When I became my 87-year-old mother’s full-time caregiver 18 months ago, I didn’t anticipate becoming an unlicensed expert in all things wheeled or unwheeled. But somewhere between late-night research, airport security lines, test driving and discarding (AKA: hiding them in my closet until I can donate them) rollator walkers, two-wheeled walkers, a variety of canes (oh, to be so optimistic in the beginning of my journey), and more than a few Amazon returns that tested my patience, I’ve logged more hands-on time researching mobility devices, from walkers, rollators, and wheelchairs than most medical equipment reps.

Truthfully, I didn’t give much credit to getting my PhD in Library Science, but that baby is finally paying off in a big way. Turns out, professional-grade research skills really come in very handy when you’re heading down a Google rabbit hole, filling multiple screens with rating websites, and creating spreadsheets with features, cost, and delivery data at 2 am. 

Moving safely through life

Mom, who lives with dementia and mobility challenges, still has her sass, quiet grace, and an unshakable preference for doing things her way, though sometimes she needs reminders of what her way is. Walking has become a serious challenge. She also tends to tip to the left when she stands or walks. I like to present this to her with a dash of humor, but we don’t want that tipping to go so far as to meet the furniture or the floor up close and personal, though. Falling and blood thinners DO NOT mix! I don’t want Mom to star in her own CIS crime scene.  Thankfully and carefully, she’s the perfect collaborator and occasional critic in my ongoing experiment to keep her moving safely and comfortably through life.

Problem solving

Our journey began at home, where the two-wheeled walker, standard issue at the rehab center and most retail establishments, seemed fine until we tried to navigate our 1980s hallway. It turns out that nothing built in that decade, especially doorways, was designed with mobility aids in mind. After several “now back it up just a little” and “scout a little to your right” moments, I discovered that taking the wheels off and turning them 180 degrees. So they faced each other like combatants, and putting them back on gave it a surprising aerodynamic advantage. Suddenly, it moved through the tightest interior spaces, with only Mom needing to reposition her hands slightly to avoid scraped knuckles, proof that DIY problem-solving and a little spatial awareness go a long way in modern caregiving.

Seamless or not-so-seamless travel

For travel, though, we needed something sleeker, lighter, and capable of folding in the time it takes a gate agent to sigh. Enter the folding rollator, the Swiss Army knife of mobility devices. It became our go-to for airports, hotels, and restaurants. Many a gate agent and flight attendant has remarked on how this thing “won’t fit” through the narrow aisle and “it will need to be gate checked.” Oh contraire! This thing collapses in the middle and narrows to the slenderest of aircraft aisles, and after she is seated, it folds small enough to fit in the overhead bin or closet. I’ve refined my one-handed collapsing technique to an Olympic level, while flight attendants, passengers, and some pilots have marveled. I am not ashamed to say that I relish the moment, however small, when I prove them wrong. 

S.O.S

Additionally, while Mom enjoys the airline’s wheelchair assistance, I enjoy dumping all the carry-on gear one needs during a flight onto the rollator. Furthermore, when the gate assistants need to rush off to help another passenger, Mom and I have developed our own wagon train system to get around when the gate changes or when we need to find some food. Whereby, I push her in the wheelchair, and she holds onto the rollator.

We are a spectacle and a marvel all at once. Watching her comfortably, calmly, and without stress amid the chaos of boarding and offboarding gives me immense satisfaction. While traveling with Mom is and will always be difficult, I think we have cracked the code of dignified travel.

Slick ride

But for those cobblestone sidewalks of small towns, hotels with long walks to the dining room or lobby, or for a bit of sightseeing, her lightweight folding wheelchair completes our lineup. It fits easily in the car, unfolds faster than I can say “Where’s the valet?” and lets us go anywhere without worrying about exhaustion or pain.

There be frustrations ahead

I’m on the hunt now for a hard-sided suitcase that this pretty little princess will fit in. The last trip in the underbelly of a silver flying beast saw the break of an armrest. I only wish flight crews would recognize wheelchairs for what they truly are, a vital, irreplaceable lifeline. Every wheelchair should be treated with the same care and respect reserved for something priceless, because that’s what it is. It’s not just another piece of luggage to toss into the cargo hold; for many people, it’s the only means they have to move freely, to live independently, to be whole.

The process wasn’t pretty

It took nearly a year and a half of trial, error, and more than one comically failed experiment (the “all-terrain” rollator that handled gravel about as well as high heels, for example, and don’t get me started on our RV camping experience). Still, I’ve finally found our rhythm: the house walker for tight indoor spaces, the folding rollator for travel, and the compact wheelchair for distance and rough ground. Together, they’ve become what I call The Mobility Trifecta. Granted, this will all change as Mom’s needs shift, but that is a post for another time. 

Engagement in life: Priceless

This process taught me more than the mechanics of devices; it reshaped how I think about caregiving. Every “assistive” tool we add isn’t just equipment; it’s an extension of Mom’s independence, personality, and engagement in everyday life. And while there’s no one-size-fits-all solution, the right combination gives her dignity, comfort, and the chance to keep exploring the world with me, one carefully chosen wheel at a time.