Jet Travel as a Wheelchair User
Flying with my uncle
One of the most frequent questions I get as a disabled person—especially when I mention that I genuinely enjoy flying—is: “How is it physically possible for you to be on a plane as a wheelchair user?”
The short answer? It’s possible. The long answer? It’s complicated, uncomfortable, and often bruising.
Before I even get to the airport, there’s paperwork. Lots of it.
TSA Notification: Filling out TSA’s disability notification forms ahead of time helps ensure an agent will walk me through security. This makes the process smoother and less chaotic.
Airline Coordination: I notify the airline about my wheelchair’s dimensions, battery type, and any special handling instructions. This helps reduce the risk of damage or loss—but doesn’t eliminate it.
Once I’m through security and ready to board, I’m transferred into something called an aisle chair.
Imagine an equipment dolly with a seat and straps. That’s basically it.
It’s narrow enough to fit down the plane’s aisle, and I’m strapped in tightly—arms, legs, torso. If you deal with spasticity like I do, being told to “keep your limbs close to your body” often triggers the exact opposite reaction. I’ve received more than a few bruises during these transfers. The staff usually mean well, but the process isn’t designed for comfort—it’s designed for efficiency.
My wheelchair doesn’t come with me into the cabin. It’s stowed in the cargo hold, which means:
I’m separated from my primary mobility device for the entire flight
There’s a very real chance I won’t see it again for several minutes to several hours after landing
And yes—sometimes it gets lost entirely
I’ve talked before about the time my chair was lost at the airport. It’s not just inconvenient—it’s terrifying. Without it, I’m stranded.This is why, as much as I love to travel, I never do it without extensive planning:
I triple-confirm everything with the airline
I pack all my essentials into my carry-on
I mentally prepare for delays, bruises, and the possibility of having to advocate for myself at every step
Despite all of this, I still love flying. There’s something magical about being in the sky, watching the world shrink beneath you. And with my uncle being a pilot, aviation has always felt personal and exciting.
But I want people to understand: for wheelchair users, flying isn’t just about booking a ticket and showing up. It’s a logistical marathon. It’s physically demanding. And it’s emotionally taxing.
So the next time you see someone in an aisle chair or waiting for their mobility device at baggage claim, know that they’ve already navigated a journey far more complex than most.
Thanks for reading—and if you’ve had similar travel experiences, I’d love to hear your story. Let’s keep the conversation going and make the skies a little friendlier for everyone. ✈️💙
