Last winter, I took a trip. As much as it was a trip to get away from the frigid cold in the middle of winter to enjoy some tropical sunshine, sandy beaches, and saltwater; it was also a trip to test how well I can handle long-distance travel by air with my ongoing health issues. Overall, I handled it fairly well, so I’m taking another trip.

Even though things went well last year, I’m still somewhat anxious about getting on a plane again. This flight will be eight hours long, which is double the length of the last one; and I will travel 5,700 kilometres (3,550 miles) and cross five time zones over the Atlantic Ocean. Until I land and adjust to the time difference, I don’t think I’ll be able to assess the extent to which I’m affected. During the flight I took last year, my pain wasn’t significantly aggravated, but sitting in an airplane seat for eight hours this time, while feeling intense pain might be different. Add to that the fact that I’ve always been a bit of a nervous flyer and I have to admit that I’m not really looking forward to getting up in the air again.

However, my anxiety doesn’t end with the thought of getting on the plane and sitting through an eight-hour flight. I’m also anxious because I’ll be so far away from home, my doctors, and everything else familiar. During this trip, I’ll be staying with friends I haven’t seen since my last trip across the pond about six years ago. Although my friends are aware that I’m ill, they haven’t seen how the pain and accompanying side effects affect my daily life. I’m already worried about how I’ll cope and how they might react if – or more likely when – I have a pain flare up while I’m staying with them.

I know I shouldn’t expend the energy worrying about “what ifs?” but it’s hard after living with constant pain for this long and knowing that a flare up is never far off. It’s also hard not to worry about how others will react when they see you for the first time struggling to walk or unable to move at all because of pain. It’s hard not to worry about how greatly affected I’ll be by jet lag, especially because I already have a lot of difficulty with sleep and I never sleep well on planes.

It’s hard not to worry about how I’ll cope traveling around a city where public transit is widely used, when I’ve avoided using public transit where I live since becoming ill: how will I handle the sudden stops and starts of the trains or not being able to find a free seat while traveling on one? It’s hard not to worry about how I’ll explain needing to rest for a few days after going out for just a few hours. There are a lot more things I’m worried I’ll have to deal with and explain, but I suppose I’ll cross those bridges when I get to them.

Nevertheless, before I even get to the other side of the pond, there are some things I did in preparation for last year’s trip that I will repeat for this one. The main thing I did last year that was extremely helpful was arranging assistance to get to and from the plane. When I get to the airport, the airline will arrange for someone to take me from the check in counter to the boarding gate by wheelchair and/or golf cart. Then when passengers start to board the plane, I will be among the first to board with assistance from the flight crew. When I arrive at my destination, the same process will happen again. There will be someone waiting for me with a wheelchair when I leave the plane who will help me through customs to the baggage carousel and they will also help me collect my suitcase. Doing this last year helped me conserve a lot of energy and probably went a long way to ensuring that I got off to a relatively good start on my trip.

Knowing that I will have this assistance at the airports goes a long way to help me maintain peace of mind. However, I’m still anxious about the laundry list of things that need to be done before I even get there…

Chantal Kreviazuk – Leaving On A Jet Plane