A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

Today was the day both Karen and I left the Bahamas, returning to our respective homes (Virginia, and Arizona), and leaving Jenny to hold the fort alone for a couple more days.

We decided to make one trip to the airport, which, after all, is an hour round-trip. Karen's flight left a few hours after mine, but she had to work her remote job while waiting, which she could do at the airport as easily as she could at the condo…or the beach.

Even though I had checked into my flight the day before, and so had a boarding pass on my phone, I insisted on stopping by the American Airlines desk, because the tickets I had purchased from Expedia hadn't carried forward my TSA PreCheck number, even though I had given it to them. So I made the check-in lady do that. While she was at it, she noticed I also didn't have my American Airlines mileage number and added that.

I'm not happy with Expedia, but happier with American Airlines.

Karen, who also has TSA PreCheck, followed me as the wheelchair guy rolled me through security, then through US Customs, which for some reason was located at the Nassau airport, instead of our destinations in Charlotte and Newark. I was a little confused and thought it was the exit customs for the Bahamas. "Did you make any purchases?" the guy asked.

"Well, I bought a pair of earphones," I admitted.

"I mean, large purchases," he clarified.

"Well, they're a little bit big for me," I admitted. "But I think they came with smaller cup things I was going to try."

He waved me through.

Karen and I hugged each other goodbye, and my wheelchair guy took me to my gate. Then, since I wouldn't be leaving for another hour or so, he left me. But at least he left me with the wheelchair.

Now, as you can see in the above photo, airport wheelchairs aren't like regular wheelchairs. They aren't made to be self-propelled; they have to be pushed. And, of course, as I sat there, I had to go to the bathroom. So I had to walk my own wheelchair to the restroom, using it basically as a walker. That was fun. But while I was there, I got lunch from an adjacent Wendy's and brought it back to the gate with me.

Finally it came time to board; another wheelchair person appeared and wheeled me down the jetway to the plane. (I can walk myself to my seat in the plane by steadying myself by grabbing seatbacks along the way. I had an aisle seat, which I prefer for frequent bathroom access, and, amazingly, no one was in the middle seat! So the flight, while short, was relatively comfortable.

I had a three-hour layover in Charlotte. There were six of us waiting for the same flight in wheelchairs. And, when it came time to board, there was no sign of any wheelchair pushers to help us. The plane was already half-boarded by the time one poor, harassed woman showed up and began pushing wheelchairs, one at a time, into the entrance to the jetway. She got me last. And when I had made my way to my assigned seat, there was one old (I mean, really old) guy sitting in it, next to his equally ancient wife.

I would have willingly traded with him to let them sit together, but English wasn't his first language and I didn't know where he was supposed to be sitting, anyway. So I had to involve a flight attendant, who moved him to his actual seat, and left me next to this frail little lady, who wrapped herself in her clothes against the meat locker temperature of the jet cabin.

I passed the time by watching a couple of episodes of Stargate SG-1 that I cleverly pre-loaded onto my phone. And sure enough, before you know it, we had landed in Phoenix.

Since I didn't have checked bags, the wheelchair guy took me right to the curb where, a few minutes later, Michael (who'd been watching the dogs) picked me up.

And that was it, except for the joyous reunion with Lilly and Finley, the dogs, who were beside themselves with glee to find that I wasn't dead after all!