The Holiday Gauntlet: Part One

My last post laid out all the holiday activities we were going to have to overcome. And I'm here today to report that we overcame them! Mostly. All of this started with:

Traveling to Dallas was, first and foremost, a learning experience. As with everything else that's new and exciting post-injury, it was a time of me trying to do more than I should and of Dacia patiently (but sometimes exasperatedly) reigning me in and keeping me focused on small wins and cautious exploration.

Travel in a wheelchair is a rolling (pun intended sorry not sorry) series of micro-indignities that you can overcome with grace, histrionics, or sometimes a combination of both. For us, this started at the TSA checkpoint in Oakland where I had to wait ten minutes for an agent to come off break so they could pat me down and inspect my chair for improvised weapons or explosives. Having been through this a few times now, I have to say that my favorite part is when they ask "are there any areas that are sensitive or painful" before patting you down. "My whole goddamn body is in pain you nincompoop" is what I don't say. But I am definitely thinking it.

We arrived at the gate, and as the only non-ambulatory preboard, I took my rightful place at the head of a line of 12 wheelchairs while Dacia enquired with the gate agent to make sure there was an aisle chair available. There was, and I was able to easily transfer to the world's thinnest wheelchair and then to my seat in the second row.

The boarding process was smooth and practiced, with airline staff acting as confident, experienced spotters and lifters. This was an experience that would not be repeated on our Delta flights in January, where my very existence seemed to come as a surprise to every Delta employee or contractor.

Arriving at Love Field in Dallas is just like arriving in Burbank–like you have discovered a little secret that makes intercity travel a million times better while harkening back to the pre-deregulation era of air travel. We deplaned with only a minor hiccup when the Southwest ground crew lifted me without permission or count-off. We then made our way to the car rental counter, where we learned that the car we'd rented with hand controls had been sent to DFW airport instead. But since Dacia was with me just decided to go pick a car from the fancypants aisle and made the 15 minute drive to downtown Dallas.

Checking in was the first moment when my cavalier attitude bumped up against Dacia's measured approach. I wanted to just head up to the room and get unpacked, but Dacia suggested we inspect the room for safety and accessibility first. I won out by suggesting that if we went upstairs and unpacked right now, we could be having a cocktail that much quicker. But, as usual, I should have listened to Dacia because the room had a couple of significant problems: a toilet that was too low (a 15-inch toilet makes it difficult to transfer back to my 19-inch chair) and a bed that was too high (27 inches). These may seem like little problems but it makes the routine transfers I have to do every day that much more fraught.

Anyway, we went back downstairs, had a drink, and met up with HKS folks for dinner at the hotel's amazing steakhouse. Because of course the Omni Dallas would have a great steakhouse. But here, in the first act of this trip, is where I have to mention Chekov's leafy greens. Thanks to the broad-spectrum antibiotics I received back in my hospital era, I am extremely susceptible to traveler's stomach. And thankfully Dacia was there to remind me not to order the wedge salad and instead focus on cooked meats and starches.

Don't need to tell me twice (or do you?)

The next day was the Partners & Principals meeting–a chance to meet folks from across the company that I had so far only met on video calls. This was one of those social challenges I simultaneously enjoy and loathe. I knew going into the meeting that because I'm in a wheelchair I am instantly recognizable and memorable, whereas I would have to remember all of the names of the hundred-odd folks that wanted to meet me. I'm sad to say I couldn't quite do it–I got most folks' names right on the first try and those who I couldn't were extremely gracious and understanding.

We've learned over the last year to leave ample time to get between locations. Dacia conquers ADHD tendencies on the regular and usually ushers me out the door half an hour earlier than I want. This was especially important at the Omni because of the carpet.

Oh my god this fucking carpet.

The meeting was taking place in Ballroom A, one of four segments of a football-field-sized space, and of course the one furthest from the elevators (and, importantly, the restrooms). This meant rolling nearly 100 yards on medium-pile synthetic carpet just to get to my seat. I managed to make it on time, arriving sweaty and worn out from the exertion.

Having been judicious to this point with my coffee intake–I hadn't had any coffee before the flight so that I wouldn't have to go while on the plane–I decided to abandon caution in favor of a generous helping of caffeine. Which meant, of course, that I had to leave the room 45 minutes later and attempt to reach the bathrooms some 80 yards away.

I say attempt because I didn't make it. About halfway through my journey across the frictional landscape, I had to pull into a secluded corner and pee into a urinal kept handy for just such an occasion. This happened again at the lunch break, when I wheeled behind a curtain and did the same thing. I cannot overstate how much I hated that carpet and the distance to the bathroom.

I hated it so much I actually started googling to see if there had been any research on the impact of surface material on wheelchair performance. And somewhat to my surprise there was. According to a study by the Rehabilitation Engineering and Applied Research Lab at Georgia Tech, medium-pile carpet adds 120-130% rolling resistance compared to a concrete floor. So when you see me rolling on carpet I want to you imagine that I am towing another wheelchair that's carrying Dacia, Althea, and Arthur all at the same time.

Nevertheless I was able to roll around. Sometimes folks graciously offered to push me, which was great. Sometimes Cory just grabbed the chair and ran off with me, which was dangerous but fun as hell. And as important partners and principals at the country's third-largest architecture firm, we did our duty and stayed in that room doing business things for quite some time. When a general consensus had been reached that we had done enough businesses for the day, we decided it was time for a cocktail. I had the regulation two cocktails I allow myself these days (getting too drunk in the chair can lead to falling, incontinence, or both) and we made our way to the office for a dinner celebrating this year's retirees.

And this is where Chekov's Leafy Greens make their way back into frame. We arrive to a plated salad and without thinking I just hoover up the entire thing. A day of doing businesses made me hungry for roughage, I suppose. The dinner continued from there with great conversations and a hilariously-emcee'd presentation by our Chief Talent Officer. Once dinner was over we made our way back to the hotel where two of my favorite people in the entire world–Cory and his wife Jordan–were in the lobby bar drinking Old Fashioneds. I had another two (thinking, wrongly, that enough time had passed since my first two and also oops I did have several margaritas at dinner) and we made our way back to the room.

It was around midnight that I knew something was wrong. And then that something continued to be wrong for the next 16 hours. No amount of Immodium seemed capable of forestalling what was happening. It kept happening and happening and happening again, often immediately after it had just happened. The caregiving that Dacia did that night was just... I can't even put it into words. I would have been completely helpless without her and I would have understood if she gave up in frustration. But she never did and for that I am eternally grateful. The flood waters had finally crested by 4pm, which gave us enough time to get all dressed up for the Gala.

But ultimately both of us were beat, so after saying our hellos we quickly deployed matching goodbyes and went back to the room for a good night's sleep. Finally.

On Saturday morning we were treated to a nice surprise when Aaron and Ericka drove over from Austin (just a casual three-hour drive) to see us for coffee before we went back to California. Which we did. With no real struggles. It started to seem like air travel wasn't the worst thing after all.