My most recent travel adventure involved a flight to Boston, MA to visit our daughter and her husband. Of course, Edward, my husband, had to book our departure flight for seven o’clock in the morning. He always booked the most obnoxious departure times. That meant leaving before four-thirty to get to Austin-Bergstrom International Airport to get checked in on time. The one good thing about leaving so early, especially on a Sunday morning, was that traffic was relatively light and uneventful.
We got to the airport, parked our car in airport in the ‘Blue’ parking lot, gathered up our luggage, and began the trek to our terminal. Bergstrom International Airport has weird concrete “sculptures” along the long cement walkway with little outcroppings of cement details that can trip you if you are careless. My paranoia about tripping sprang to life.
I went along the walkway, pulling my rolling bags, and thinking about the clothes I had packed. Had I packed the right stuff? I had been tracking weather in Massachusetts and I did have enough sense to have packed a jacket and sweater, but I was already regretting not packing more warm clothes. Thus began my thought-wandering, with my brain trying to figure things out that I had no control over.
Edward and I took the elevator to get to the check-in level. Taking the elevator was so much easier than trying to maneuver four suitcases on an escalator. We were able to check our two big bags, no problem. After that it would be time to head to the next security check-in before heading to our gate. But as I watched my large suitcase disappear on the baggage loading belt, I realized that my cane was packed in the front pocket of the wrong suitcase! It was gone.
As I began my walk through the airport—using a carry-on suitcase to help me balance instead of my cane—I watched my step even more meticulously. With my eyes scanning the floor before me for any little thing that might trip me up or cause one of my shoe soles to catch, I told myself: Don’t be clumsy, pick up your feet.
I was able to focus on my purpose, namely, getting through security and to my gate. I have been to this airport numerous times and recognized the eateries and souvenir shops, book, and magazine quick stops. The human traffic was picking up, but it wasn’t too crowded at the moment. I was used to walking a few steps behind Edward and off to the side. He had a tendency to veer off to the right or to the left; if I stayed directly behind him, I could keep an eye on where he was headed and avoid having him crowd me over from my straighter path.
Suddenly there was a flurry of people swarming around me, in a hurry to get somewhere. I was distracted for a fraction of a second, and that’s all it took. I felt my left heel sliding in my shoe, and shoe sole bending in an awkward angle. Oh, no! I let go of my carry-on handle and felt myself falling. All I could think was: don’t fall on your face and hit your teeth!
I couldn’t regain my balance. Down I went.
I reached out with my left arm and smashed my elbow and forearm on the concrete floor. Man, that hurt. I hoped I hadn’t broken anything. Then my forehead smacked and bounced back from the concrete floor, and the left nose guard on my glasses dug into my face below my left eye. This happened so quickly it made my head spin, but I had managed to turn my neck quickly enough and I didn’t hit my teeth; I had done that before and it was extremely unpleasant.
Now I realized that a group of people had stopped to see if I was okay and to help me get back on my feet. I felt mortified and so embarrassed. I have always hated falling down. A couple ladies said, “Don’t worry, this has happened to me too.” An airport worker asked if I needed medical help. Another brought over a collapsible wheelchair and worked it like a Rubik’s cube puzzle. Like magic, the wheelchair was suddenly a reality. I sat down on the chair, still feeling a bit off from banging my head.
I looked up, and there was Edward standing by me. “I looked back over my shoulder to see where you were, and all I saw was a group of people gathering around to help with a situation. I knew it was you. Are you okay? What can I do?”
“Nothing. I’m good, just help me get to the gate, please. Everybody has been very kind.”
I was grateful to be pushed to the walkthrough scanner by a nice airport person. But I felt uncomfortable accepting help; I don’t know why. I was able to stand with my arms up, and I cleared the final security station. I walked through to the other side and then sat down for a few minutes to regroup. Our boarding gate was less than a hundred feet away. I kept thinking I probably should have let them push me in the wheelchair to the gate—I didn’t feel so great with the lump forming on my forehead. I slowly stood and walked cautiously to a seat by our gate. As I sat waiting until it was time to board, I rolled my eyes and groaned once again, remembering that my folding cane was in that front pocket of the large suitcase, and I had checked it through to Boston. Great.
My head had begun to ache and my elbow felt pretty bruised, right along with my ego. I walked through the passageway to board the plane, with anxiety and concern about taking another tumble. Once again, I regretted not being in that wheelchair. I was upset with myself for being so stubborn, as I moved along as close to the wall as possible, reaching out my hand for balance as I pulled my carry-on bag.
I made it to the airplane door and stepped slowly and carefully over the little entry step. All the time saying silently to myself: pick up your foot, pick up your foot. I was determined that my right foot would not drag, like it usually did when I was tired. I made it through the door and to my seat without any problems. I put on my seatbelt and pulled it tighter, instead of having to let it out. That motion always made me feel better. I even smiled to myself. Edward put my bag in the overhead. I dozed off and on the entire four hour and twenty-minute flight.
We had only been to Boston airport once, quite a few years ago. I had forgotten what a pain it was to take a bus from the terminal to the rental car parking lots, and then to hike to the correct company area. I kept thinking that I really need to pack lighter, so I could keep a free hand for my cane. I had been paying attention to backpacks on people in the airport and thought that might be a possibility.
It had been a very long day already, and I felt my energy draining away with every step. I was so ready to leave the airport area. We got our car and spent almost forty minutes weaving through traffic to get to the highway that would take us to our daughter’s place; the tunnel access was closed and there were construction detours. My frustration kept growing, but I kept my cool. Thank goodness for cellphone navigation apps or we might have spent hours trying to get to the highway.
We made it to their house. I was so relieved to finally get there. I took one look at their entry stairs and the uneven flag stones leading up to the stairs and immediately retrieved my cane from my suitcase to begin this part of our trip.
I talked to my son-in-law about my falling-down episode. He was a medical doctor in Brazil, but he doesn’t practice any longer. He didn’t think I had hit my head hard enough to have a concussion, but he told me to take Tylenol or Advil for my headache. I had bruised and scraped my elbow pretty good. Thank goodness there was no blood. I had the beginning of a bruise under my eye, and of course a lovely bump on my forehead.
Their hundred-year-old house had steep steps up to the entry door, but the handrail was helpful. Inside were lovely hardwood floors with a raised wood molding between rooms. I knew I would need my cane to go from our room downstairs to the bathroom on the other side of the house in the middle of the night. My confidence for crossing strange floors in the dark was, for the moment, nonexistent.
The shower was in the master bedroom upstairs. These were steep narrow stairs with a slight handrail to the landing, and no handrail from the landing and up the remaining stairs. I knew I would be moving slowly and carefully while maneuvering this situation.
The next morning, I happily went with my daughter to our planned spa outing, including a massage and facial, which my beat-up body relished. I fell asleep on the massage table, just glad I was still alive after the previous day.
My cane was my constant companion for the rest of this adventure, which included a trip to visit North Bridge, where the American Revolution first shots were fired. The bridge was a wood plank renovation that I carefully walked, trying not to catch my cane or shoe in the spacing. I stayed close to the rail and grabbed it a couple times. I told myself over and over: You can do this, it will be ok. I was determined to have a fall-free day.
We had arrived at Louisa May Alcott’s family home early enough so there were few people. It was another challenge with stone pathways and a steep staircase inside. I waited my turn to climb up and down so I could take my time. I was anxious about making others wait, because I can be so slow. I did wear my hiking shoes for better foot and ankle support.
The music center where my daughter is the class and ensemble manager was a new building with nice, flat carpeted halls, and elevators or stairs. The cement walkways outside were level and stairs had nice handrails, but I still walked with my cane. I decided using it in a strange environment was smarter than having to worry about the difficulties I might have to face without it.
Edward and I also did a road trip through Vermont as part of this journey. We had never been there. It was lovely and included many uneven walkways and terrain in the villages and small towns we visited. My sturdy hiking shoes and cane kept things safer for me.
The process of getting back to our place in Texas was basically the reverse of getting to Massachusetts, but without any falling down! My cane was my buddy until I got back to my own house, and I realized what a useful tool it was. It had kept me safe.
Author: Evelyn Panfili