Go West, Young Wheelchair

I’m writing this (and publishing it, if I manage to finish it quickly enough) while on a plane bound for Victoria, BC. It’s been six years since I last visited the city in which I was born and grew up. The long separation hasn’t been by choice; until now, my health’s made the trip unfeasible.

Now, though, it feels suspiciously easy. I’ve of course ramped up to this, starting ten or so months ago with a night in a downtown hotel and proceeding from there. Even in the summer, my GP suggested that if I were to manage a flight this long, I’d need to incorporate an overnight layover approximately halfway to give my body and brain time to recover for the second leg of the journey. What a victory, then, to be seven hours into a travel day with plenty of energy to spare. (A lengthy nap and a coffee are helping on that front, but still.)

I find these triumphs especially satisfying when they don’t come easily. That’s certainly the case with this one. I’ve indeed put in the work: over years, as I’ve stubbornly fought for my health; over the last few months, as I’ve planned this vacation and prepared for it; and today, as I navigated the inevitable road bumps (ten centimetres of snow, secondary inspection at security because I set off the hand swab thing as I always do, the siren song of an airport LEGO kiosk, a long wait for the plane to be de-iced because it’s Canada in January). But I’m very much reaping the many, many rewards, and I’m sure there are more to come. So sure, in fact, that as I zipped through the airport on my still-new travel power wheelchair this morning (I resisted the temptation to crack a bottle of champagne over its wheel to celebrate its maiden air voyage), I was already imagining a solo trip later in 2025. Looking forward, not to the past.