TRAVELING WITH WHEELS,
BUT NEVER ALONE

Journal of Healing – Sept. 20, 2006

By Mary Koch 

            I lay on the hotel room floor, laughing to myself even though I was uncomfortably awake in the pre-dawn hours. I would have laughed aloud, but I didn’t want to wake my husband. He had finally fallen into the deep and quiet sleep that too often eludes him.

            I was remembering the last time I’d slept on the floor of a hotel room. It was more than 40 years ago. I’d traveled cross-country and arrived in San Francisco with no money for a hotel. Friends who had budgeted more carefully – or maybe had bigger budgets – offered to share their hotel room but not their beds. The floor was hard and cold.

            “You haven’t progressed much in four decades,” I told myself. At least this time, I had money for the hotel room. And there was plenty of bed space. It was my aching back that made me take refuge on the floor.

            The deeply padded, plush carpeting was just the ticket for a sore back. Not so great, however, for wheelchair maneuvers.

            We’d chosen this hotel and particularly this room because it offered a rare commodity, a “roll-in” shower. Trouble is, the room was so stuffed with furniture, there was no room for my husband in his wheelchair – other than in the capacious shower.

*     *     *

WE WERE IN Tacoma for my mother’s 90th birthday. Family and friends flew in from all over the country: California, Florida, Illinois, Michigan and Nebraska.

            We had only to drive across the state. I commiserated with stories about airport security screening. John and I have not been on a plane since his stroke. Traveling in a vehicle with someone who is totally paralyzed offers challenges enough.

I’d spent a week writing lists of everything we had to take. There’s the wheelchair, of course, plus another wheelchair/commode for showers. There’s the concentrator, big as a dishwasher, which facilitates that nice quiet breathing at night.

 There’s the Hoyer lift, a large, unwieldy but amazing apparatus that allows John to transfer from chair to bed without someone (especially someone with a hurting back) having to lift him. And there were bags and suitcases filled with myriad supplies and necessities.

*     *     *

            IT WAS THE first time John and I ventured out of town without the services of a paid attendant. Nonetheless, we could not go it alone. Family and friends generously provided support. My brother and his wife, who live in Michigan, flew to Spokane, rented a car, drove to Omak, and loaded our van with that mountain of stuff I never thought would fit into one van.

            A friend stayed with us at the hotel, providing go-fer services. Homeward bound, a grandson talked steadily to keep me awake as I drove those last weary hours. Consequently, I now have a pretty thorough knowledge of the video game industry.

            No matter how much everybody helps, traveling in a wheelchair is neither comfortable nor convenient. The weekend included a multitude of inconveniences, but no disasters. An overlay of joy permeated even the inconvenient moments.

Elation kept exhaustion at bay. John was thrilled to be able to go, and glad to get home.

            Upon our return home, I was intent on writing a letter to the hotel chain about the inadequacies of  the so-called handicapped room. First, to abate my grumpiness, I wrote a thank you note to the restaurant where we’d had our family dinner. The staff there had been particularly gracious and sensitive.

Then I wrote to the hotel chain. Perhaps, I suggested, some of their executives might spend a couple days in Room 110. In a wheelchair.

© Mary Koch, Omak, Washington 2006

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