andrew mitchell

For a while, Emma and I have been strictly cabin-baggage travellers, skipping the check-in desk and keeping our bags with us at all times. Of course, that meant packing light. We even managed our last trip to Japan with just two small bags in the overhead bins. With a bit of effort, we could have launched one of those incredibly smug YouTube channels teaching people how to optimise their luggage, as if it’s hard. But all of that changed once disability entered the picture.

Disabled passengers have it rough when it comes to travel. The things they need to simply live a normal life have to be prioritised, while the “nice-to-haves”, like holiday clothes and accessories people rush out to buy, fall by the wayside. There’s no night-before packing here. Disabled travellers have to get their shit together weeks in advance. Right now, we’re already battling a headache trying to source stoma supplies, thanks to the ridiculously convoluted way they have to be ordered.

Thankfully, some help does exist. Airlines offer Special Assistance Services for disabled passengers, which can include priority boarding and permission to bring an extra bag of essential medical supplies. If you remember “CushionGate” from earlier this year, you’ll know Emma requires her very specific (and very spenny) Valley Cushion for post-operative sitting. That had to be pre-approved by Ryanair for our trip. just as it has to be approved for every gig or show we attend.

As an Ostomate, Emma needs ready access to stoma bags, scissors, dry wipes, adhesive remover spray and cleaning products. There's even been a huge chew on getting her supplies in time. Instead of sending out her monthly supplies a whole week early, as that would require ANOTHER PRESCRIPTION, they actually suggested we call 101 to request some additional supplies. Lads, there's 200,000 people with a stoma! It really shouldn't be this hard.

On top of that, her surgery recovery requires an entire kit of medical supplies: dressings, sterile water, silver-infused gauze, sterile gloves, surgical tape, antibacterial hand sanitizer, incontinence pads, and spare clothes in case of leaks.

Then there’s the super-specialist travel insurance. That means submitting every last detail of Emma’s treatments, dates, medications, and surgical notes. We need prescription documents for her medication; Oral Morphine, Gabapentin, anti-sickness meds, anti-diarrhoeals, plus an itemised doctor’s letter for each one. Add to that a stamped letter explaining her hidden disability and a paper trail for every single thing we carry.

And that’s before we even mention the admin ball-ache of medical cannabis oil. For this, we needed another signed travel letter from her clinic, another prescription, and written approval from the Italian Consulate, despite cannabis already being decriminalised there. I’m nervous about leaving it behind, because medical cannabis has been a complete game-changer for Emma’s pain, healing, anxiety and sleep. If you know someone going through a cancer journey, I urge you to look into it. Drop me a line, I'll extol the virtues of it all day long.

All of this is before we even start the “normal” holiday packing. Just with far less space. It’s a lot. It’s draining. It’s stressful. Have we thought of everything? Do we have enough supplies? Do we have all the emergency numbers?

This is all for a three day trip that is giving heavy summiting Everest vibes. To quote Jack Donaghy: “I need a vacation, from this vacation.”

Still, if we make it through with everything intact, and aren't grilled by airport staff, we’ll be sharing some snaps of spitzes, town squares and delicious food. Because after the last sixteen months, Emma more than deserves for this little trip to be absolutely lush.