Tripping to the top of the check-in queue, sliding past the python of security, freewheeling to a forklift to be hoisted up onto the plane; taking a flight is a whole new experience sat in a wheelchair.
This week I felt a little uneasy as I anticipated a day of journeying two thousand miles with a fractured foot. Hell, I needed to rest and jiggling a dicky limb in and out of several cars and a couple of boxes in the sky certainly didn’t shout fast track healing.
But, you know what, I spent a day indulging in love fuelled transfers, meeting compassionate airport attendants and enjoying an unravelling of secrets from travellers that spotted possible empathy in a physically compromised soul.
I know that skip across the ocean offered more healing than twenty four hours under a blanket with my leg above my nose.
There’s a whole world of kindness out there and stumbling into a cast, crutches and chair on wheels has been a surprising delight. I’ve been invited to sit, take stock and let in that torrent of love.
And as I slowly become more comfortable with my current clunky self, and those around me become more familiar with bringing me a coffee and putting on my socks, I’m meeting tolerance, patience and understanding. It might come about slowly, in both myself and others, but it comes.
And perhaps the best thing of all? I can enjoy the space of a disabled toilet, legally. Oh, yes there certainly is joy to be found in taking a seat.