If this is Tuesday, this must be Disneyland.
I don't recommend going to Disneyland for only one day, unless you've been there a gazillion times and are an annual pass holder. There is just way too much to see and do and experience to try and fit it all into even a long summer day, let alone an abbreviated winter Tuesday with a late start. But since when do I do things the right way?
Actually, I had my reasons. I picked a Tuesday because that's the least busy day of the week, and this particular week was the last before the kids got out of school for the winter break. Even so, the park certainly wasn't deserted. And the late start was necessary because I started the day in San Francisco.
I limited it to one day because I wasn't going alone -- I was taking Dad.
As anyone who's ever taken kids to Disneyland knows, you spend your days doing what they want to do, not what you want to do. (In fact, your whole life should be like that, if you have kids -- if not, you shouldn't have them.) And so it is with someone with as many ongoing challenges as my Dad has.
Since this was the first time we were travelling any great distance since his last stroke, I didn't want to add the complexity of an overnight stay to the equation. As it was, I downloaded and set up a project management application for my Visor to keep on top of the whole thing. (Yes, I'll use (am using) the program for other projects, but Disneyland was the task that got me to actually find, download, and install the program.)
Some of the issues I faced were getting Dad a new ID card (the Witch let him lose his wallet a while back), making the travel arrangements, arranging for an aide to assist us in the park, and planning the supplies we would need for the trip. The software really did help to make sure I didn't forget anything. (All I forgot to bring was the cup holder that clips onto his chair.)
I learned a lot about travelling with someone in a wheelchair. First off, if they can't walk at all, make sure you ask for an aisle chair when checking in at the airport gate. Your full-sized chair won't fit down the aisle of the plane, so you'll have to transfer to a special chair at the door of the plane. Your chair will then be taken below and stored in the belly of the plane.
Also, do everything you can to make sure you get an aisle seat or you will have to transfer across seats. Not all of the rows have armrests that lift up out of the way. You'll also have to get up and over the fixed armrest next to the aisle -- the airlines really should make at least one row with removeable armrests on the aisle.
Airline personnel tend to be extremely helpful, and extraordinarily patient -- it seems that every time I fly, I have some sort of issue, whether it's having travelmates board the plane with my tickets or showing up with a nearly 50-year-old state of California usher's license as the only form of identification -- the best we could do when Dad's new license didn't arrive in time.
Super Shuttle isn't all it's cracked up to be. I'll be very glad when BART finally makes it to SFO. When we were picked up in the morning at the Jewish Home, the guy seemed to know what he was doing in securing the wheelchair, so I didn't say anything about the fact that they were woefully inadequate for the task. When we were ready to leave, the wheelchair ramp wouldn't retract, so the driver had to fold it up manually.
The trip back, however, was much worse. We arrived early, and so we called Super Shuttle to see if we could change our reservation to be earlier. On the phone, we were told it would be no problem, and that the accessible van would arrive in about 10 minutes. It didn't. The guy on the platform kept telling us it would be 5-10 minutes, and each time it wasn't. Eventually, the van showed up, only about 20 minutes after our original reservation.
This driver had never driven the A-van before, and had no clue how to secure a wheelchair. Further, even though there were straps to secure the chair, there were none to secure my Dad. I finally was able to cobble something together that was probably better than nothing, but that compromised the validity of the system securing the chair itself. This made me wonder how the morning driver had secured my Dad in the chair -- I'm not sure he did.
Once we were in the van and about to move out, I asked the driver what the fare was, having forgotten the exact amount. He quoted me $50 for a chartered van. Of course I balked. He contacted his dispatcher and indeed it was supposed to be $22.50 -- I had been told it was $45 for both ways.
We did make it back to the Jewish Home safely. Rachel was worried about the plane crashing, but I guarantee that the most dangerous part of the trip was the Super Shuttle run to and from SFO. It was also a waste of time and money -- I'm sure I could have driven to the airport, left the car for the day, and gotten Dad there much safer, quicker, and cheaper.
After checking in at the gate, in the morning, Dad and I wandered off to find some breakfast. We found an overpriced little place called the Crab Pot which offered omelettes. Dad had a shrimp and smoked salmon omelette while I had one with crab. Of course, Dad didn't finish before we had to head back to the gate, so the waitress packed it up for him. He didn't want to eat it on the plane, and danged if he didn't drag that omelette around Disneyland for half the day!
We got back to the gate to find that the flight attendants were expecting him to walk onto the plane. I would have loved that, but I didn't think it was going to happen. So we had to wait for an aisle chair to show up. I took the opportunity to run over to Starbucks for a mocha; Dad had his coffee from breakfast. By the time I got back, the aisle chair had arrived and we started down the jetway.
It wasn't too bad, getting on the plane, though I did manage to spill his coffee. I realized the one thing we forgot that I had meant to bring was the cup holder that clips onto his chair. At the end of the jetway, we transferred to the aisle chair and boarded the plane. From there we had to transfer to his seat, which was, luckily, the aisle seat in the first row behind first class. Actually, we had the same seat (on the other side of the aisle) on the way back as well. The only suggestion I have would be to make the aisle side armrests in that row lift up so you can just slide across, instead of having to lift up and over.
Once we arrived in L.A., we headed out to catch the Super Shuttle to the park. Down south, however, Super Shuttle doesn't operate its own wheelchair vans. Instead, they contract with a company that provides only accessible transportation. This was much safer, and much more pleasant.
Super Shuttle couldn't handle a request to drop us at the park, so we were scheduled to be delivered to one of the Disneyland hotels. I explained what we were up to to the driver, and asked if perhaps he could drop us at the park. He said sure, and went us one better. After checking to see if he would be picking us up that evening (he was), he told us he would pick us up at the park entrance as well. That was great, since it meant we wouldn't have to waste any time rushing to the hotel to meet the van.
We wandered over towards the park entrance, and were met by a couple of women. They turned out to be Debbie, the aide we had hired and Elizabeth, the woman that runs Home Helpers. We made the introductions and I left Dad with Debbie while I went to purchase the tickets.
I had stopped in at the Disney Store in Palo Alto, intending to purchase the tickets, but when I inquired about a senior discount, the clerk said there was one, that it was only available at the park, and she didn't know how much a senior ticket was. I chose poorly and decided to wait and see how much less the senior ticket was. I checked the web page and found that it was only $2 less -- a pittance, compared to the rest of the trip. Alas, I didn't have enough time after that to get tickets locally.
So I stood in line at Disneyland. Or, more correctly, outside of Disneyland. I spent over half an hour waiting in line to buy tickets -- time we could have been inside the park enjoying ourselves. They really ought to either have more tellers open or offer more of an incentive to buy tickets in advance. At the very least, they need to make their store clerks more aware of ticket prices.
Elizabeth stayed with me while I waited, and we had a nice chat. She's a nice lady, and enjoys her work. We chatted about my Dad, her business, my business, and so on.
Once I had the tickets in my hot little hand, we said goodbye to Elizabeth and headed into the park. I have to admit, I was excited. We started off by heading to ToonTown to get Dad's picture taken. We entered Mickey's house and made our way through to where people were waiting for their turn. I suggested that Debbie stay with Dad by the accessible entrance while I waited in line. Before I got very far, however, the castmember came out, spotted Dad, and brought him up to the door to go in next.
I hopped over the barrier to join them, and we went in. The idea is that you bring your kids in to get their picture taken with Mickey Mouse and it turns out to be so cute and adorable that you pony up a ridiculous amount for the picture that the Disney photographer takes. Unfortunately, the official photographer's camera was not working, so he couldn't take a picture.
Luckily, Disney is not pure greed, so you're allowed to bring your own camera with which to take pictures. So I pulled out the Mavica and snapped a couple of pictures. One of them, of Mickey and Dad, actually came out extremely well. The plan had been to purchase several of the overpriced prints, put them in frames, and give them to the putzes as holiday gifts. Instead, I printed several copies of the photo I took on a color laser, cropped them, put them in frames, and wrapped 'em up.
Of course, they'll probably sit there in Dad's room for quite some time, reminding Dad that his children can't be bothered to visit, but maybe when they do pick them up, the pictures will remind them that he's still around.
After Mickey's house, we went outside and Dad wanted to ride the Jolly Trolley. It, of course, is not accessible, but it's pretty easy to get onto -- it's a simple lift and turn. We left the chair there and got a round trip through ToonTown -- everyone else were only allowed to ride one-way. At the other end, Debbie hopped off and took Dad and my picture on the Jolly Trolley. That one, too, came out really well, so I printed it, put it in a nice frame, and wrapped it up for Dad.
On the way out of ToonTown, we stopped at Small World. That was trickier than the Jolly Trolley -- we had to lift him out and down, into the boat. Of course, it wasn't until after we got back that one of Rachel's friends mentioned that there is apparently a wheelchair accessible boat, where you simply roll the chair onto the boat. At least, the little metal fences you stand between while waiting to board are removeable, so we had room to pull the chair in and lift him up. We were also able to go out the same side afterwards. This made it easier than the Pirates of the Caribbean, which did not have removeable fences, and had to be exited on the opposite side.
Small World was decorated for the holidays, and I could tell that Dad was enjoying it immensely. Debbie, too, was enjoying herself -- She hadn't been to the park in quite a while. I was enjoying Dad's enjoyment far more than anything in the park.
We wandered around a lot, just enjoying the atmosphere. I learned a lot about the park that day. For example, pants are hard to find in the stores there, even in Main Street. There is also a large first aid station -- almost a small hospital -- with about a dozen beds, plus a couple of examining rooms and several private rooms with a bed, toilet, and sink.
They also have a new set up for lockers in Main Street. They cost $3.00, but you get them all day and you can get in and out of them as often as you want. It's a pretty spiffy system, and very handy. If you plan to be there all day, bring your coats in the morning and stash them until it gets cool in the evening.
We had lunch in Critter Country and watched the boats go by on the Rivers of America. We saw the Country Bear Jamboree, which was featuring the holiday concert. We also got to see the Enchanted Tiki Room.
Dad's favorite ride, however, is the Pirates of the Caribbean. The line was short, and we were escorted to the second set of loading stations. The rest of the guests used the first set, and we got a boat to ourselves. We brought Dad's chair as close to the edge of the boat as we could, but it was difficult since the wooden railings used to queue people for the various rows in the boat were not removeable. Debbie and I lifted him up and he actually took a couple of steps into the boat. Mostly, though, we carried him.
Once he was in the boat, we had to carry his chair to the other side to await our return. Then we got seated next to him, and we were off. I was a bit worried about the drops that the ride starts out with, but we made it down them without incident. Sometimes it's hard to tell with him, but I think Dad really enjoyed it, enogh to make it worth the manhandling it took to get him in and out of the boat.
At the end of the ride, we had to carry him across the boat to the opposite side and lift him up into his chair. I kinda wish I had thought to suggest staying in the boat for another ride. Nonetheless, we got him out. I'm not sure there is any way to make this ride more accessible, but if would be great if they could. (And, if any one could, it would be Disney.)
The highlight of the trip, in my opinion, was the fireworks. We headed to Main Street for the Christmas parade, which Dad enjoyed, then stuck around for the fireworks.
When I was there a few weeks earlier, my biggest disappointment was that Dad wasn't there to see the fireworks and experience the snow. That night, he got to see both, from one of the best vantage points in the park. I have to admit that during the Fireworks, as I crouched behind his chair and hugged him from behind, my eyes got a bit wet.
A couple of times, people came by and stood right in front of Dad, and I had to go up and tell them to move. Towards the end, a japanese woman holding a baby standing to our right went up to someone in front of us and told them to move. After it was over, and the snowfall was coming to an end, she leaned over to me and told me to "Enjoy your father while you can; I lost mine two years ago."
She was right of course, and that's what the whole trip was about. You can bet it won't be our last.
On the way back, I expected Dad to fall asleep in the van, or certainly on the plane. Surprisingly, he did neither. We had the same driver on the way back to the airport, and he did in fact meet us as close as a non-emergency vehicle could get to the front gate. We had an enjoyable ride and got to the airport with some time to spare. We checked in at the gate, and then went off to find some supper. We got a couple of gourmet airport pizzas (if that isn't an oxymoron, I don't know what is!) and got ready to board the plane.
We were again in the foremost row behind the first class section, and we had it all to ourselves. Dad sat on the aisle, I sat by the window, and we put the pizzas between us. Another innovation the airlines ought to consider is movie-theatre-style cup holders in the arm rests; this would have made our lives much simpler all around. Dad ate most of his pizza, as did I. We settled in for the ride back, and Dad decided to read the airline magazines.
After that, it was pretty uneventful, other than the Super Shuttle fiasco. A friend pointed out that for two people, a taxi is just about the same price, and there certainly are accessible taxis. Next time, we'll know better.
Dad was awake all the way back the Jewish Home; a little adrenaline can do wonders, I think. All in all, he had a great time, and is ready to go back. Having learned a lot on this trip, I think the next one could indeed be an overnighter. That will be a learning experience as well, but I'll be able to build on the lessons of this adventure.
Yes, it was a lot of work, and a lot of money. But it was worth every drop of sweat, and every last cent.