RSLancastr
13th July 2010, 02:40 PM
In case any of you have ever been enviousof wheelchair users who get to board the airplane before you, let me tell you - it isn't that great.
One of the - to me, anyway - least pleasant aspects of being in a 'chair is the understandable curiosity that total strangers have about my situation. Especially when I am dealing with an obstacle. Some, I am sure, are watching to see if they can help. Others are just curious. Either way, I end up feeling like a rolling freak show. the gawking, the pointing, the occasional snickering, and - especially - the reactions of kids. Kids have always been intrigued and/or scared by my size and beard. I look to them like a cartoonvillain or something. put that villain into a weird motorized wheelchair (hey, he steers it with a joystick! that looks kinda fun!) and I am absolutely fascinating to kids.
Now, put me and the chair into an airport, and the - again, understandable - curiosity ramps way up. How will he get through security? how willhe get on the plane? I hope he isn't sitting next to us!
I know this must sound pretty paranoid, but... oh well.
When we pickedup our boarding passes, they had to inspect the chair to see what kind of batteries it had. They explained to us that the airline could not be held responsible if the chair was lost or damaged in the cargo hold during flight. We had already been told that when Susan purchased the tickets. We had read horror stories online of chairs damagedor lost in flight, leaving the 'chair's user chairless at their destination. We chose to risk it, and checked the chair in. we were given a tag for it, and started driving it through the terminal to security.
Taking my left shoe off is a delicate procedure. Susan does it for me. The Security agent was not pleased when I insisted that Susan do it and not him.
After the shoes were off, I steered my chair through the metal detector, then had to wait while another agent used a wand-like detector to search the chair and my body. He wasn't happy that I could not lift my left arm high enough for him to easily search the armpit, but...tough.
We then steered me to the gate, where we waited for our flight. A woman came up and told me she would be helping us board. A few minutes later, we were given the go-ahead. I steered my chair up the ramp leading to the plane. right at the door to the plane, we waited in that circular area for them to bring an "aisle chair." We had been warned that this would happen. Even a standard "manual" wheelchair is too wide to roll down the aisle of an airliner, and my motorized chair is bigger still. we were told that the airline provides a small "aisle chair" to take you to your seat on the plane.
I was warned that it would be small, but when they brought itout and placed it next to my wheelchair, I laughed and said "Okay, now bring the one for my other cheek!" My pit crew (Susan and two or three airline employees) helped wrestle me into the "aisle chair." My ass hung over both sides, and it hurt the pressure ulcers (bed sores) I have developed down there from a year of sitting inmy chair. they had to help me get both feet onto the tiny footrest, then strapped my knees together so they wouldn't bang into the seats on either side of the aisle. They then strapped me into the aisle chair six ways from Sunday, including straps that came up my back, over my shoulders, and buckled at my waist. they then started rolling me backwards down the aisle. Our seats were on the left side of the plane. Itold them that it is much easier for me to transfer to my right side, so backing me down the aisle was the wrong way to go, but they ignored me. One of them had to hold my knees together, as even the straps were not preventing my knees from bumping into the chairs on either side. Another wasbehind me, pulling the chair along. It was a bumpy, snaky ride, and Ikept feeling like I was going to fall to one side or the other. And the bumpiness did not exactly help with my pressure ulcers.
When we got back to our row (mercifully, only row 9), they finally understood why backing me down was a problem. for me to transfer to my left is never easy. to do so in an unfamiliar situation, when i was scared and starting to hyperventilate, would have been folly. turning me around at this point would have beenimpossible. So they made the executive decision to switch our seats with those on the right side of the aisle, which were still empty, as we were boarding before everyone else. they lined the aisle chair up as best they could with my flight seat, now on my right side. they removed the armrests on both to clear a path for my backside. the aisle chair was still several inches lower than the flight seat, so Icould not just slide into it. I grabbed onto the headrest of the flight seat in front of mine with my right hand, pulled up while pushing up with my right leg, and my "pit crew" helped move my body towards my flight seat. My baggy sweatpants snagged on something, preventing me from lining up with the seat. Isat anyway, as my arm and leg could take nomore. everyone helped me get unsnagged, and lined up in my seat. It was at this point we realized that Susan, still standing in the aisle, needed to get past me and into HER seat! they helped me swing my legs back into the aisle and Susan climbed past me and sat down. Idragged my legs back under the seat in front of me and tried to relax. All I kept thinking was "how much worse would all this have been had Inot lost those 150 pounds in the hospital?"
As other passengers boarded, many bumped into my left shoulder and knee, still sticking out into the aisle. Ouch.
Suddenly, someone said to us "I think you are inour seats!" I looked up and saw a young couple examining their tickets and looking at the seat numbers above us. evidently, nobody had told them about the switch.
I said "they had to switch our seats with yours. you guys are across the aisle now. the woman, a little testily,asked "can I ask why?"
I'mafraid that Isnapped a bit, and answered loudly, "because I am in a wheelchair!" The woman said "I just asked!" I replied "and I just answered!"
And Susan shushed me.
the take-off and flight went fine, although a bit bumpy and shaky. I declined the in-flight meal, as I couldn't even imagine the nightmare that getting down to and into the bathroom would be.
On the ground in Vegas, we waited until everyone else was off the plane, then the whole procedure happened in reverse. back into the aisle chair, strapped in, rolled back out of the plane and waited for them to unload and bring my motorized chair. help me back into it, and Isteered myself back into the terminal.
The shuttle ride to SouthPoint was a minor adventure, but we got there.
the flight home was about thesame, if not worse. but at least we had a clearer idea of what to expect. and tooling around in the airport was more problematic, since my chair's batteries had totally run out of charge. And Susan's knee had given out at TAM, so noe SHE was also in a wheelchair - a manual one.
All in all, our entire time at TAM, as well as the flights both there and back, were dominated by wheelchair worries. But we still enjoyed ourselves!
One of the - to me, anyway - least pleasant aspects of being in a 'chair is the understandable curiosity that total strangers have about my situation. Especially when I am dealing with an obstacle. Some, I am sure, are watching to see if they can help. Others are just curious. Either way, I end up feeling like a rolling freak show. the gawking, the pointing, the occasional snickering, and - especially - the reactions of kids. Kids have always been intrigued and/or scared by my size and beard. I look to them like a cartoonvillain or something. put that villain into a weird motorized wheelchair (hey, he steers it with a joystick! that looks kinda fun!) and I am absolutely fascinating to kids.
Now, put me and the chair into an airport, and the - again, understandable - curiosity ramps way up. How will he get through security? how willhe get on the plane? I hope he isn't sitting next to us!
I know this must sound pretty paranoid, but... oh well.
When we pickedup our boarding passes, they had to inspect the chair to see what kind of batteries it had. They explained to us that the airline could not be held responsible if the chair was lost or damaged in the cargo hold during flight. We had already been told that when Susan purchased the tickets. We had read horror stories online of chairs damagedor lost in flight, leaving the 'chair's user chairless at their destination. We chose to risk it, and checked the chair in. we were given a tag for it, and started driving it through the terminal to security.
Taking my left shoe off is a delicate procedure. Susan does it for me. The Security agent was not pleased when I insisted that Susan do it and not him.
After the shoes were off, I steered my chair through the metal detector, then had to wait while another agent used a wand-like detector to search the chair and my body. He wasn't happy that I could not lift my left arm high enough for him to easily search the armpit, but...tough.
We then steered me to the gate, where we waited for our flight. A woman came up and told me she would be helping us board. A few minutes later, we were given the go-ahead. I steered my chair up the ramp leading to the plane. right at the door to the plane, we waited in that circular area for them to bring an "aisle chair." We had been warned that this would happen. Even a standard "manual" wheelchair is too wide to roll down the aisle of an airliner, and my motorized chair is bigger still. we were told that the airline provides a small "aisle chair" to take you to your seat on the plane.
I was warned that it would be small, but when they brought itout and placed it next to my wheelchair, I laughed and said "Okay, now bring the one for my other cheek!" My pit crew (Susan and two or three airline employees) helped wrestle me into the "aisle chair." My ass hung over both sides, and it hurt the pressure ulcers (bed sores) I have developed down there from a year of sitting inmy chair. they had to help me get both feet onto the tiny footrest, then strapped my knees together so they wouldn't bang into the seats on either side of the aisle. They then strapped me into the aisle chair six ways from Sunday, including straps that came up my back, over my shoulders, and buckled at my waist. they then started rolling me backwards down the aisle. Our seats were on the left side of the plane. Itold them that it is much easier for me to transfer to my right side, so backing me down the aisle was the wrong way to go, but they ignored me. One of them had to hold my knees together, as even the straps were not preventing my knees from bumping into the chairs on either side. Another wasbehind me, pulling the chair along. It was a bumpy, snaky ride, and Ikept feeling like I was going to fall to one side or the other. And the bumpiness did not exactly help with my pressure ulcers.
When we got back to our row (mercifully, only row 9), they finally understood why backing me down was a problem. for me to transfer to my left is never easy. to do so in an unfamiliar situation, when i was scared and starting to hyperventilate, would have been folly. turning me around at this point would have beenimpossible. So they made the executive decision to switch our seats with those on the right side of the aisle, which were still empty, as we were boarding before everyone else. they lined the aisle chair up as best they could with my flight seat, now on my right side. they removed the armrests on both to clear a path for my backside. the aisle chair was still several inches lower than the flight seat, so Icould not just slide into it. I grabbed onto the headrest of the flight seat in front of mine with my right hand, pulled up while pushing up with my right leg, and my "pit crew" helped move my body towards my flight seat. My baggy sweatpants snagged on something, preventing me from lining up with the seat. Isat anyway, as my arm and leg could take nomore. everyone helped me get unsnagged, and lined up in my seat. It was at this point we realized that Susan, still standing in the aisle, needed to get past me and into HER seat! they helped me swing my legs back into the aisle and Susan climbed past me and sat down. Idragged my legs back under the seat in front of me and tried to relax. All I kept thinking was "how much worse would all this have been had Inot lost those 150 pounds in the hospital?"
As other passengers boarded, many bumped into my left shoulder and knee, still sticking out into the aisle. Ouch.
Suddenly, someone said to us "I think you are inour seats!" I looked up and saw a young couple examining their tickets and looking at the seat numbers above us. evidently, nobody had told them about the switch.
I said "they had to switch our seats with yours. you guys are across the aisle now. the woman, a little testily,asked "can I ask why?"
I'mafraid that Isnapped a bit, and answered loudly, "because I am in a wheelchair!" The woman said "I just asked!" I replied "and I just answered!"
And Susan shushed me.
the take-off and flight went fine, although a bit bumpy and shaky. I declined the in-flight meal, as I couldn't even imagine the nightmare that getting down to and into the bathroom would be.
On the ground in Vegas, we waited until everyone else was off the plane, then the whole procedure happened in reverse. back into the aisle chair, strapped in, rolled back out of the plane and waited for them to unload and bring my motorized chair. help me back into it, and Isteered myself back into the terminal.
The shuttle ride to SouthPoint was a minor adventure, but we got there.
the flight home was about thesame, if not worse. but at least we had a clearer idea of what to expect. and tooling around in the airport was more problematic, since my chair's batteries had totally run out of charge. And Susan's knee had given out at TAM, so noe SHE was also in a wheelchair - a manual one.
All in all, our entire time at TAM, as well as the flights both there and back, were dominated by wheelchair worries. But we still enjoyed ourselves!