October 2024

Travelling with a Disability: An Unwelcomed Game of Whack-A-Mole

Written By: Isra Amsdr, Research Advisor

Travelling to the Canadian Knowledge Mobilization Forum while visibly disabled is kind of like unwillingly playing a game of whack-a-mole, except I am attempting to evade what feels like a constant cascade of comments about the things my disabilities necessitate. Let’s get one thing clear here – travelling with a disability is not for the faint of heart. Packing cupboards and drawers worth of medical supplies at home into the confined dimensions of a carry-on is no easy task. But, I feel as though I can confidently say it is a task I have mastered. Or so I thought. Almost a week in advance – I counted out precise quantities for the three-day conference of over a dozen different supplies needed to run my rigorous IV fluid regimen, and then lots and lots and lots of extras. Saline flushes—heparin locks—sterile gauze—lactated ringers—IV tubing—the list goes on—all meticulously placed in the appropriate sized Ikea Ziplock baggies (because Ikea Ziplock baggies are superior), but yet at three in the morning on the day of our flight – I realized that I had yet to actually pack any clothing. Spending three days in the same pair of jeans and long sleeve during a heat wave doesn’t exactly sound like my cup of tea, you know? ANYWAYS. The clothing got packed, so did the toiletries. And I skillfully managed to coordinate all my outfits with the same pair of shoes I planned to wear for the flight. I feel like when your carry-on is stuffed with enough litres of IV fluids to keep you hydrated and avoid a heat stroke for three days in 30+ degree weather – not having to pack an extra pair of shoes is a win.

I think my carry-on ended up being heavier than I am. The thing is when you are visibly disabled—like wobbling around with a pair of bedazzled forearm crutches and tubing hanging out from under your shirt—people often assume this level of physical incompetence. I can understand to a certain degree – my ataxic legs often feel useless, but my arms (I want to think) have still got it. But with this assumption that people make, they often feel an unrelenting need to help out and relieve some of my apparent struggles (which I know generally comes from a place of compassion). Now if we loop back to playing that game of whack-a-mole – when help was offered to me during security with my bags, I cautiously accepted it while warning about how heavy my carry-on was. I feel like the moment my carry-on got picked up and I was piercingly scolded with “omg what is in this thing”, also became a climactic moment in assuring me I was much stronger than I thought I was, and definitely much stronger than other people. Because, my carry-on was heavy, but not the heaviest thing I have ever carried.

I eventually got my carry-on into a bin myself. I tossed my bedazzled crutches at one of the security guards (because I knew the drill better than they did), declined their gross-looking wooden cane that’s probably never been sanitized, and internally pep-talked myself to ignore every pair of eyes on me through each step I took with my atrophied legs until I was on the other side and had my handy dandy crutches back.

So far it may sound like travelling with a disabled person is kind of just a nuisance and a lot of extra (back-breaking) work, but my favourite part is what I like to call playing the disabled card. I told you I have mastered the art of flying while disabled and prepped ahead to get pre-boarding in place. I live for the looks I get when all the people with the first class seats who think they get to board first start lining up before the doors open, while I get to comfortably sit there (I mean as comfortable as airport seating gets when you have a dysfunctional spine), wait to be paged, and then get to skip ahead of everyone else and be the first to board the plane, and bring along anyone else I am travelling with (the perks of travelling with a disabled person). Some people may say I am lucky or privileged to get to play the disabled card, but accessibility is a right. It’s a privilege to have two functioning legs that can stand a few minutes in line without having to worry about them collapsing from the weight of your body. I am not lucky to have something in place that makes the already painful process of travelling, just slightly more bearable for my body. Because if the physical process of travelling is not painful enough, getting outright scolded to the point that’s humiliating by the flight attendant that my carry-on should absolutely under NO circumstances whatsoever, be this heavy, sure did make it painful.

My crippling anxiety seeped its way in and the worry began of how we were going to get someone in the seats around us once we landed to pull my carry-on down, as to avoid another lecturing from THAT flight attendant. When we got someone’s attention—it was like we were hysterically scrambling to prepare them for the atrocity they were about to encounter bringing down my carry-on from the overhead bin. “It’s really heavy” “Like super super heavy” “A LOT heavier than you expect” and “I’m so sorry it’s so heavy” as they managed to pull it down without breaking a sweat, and then insisted on carrying it out the plane for me. Our Uber driver also received the same “prepare for your back to be broken” ramble, but never said a word to make me feel bad about it. I then proceeded to mentally give myself that ramble as I carried it up several steps to get into the hotel (while trying to keep myself stable with one forearm crutch) and then carried it again up even more steps once in the hotel (accessibility is truly thriving in Montreal!).

When I think back on this, the funniest part I keep thinking about from each time someone commented on the weight of my carry-on was the way I would hysterically start scrambling for words trying to explain that it’s because it has several litres of fluids in it. Fluids? Isn’t that like not allowed on planes? I guess it is when you play the disabled card.

To learn more about ways to get involved in POPCORN research, please email:

Carla Southward, Patient, Family, and Engagement Coordinator
carla.southward@sickkids.ca.