It's 12.40pm and I'm in the back of a car outside Sydney airport. My wheelchair — affectionately named Wanda — is on the footpath,but I resist sinking into her comforting arms.
"You'll just have to get out and stay here on the footpath,"the driver says. I'm completely bewildered. The car hire company gave an assurance the driver would wheel me inside the terminal to find a Virgin Australia staffer. Virgin had further promised a'push'to the gate lounge,where Wanda would be safely stowed in the luggage hold.
Yet here I sit,like a piece of carrion by the side of the road. The analogy is apt:Long COVID is akin to a living death. After contracting COVID-19 in January,I've spent the past 10 months managing a'dynamic disability'. It's estimatedhundreds of thousands of Australians could suffer long COVID and may experience overwhelming fatigue,struggling with daily tasks including feeding,dressing,and walking.
It's commonly thought that the tourism industry has made leaps and bounds in recent years,catering to people with mobility issues. After all,this is a demographic necessity in a world with rapidly ageing population. More than a decade ago,Jetstar was forced to apologise to wheelchair marathon champion Kurt Fearnley,who crawled through Brisbane Airport instead of using an unsuitable airline chair. This prompted the Human Rights Commission to look into Jetstar's disability policy.
In 2022,ourAustralian of the Year is a disability advocate. Hotels offer wheelchair accessible rooms,and tourist attractions boast entrance and exit ramps. Heck,I'm writing this article in a room at the Voco hotel in Brisbane,which has a wheelchair-friendly shower. But there's a glaring lacuna in the'grey zone'between the kerb and terminal at this country's busiest airport.
I explain to the driver that his manager guaranteed assistance with my wheelchair and luggage over this 20-metre distance. He steadfastly refuses,stating the risk of a fine for leaving his vehicle. In desperation,I ask whether he can request an exemption from one of the high vis-clad inspectors. Instead,his manager calls and orders me to get out of the car.
Madly dialling Virgin,I begin to panic about missing my 2pm flight. Dad worked as a reservation clerk for 35 years at Ansett. Our family has a pathological obsession with arriving at the airport early,so as not to cause inconvenience. A strange calm comes over me,as I stumble upon a solution. Turning to the driver I say,"Well,you're going to have to drive around all day with me,because I'm not budging". Call it passive resistance. Ten minutes later he relents,wheeling me inside.
The Virgin staffer is compassionate,saying staff are told not to leave the terminal,presumably due to safety concerns. We discuss the challenges for a person travelling on their own,moving a manual wheelchair while dragging two bags.
"I'd like to help other people with disabilities to navigate this system,"I say."What should people do to get help?"