Travelogue 8/14 Pre-Flight

I had help. 

Thankfully 

After working a half day to clean up any unfinished work projects, namely my 2025 Statement of Duties (because nothing says procrastination like waiting eight months to write your goals for the year), I faced numerous errands and tasks, but so little time to do them. Especially since we would be leaving on our travel journey early the next morning. Honestly, I doubt if I could have pulled this trip off without some help. Fortunately, Mom’s trusty caregiver came to the rescue!

First stop was the bank. 

I don’t usually have a lot of cash on me, mostly because my wallet is on a strict no-cash diet. Sadly, I have very little willpower. Still, with the tipping economy we live in, I realized I’d better have a little on hand for airport assistance people and others. So, sixty dollars in small non-sequential bills later (why does this feel like I’m prepping for a ransom drop?), I strutted out of the bank. I made a beeline to the pharmacy to pick up a prescription for yours truly.

From there, feeling victorious in this never-ending game of “Errands Are My Life,” I stopped by our travel trailer to pick up Mom’s folding travel wheelchair. I drove confidently into the storage facility without even having to dig my purse for the code. Take THAT! Old lady brain! Sadly, my brief moment of triumph came to a screeching halt when I discovered that the keys to the trailer storage compartment were missing. Curses! 

Time to phone a friend! 

Preferably one with orangutan arms. Someone able to reach the latch from an adjacent storage compartment, own a toolkit that would make MacGyver weep, and of course, a suspiciously enthusiastic attitude toward recreational B&E (breaking and entering, but not in the “Go To Jail, Do Not Pass Go” kind of way. More the comical sitcom kind of way). I knew just the right person for the job!

Pulling out of the storage facility, I placed a call to Mom’s pharmacy to be sure her prescriptions were ready. 

Spoiler alert! They weren’t ready. 

Okay, time for a little impromptu mental gymnastics to reorder the running to-do list in my head, all the while thinking “I should write this down.” Did I? Of course, not. In true daredevil style, I chose to live dangerously and keep that list in my head: no backups, no safety net, just my diminishing brain capacity and a healthy dose of optimism.

Next up? 

Sam’s Club. The car needed gas, and if we had any hopes of getting to and from the airport, I needed to get gas now! Meanwhile, the cat, who adopted us and not the other way around, was on the brink of complete hunger meltdown, or was she really? She’s a cat and tends towards the most dramatic cat-like stravation meowing techniques I’ve ever seen. I’ve come to believe that the dog has been taking lessons from the cat when it comes to guilt-trip behavior. His standing next to the treat container, looking at me woefully, meant that the purchase of treats was in order, also.

Of course, in true warehouse shopping fashion, what began as a simple refueling, in and out for cat food and dog treats, spiraled out of control. Why? Because it turned out, the universe of Sam’s Club decided to tempt me with piles of summer clothes on clearance. Great for Mom and my wardrobes, could have been catastrophic for my bank account, but the prices were ridiculously low.

Purchases were made. My wallet felt a little lighter. I have no regrets.

By this point, lunch time had come and gone and was just a distant memory of a growling stomach. I was feeling a bit peckish. And, you know that old rule about never going grocery shopping when you’re hungry? Well, that ship had sailed. It left port at least an hour ago and crashed into the sharp rocks of bad food decisions. Since all the money-saving rules were blown out of the water by the impulse clearance clothes, I doubled down and tossed a family-sized container of low salt mixed nuts and a freakishly large bag of Cape Cod chips into the buggy. Why yes, protein and potatoes count as a balanced meal according to the gospel of “Hungry Me.”

Prove me wrong! 

No, don’t. 

My reality needs mixed nuts and potato chips. 

From there, I went to check on the home front. 

Our exceptional caregiver had done all the laundry, washed and made both beds, and cleaned the house, in addition to taking care of Mom. She is a miracle worker! I drank wine, ate chips and nuts, and packed our bags in my head. Head packing is a thing! 

As always with me, Mom came first. 

Because let’s be honest, if Mom isn’t happy, ain’t nobody happy. Step one was that all Mom’s meds were distributed to her pill containers, labelled morning, afternoon, and evening. Each was sealed in a ziptop bag, like the underqualified pharmaceutical elf I am. Why go to all this trouble, you may ask? Because if one of the pills decides to stage a prison break mid-trip, I don’t want to spend the rest of the trip picking heart meds out of the corners and creases of every piece of clothing and whatnots in our “just-in-case” bag. This genius insight comes from experience. Don’t ask.

Next up is my attempt at an interior designer/organizational guru with our nighttime routine. Pills are lined up neatly on the counter, pajamas and a fresh pair of Depends were sitting on her bed for bedtime like soldiers. For tomorrow’s early morning travel day start, I laid out the essentials: Depends (never not essential), adorable piano keys printed compression socks (because nothing screams my Mom like adorable socks), and shoes and clothes were placed on her bedroom chair for our early (relative since early for Mom is 9 am), 7 am departure from home time.

After all that, it was time for luggage logistics. This is where my special Tetris and package management skills really shine. I packed all necessary travel clothes into a travel bag, and the “just-in-case” spare clothes into another travel bag for carry-on. Because there is nothing like the smug glow of having spare clothes when fate or flight plans throws you a curveball. Finally, Mom’s most loyal companions, her pillow and beloved comfort blanket, were set aside, ready to bring her both coziness and emotional backup wherever we landed.

Dementia travel: A Delicate Balancing Act

The tricky thing about traveling with someone who has dementia is that you basically have to pack two suitcases: a virtual one full of patience and the physical one full of comfort items. The ultimate goal, of course, is to bring enough “home” with you so they don’t have a meltdown (also known by those of us that live with them daily as “the Sundown Special” (FYI, nothing is exciting or special about sundowning) but not so much that you need special moving equipment to get it all into the rental car or up to your hotel room.

For my Mom, we are not quite at the stage of needing a favorite stuffed animal to ride shotgun in her airplane seat, but far enough that she has some “must-haves.” From prior experience, I settled on her favorite blanket and pillow with her much-loved doggy printed flannel pillowcase. Seriously, who among us wouldn’t feel calmer with our favorite pillow covered in puppies?

I know from past travel that I can count on her sundowning by the third night of travel. This is a watch setting, no calendar reminding; count on it, a situation. But, all things considered, three days is a win. First night sundowning would end the trip before it began.

In the end, traveling with someone with dementia is just a juggling act. For me, it is all about balance, preparation, being flexible, and a dash of “let’s just give it a shot!” It is our “Princess and the Pea” form of travel, pack all her comforts, respect her abilities, keep her on schedule, and pray she doesn’t notice the pea in the mattress.

Seamless processes are a dream, not a reality. 

Seamless processes? Please! We are not talking fairy tales, rainbow unicorns, or calorie-free chocolate cake (Mmmm…. chocolate cake). While I may make this sound like a well-oiled machine, the truth is it’s a badly choreographed dance routine. Only, minus the sparkly dresses to draw attention away from my chaos.

The real heroes are behind the scenes doing the hard work, like our fabulous caregivers and friends. There’s Mom, who needs to have her food prepared and given to her, and a full water glass at the ready, and be reminded to drink it, because hydration is a group project. Coaxing Mom to take her meds, which she will tell you that she has already taken and doesn’t need anymore.

There is the never-ending stream of texts: one or six to the friend with long arms to finalize the time for a little encouraged B&E, another to our saint of a dog sitter, and let’s not forget the multiple calls to the pharmacy for my two-day safety zone of Mom’s med. Necessary? Maybe not because she has enough to get through the weekend, but for sure for my peace of mind. Call it OCD if you want, but I call it sanity survival.

Time to pack Mom’s checked bag. 

And by “bag” I mean the most enormous suitcase you can find at a retail store. If steamer trunks with wheels were a thing, and the airline wouldn’t charge me a fortune to check them, I would buy two. As it was, I was faced with getting everything into the biggest bag I had.

First into the bag: Mom’s four-wheeled rollator walker. This thing is rated as “off-road,” and while I had never needed that feature before, it would unknowingly prove invaluable on this trip. Now, getting this walker into the suitcase was a racing pit crew operation. Off came the handles, then the wheels, then I folded the seat section, said a small prayer to the luggage gods, and lo and behold, the whole thing slid perfectly into one side of the suitcase. It was like some sort of Tetris championship move, I definitely planned on purpose, and not sheer dumb luck, it turned out to be

Mom’s two-wheeled walker was for the flights; it folds to carry-on-sized, spry, steady, and after this trip, should get its own frequent flyer account. That baby is coming on all flights from now on!

The rest of the packing was simple: clothes in, blacket in, zipper up. I hoisted that big sucker into the trunk like the Hulk.

Missions accomplished! Bag packed and loaded! No injuries! 10/10 would recommend. 

My Sam’s Club impulse clothing purchases went into the washer to be washed, dried, and folded. Decisions had to be made on what to take and what to leave at home. My choice was to say, fuck it!, and take all of them. That is just what I did. 

My turn to pack my things. 

• Spare “just-in-case” clothes set to one side of the sofa with Mom’s = done 
• Medications sorted and put into ziptop bags = done 
• Toiletries into ziptop bags = done 
• Flight day clothes set out = done 
• Travel clothes packed = done 
• More wine and chips eaten = done 

Seven PM rolls around. 

It’s go-time. My friend with long arms is available (think human stretch Armstrong), and the pharmacy confirms Mom’s meds are ready for pick up.

I’m back in the car. This needs to be a fast and furious trip and not a fast and frenzied one. I let myself into the storage facility. It is not yet dark, so punching in the code doesn’t have that secret agent vibe I really need right about now, but the gate opens, so that’s good.

The first mission was to raid our storage unit. At this one-year mark in our storage journey, the unit has become less “organized archive” and more “archaeological dig site.” Somewhere at the back of the unit, past the jumble of boxes, on the top of the shelves, lives my small rolling carry-on. This carry-on is the holy grail of “just-in-case” stuff, emergency clothing, and medications (Pro tip: never put these in your checked bag unless you enjoy panicking at baggage claim). I realized that I had forgotten to get this luggage on my first trip to the storage unit. My Bad! 

Met my friend with long arms at the trailer situated a few storage unit rows over (some day I will have to talk about the waiting and negotiating I did to get the primo spot I have for the trailer), He of the long arms quickly proceeded to do a little approved B&E on my trailer. Mission accomplished! Folding wheelchair acquired!

Tally Ho! 

The friend with long arms is off to spend time with his wonderful and forgiving family (they let me borrow him, and I love them for that), and I make my way to the pharmacy.

Two medications and a couple of packages of travel disinfectant wipes later (because airplanes and hotel rooms are icky), and I’m on my way home.

Once there, I pop some tater tots and veggie chick’n patties into the air fryer for a late snack for Mom and me, served with a side of ranch and our nighttime medications. Nothing screams little old ladies more than tater tots and a side of meds!

I pack Mom’s folding wheelchair into its travel bag and pad it on either side with my clothes and Mom’s pillow. I’m checking this bag, so padding is essential. Crews are not forgiving when loading bags, even if they are marked. Out to the car it goes.

Just-in-Case, and Mary Poppins bags 

Last thing on tonight’s pre-sleep checklist: packing the “just-in-case” bag and my beloved Mary Poppins bag. 

The “Just-in-Case” bag

It is basically my insurance policy against airline shenanigans. Flight canceled? Random city layover? Checked luggage on its way to its own vacation in Cancun? Boom! Out comes the “just-in-case” bag. Inside is the usual survival kit: pajamas (because stranded exhaustion is one thing, but stranded exhaustion in the same clothes you wore on the plane is a whole other level of hell), meds, toiletries, and a spare outfit for Mom. I’m a turn my shirt inside-out kind of girl. Mom? Not so much)

My Mary Poppins bag

Now, my Mary Poppins bag? It is not just a bag. It is a lifestyle, and it has one job, and one job only: to make all travel hardships bearable. If you don’t have one of these, please stop whatever you are doing and run, don’t walk, to assemble your own. Trust me! You will thank me later.

This bag has been my constant travel companion for over ten years. It is tatty and dirty and has definitely seen some things (like that probable wine stain outside my Barcelona hotel room door that looked like someone had been bludgeoned to death). But it is magical. The kind of magical that makes people wonder how I can pull a snack, phone charger, scarf, novel, bandaid, a first aid kit, a corkscrew, salt and pepper, instant coffee, hand sanitizer, disinfectant wipes, Lysol spray, Tide spot removers, lotions and potions, even a tiny bottle of maple syrup, and an inexplicable roll of electrical tape out of it without breaking a sweat.

This bag isn’t just mine.

This bag has helped many a traveller other than myself. It is a full-service travel concierge. For instance, the flight from Washington, DC to Seattle, when two poor women were caught in the splash zone when the middle seat drunk man tossed his dinner all over them. What bag provides the wipes, bags, and air freshener? The Mary Poppins bag, of course! The flight attendants were so grateful that they started handing me first-class booze like I’d just saved the whole cabin from a zombie outbreak. Which, by the way, my Mary Poppins bag probably could.

Then there was the time that the child sitting in my row politely requested a straw for his drink. Did the flight crew have one? No! Did my Mary Poppins bag have one? Absolutely! And while we are talking about the wonders of my Mary Poppins bag, it even contains salt, pepper, and tiny packages of Parmesan to make airplane “food” taste less like cardboard and sadness.

How do you replace the irreplaceable?

I keep swearing that I need to replace it with a new bag. I’ve ordered others, same brand, same specs, same style, but every one I buy, I end up sending right back. None of them has the same vibe. They don’t have any personality. This bag has experience under its zippers. It has a soul. Unfortunately, all its potential replacements seem to be hiding under rocks or something, because everywhere I look, they’re out of stock. Even the bags on Amazon.com that might remotely work for me are unavailable. It’s a crying shame.

Bedtime 

At last, with every tummy full and every face and teeth more or less clean, our day comes to an end. Naturally, this means it’s time for the legendary and constantly repeated bedtime routine. A production so well rehearsed it deserves its own playbill. First, I put Mom to bed, with a hug, goodnight wishes, and a gentle tug of her covers. Next up is my routine, I march around the house to double-check the locks on the doors, windows, and, weirdly enough, the car.

Then comes the worst of this particular night’s routine. I adjust the alarm on my phone, shaving off a precious thirty minutes of sleep. Why? Because apparently, conquering the morning requires us to leave at 7:00 am, known in Mom’s dictionary as “the crack of doom.”

Having completed these duties, Murphy (dog, teddy bear, and trusty co-pilot extraordinaire) and I shuffle off to bed. He immediately transforms into a furry snuggly heating pad for my neck (not as comfortable for me as it might sound), while I drift off to sleep. I rest easy knowing that Mom is content, the doors are locked, the alarm is set, and Murphy has moved next to me as my doggy body pillow.

We are as ready to travel as we will ever be. It’s all good!

Test question: How many assistive devices did I pack for a long weekend?