Letter from a Disabled Twenty-Something: July 2016

An open letter to the gate agent who judged too quickly:

Look, I get it. I look like a perfectly healthy, if somewhat overweight, 27 year old with crazy blue hair. On top of that, I'm a lazy American. However, I assure you that what you didn't see, the fact that my body is under constant assault from itself every single day thanks to Multiple Sclerosis, is what matters.

I had 45 minutes to make a connection. So, knowing that my body most likely didn't have the energy to rush all the way across an airport to an unknown gate, I asked the flight attendant if they would kindly let the gate know I'd be needing assistance. Do you have any idea how embarrassed, how mortified I was to even have to ask if they'd have a cart or a wheelchair ready as a 27 year old? I wrestled with the decision for a good 30 minutes before I decided to do what I knew was the right thing for my exhausted legs. Not only for my sake, to save my energy and conserve for the next 8+ hours of travel, but also for my husband, who'd have to worry about both making it to the next gate on time and a wife who couldn't keep up. The flight attendant was kind accommodating, and understanding, and asked that assistance be ordered to the gate. She made me feel so much better about what I asked that I was okay with it by the time the plane parked.

Of course, being delayed, we had to deplane with stairs instead of parking with a gate. I sucked it up and toted my carry on down, since I can still walk well enough, and boarded the bus to the terminal, knowing I'd be okay when I got inside.

I was not. Airport assistance had no knowledge of my name. When I asked if there was a cart or a chair I could take to my next connection, it wasn't possible, but I was shown the lift upstairs instead of the escalator or stairs. Fine. I made it up and ran into you. You were asking other passenger about connecting flights and I overheard, so I came to ask you about ours. You told me there was no way we'd make our connection so you had already rebooked us on a route that required a stop, but we would need of hurry to make the gate because that flight was leaving soon anyway. When I expressed dismay and then stated that I was physically unable to run, you looked surprised and said that oh, we didn't need to run anyway, the gate was right around the corner and we could make it. Handed us the info and sent us on our merry way.

Your definition of "right around the corner" is not the same as mine. Thinking it was a gate we were close to, I decided to just stop arguing and make the trip so we could make it in time to board this flight, scheduled to leave 15 minutes after our original departure time. Mustering my reserves, we sat off and I discovered right around the corner was the next terminal over, and while connected, it was a fair distance away. When we made it to the gate, it was closed. The agents didn't want to let us on the flight at first. They were shocked we'd been rerouted to this flight when it was also scheduled to depart rapidly. After some back and forth and explaining the situation, they held the plane and allowed us to board. We went down and out to another bus, and boarded the new flight with stairs.

By the time I made it into the cabin, I was greeted by a very concerned attendant who kept asking me if I was okay and ushered me to my seat, helping with bags. I'm sure I looked nothing short of a disaster at this point. After sitting and water, I was okay again, enough to explain what had happened and enough to finally let my feelings about it catch up with me. I was angry, frustrated, embarrassed, and overly exhausted, but decided to let it go and focus my energy on getting home.

We did in fact eventually make it to Abu Dhabi. Our 5 bags didn't make the transfer, even though bags technically make it through airports faster than people. There wasn't enough time. Hopefully we'll see them again soon. I have slept constantly since we've been home, thanks to the combination of jet lag and chronic illness fatigue, but I am thankfully home and mostly well.

I'd let it go. I was okay with just not mentioning any of what happened at all (after all I still burned with a degree of embarrassment), but then I thought about how lucky I was that even though it was a trial on my body that I will likely pay for for days, I was still able to do it, and how my fellow comrades with invisible illnesses who might be much worse off than I am would still be sitting, stuck without help in an airport several thousand miles away from home. So I decided to pen this letter not just for me, but also for the rest of us with MS or other diseases that limit our ability to function normally. We don't have visible handicaps, but we still deal with an incredible amount of pain and exhaustion in doing even the smallest things. I humbly ask that maybe next time someone expresses a limitation to you, you don't judge them on appearance alone and instead listen to what they're saying. Help them. Your kindness will not only be welcomed and appreciated, but come back to you as well.

Sincerely,

An MS warrior.