woman pulling the chair apologizes and I say "That’s OK, I was waiting for it." The captain laughs.

My chair is waiting for me on the jet bridge. They pull me next to it, and I reach over and jockey it into the proper position for me to transfer. I do so, and the attendant asks me if I’d like my backpack on the back of the chair. I say yes, and I go to take it from him, but instead he goes around behind me and actually puts the backpack on for me. I wheel around to face a long jetway that slopes up rather steeply. I remember I had some trouble with the last one. The attendant asks me if I would like a push. I say "Well, maybe…" so he pushes me, RUNNING up the ramp! I actually get a bit scared, and am relieved when we get to the top. I thank him. I tell myself never to forget why I don’t like people pushing me!

I wheel into the terminal, and head towards the baggage claim. I follow the crowd until it comes to an escalator and then I have to look around to find an elevator, which is around the corner and poorly marked. I take take the elevator down to the baggage claim level and continue to wheel until I see the spot where we exit the security area. I can see people waiting to meet arriving passengers, and I know that there is someone there waiting for me. That person knows I’m bringing a wheelchair with me but not that I actually use the wheelchair. I stop and take a deep breath…and get out of the chair. I walk around behind it, holding it so that it doesn’t tip backwards, and remove the backpack, placing it on my back. I walk forward, pushing the chair ahead of me, to face a week of walking. Pretending over, for now.