When we leave the comfort of our home and venture out into the disabled-unfriendly world beyond, Kim and I know something will bite us in the ass. We just never know what form it’s going to take.

We hadn’t flown in two years. During that time, I grew weaker and fatter, and airplane seats grew smaller and were packed more tightly together.

Everyone Nodded and Understood

When I purchase plane tickets, I inform the agent on the phone that I will need assistance with boarding. When I arrive at the airport, I similarly inform the ticket agent, the gate agent, the guy emptying the trash can, and sometimes the bartender that I will need assistance, and that I will be ready to board as early as possible. On this Saturday morning in February at Boston’s Logan Airport, everyone nodded and understood.

I require what’s called a straight-back chair when I board (pictured above). I roll my regular wheelchair to the mouth of the airplane then transfer to the straight-back chair, which is narrow enough to take me down the aisle of the airplane. As boarding time approached for our flight to Fort Lauderdale, I inquired as to the disposition of said straight-back chair, the same chair I had requested from the ticket agent, the gate agent, the guy who empties the trash, and the bartender.

“Don’t worry. It’s coming.”

Eventually, the gate agent conceded, “We need to start boarding the plane. We’ll stop when your straight-back chair arrives.”

The boarding process for wheelchair people is supposed to take place well ahead of any other passengers boarding. They don’t need to see how the sausage is made.

After maybe 20 percent of the passengers had boarded, my chair arrived, and we interrupted the process. Andy and Karen were flying with us, and I had briefed everyone on their responsibilities. Andy, Kim, and two airport employees transferred me from my wheelchair to the straight-back chair. Karen grabbed the slide board and my seat cushion. She placed the slide board in the overhead bin and laid the seat cushion on my assigned seat, 5C. Andy helped the airport employees back me down the aisle and transfer me to 5C. Kim took rolls of bubble wrap and duct tape and protected the most vulnerable parts of the wheelchair.

The process went well, the plane finished boarding, and we headed off to Fort Lauderdale. I couldn’t get comfortable on the plane, as my knees were jammed into the seatback in front of me. But I survived.

No Snowstorms in Site

At Fort Lauderdale, after all the passengers had departed the plane, we reversed the boarding process, and I ended up in my wheelchair and headed for the hotel. We had flown down one day early, not trusting airline schedules in the middle of winter.

You Ruined My Bubble Wrap!

After a wonderful week of cruising, which I will detail in subsequent posts, we disembarked the cruise ship and headed to one of the cruise line’s buses, which would take us to the airport.

“All the buses are equipped with wheelchair lifts,” I was told.

Kim and I were separated from the herd and directed to a particular bus. The driver operated a lift which should have brought me up to boarding level. I made it about 75% of the way up when the lift decided it had had enough. After all, my chair weighs 450 pounds, and I’m no lightweight, especially after a week of gluttony on the ship.

“Don’t worry, we’ll call you a wheelchair cab.”

“Since I prepaid for this transportation, you will pay for my cab, right?”

“Nooooo. You’ll have to talk to the cruise line about that.”

I still haven’t talked to the cruise line about the $25 taxi fare. Seems unlikely I will now.

At first, everything proceeded nicely at the airport. I transferred to the straight-backed chair and then to 5C. However, soon after Kim sat beside me, she was beckoned by the baggage handlers. They needed some information on my wheelchair.

“You took all my bubble wrap off?” Kim said.

“Yeah, I needed to move the wheelchair, and the bubble wrap covered the joystick controller.”

“We’ve flown many times with a wheelchair, and nobody has ever wanted to drive it. You always want to push it.”

After Kim received assurance that the controller would be bubble wrapped, she returned to her seat beside me.

On this Spirit Airline plane, the seats were 3 and 3. On the flight down, one of the 20 percent of flyers who boarded before us took the window seat, and never got up the entire flight, so there were no problems. On this flight, however, we watched all the flyers walking down the aisle and hoped for a skinny, athletic one, because I wouldn’t be able to move out of their way. As I mentioned earlier, my knees were up against the seatback in front of me.

Sure enough, a larger than average, older than average lady looked at the empty seat and frowned.

“I don’t think this is going to work for you.” I said.

“What am I supposed to do?” She asked.

“I suggest you talk to one of the flight attendants and see if they can find you another seat.”

She huddled with the flight attendants at the front of the plane and eventually I saw them lead her to another seat. As she passed by, I apologized for the trouble, and she was gracious. In the end, I think the only empty seat on the airplane was the window seat beside Kim.

These People Can Wait

When we landed at Logan three hours later, as usual we waited for everyone else to exit the plane. The pit crew at Logan wanted to immediately remove me from the airplane, transfer me to a rickety old manual chair, and push me down to baggage claim to meet up with my power wheelchair. That’s not how I like to roll. I like to have a single transfer, and Andy made my wishes clear.

We looked out the window and saw that the baggage handlers were struggling with my wheelchair. They didn’t know how to unlock the chair so it would freewheel. Almost all chairs are the same. Had they never handled a wheelchair before?

The captain was hanging around and chatting, so Kim pointed out this problem to him. He said, “Tell me what to tell them. I’ll go down and straighten it out.”

Kim gave him the instructions to relay to the baggage claim team, and they got the wheelchair moving. Then we waited… and waited… and waited.

Finally, I said, “Let’s go ahead and get me in the straight back chair and off the plane, so we’ll have that much done.” The team was happy to comply.

Our flight had been delayed a couple of hours in Fort Lauderdale, and it was approaching 10:30 PM. Only when I exited the plane and looked up the gangway did I notice that this was not the termination of our flight. There were a couple hundred people waiting on me. Kim and I both tried to convince the gate agent that we should just push me off to the side and let these poor people board their late-night flight, already delayed several hours.

“Nope. I’m not going to put you through that. These people can wait.”

At long last my wheelchair appeared, with no bubble wrap on the controller. To our surprise and delight, the wheelchair was undamaged nonetheless. When I finally exited the gangway, I avoided the stares of the 200 people who now understood why they had been delayed an extra 45 minutes. It shouldn’t have been like this. At the Fort Lauderdale airport, the chair was ready for me almost immediately. Why was Logan so different?

Will We Fly Again?

After a two-hour drive, we pulled into our home at 12:30 AM Monday morning, and Kim had to be at work by 7:30 AM. She swore that this would be our last plane trip.

This wasn’t the worst flight experience we’ve had. Not even close. I believe there will be some trip in the future so enticing that Kim changes her mind, and we fly again. 

Click here to see Cruise Post #2