gave me directions to another hotel.”
“Let’s hope they have room for us.”
“Let’s hope.”
We pulled to a stop outside a hotel in an older section of the city. The good news was that they had vacancies.
“Thank goodness.”
But before I could get too excited, I realized they had only one elevator—a very small elevator. So, to end the day’s adventure, Jen, my personal assistant for that trip, had to prop me up against the wall, press the button for our floor, and charge up the stairs with the wheelchair so she could be there when the door opened.
“You really should get some sleep,” Jen said when we were settled in our room.
“I know, but I really want to get in touch with Mom and Dad and let them know what happened. I don’t want them going to the airport before they have to.”
I spent a couple of hours trying to get through until I was just too tired to even punch in the numbers.
We had to be up early so we could be back at the airport in time.
“This is not happening,” I said when I learned one of the boccia players had slept in and we would have to wait for her. I was more than ready to go home.
I thought back to our accommodations in Antwerp. Because there wasn’t an airport in Antwerp, we had to fly into Brussels. The facility we stayed in was actually an institution for the disabled and had strict policies. We were not allowed to make or receive phone calls, and the doors were locked precisely at 8:00 p.m. There weren’t even crash bars that would allow us to exit in case of emergency. My assistant had to crawl out the window—in her white pants, no less—in order to walk Lego, my service dog and constant companion. At least our experience in Belgium wasn’t so bad in comparison.
I felt Jen’s hand on my shoulder and heard her calling me back to the present. “Deb, Deb...you in there?” she asked.
“I was just thinking back over the trip.”
“Ready to get home?”
I nodded.
Thankfully, we got to the airport in time. In fact, we were escorted past other passengers and taken by elevator directly to our gate. That was when we were informed they would only take one disabled person per flight. The coach would have none of it.
When we arrived in Paris, they gave us a calling card so we could contact our families. I finally got through to Mom—at 4:00 in the morning. It was 10:00 a.m. local time.
“Mom, I’m sorry to wake you.”
“Is everything all right?”
“It is now, but we’re still in Paris.”
“What happened?” I could hear the concern in her voice.
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home. I just wanted to let you know. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Jen hung up the phone for me. “Tammy,” I said to a fellow boccia player, “you don’t have to call home.”
She shrugged. “Why?”
“Your dad and brother are sleeping at my parents’ house.” I laughed. “Seems they didn’t know what to do when we didn’t show up at the London airport, so they went to my house.”
Tammy and her mom looked at each other and laughed.
Paris really is a beautiful city, and we had five hours to kill. It would have helped if I’d kept some of my money. Thank goodness the airline picked up our restaurant tab. Although we didn’t get to see the city, customs did stamp our passport. I can at least say I’ve been there. By 3:00 that afternoon we were on our way home.
“Woohoo! We’re home.”
No one was happier than Lego. When you travel with a service dog, you need to get airport security to take you outside so the dog can go to the bathroom—once on the airplane, he must hold it. Therefore, he’s given very little to eat or drink. If he could’ve talked, I’m sure he would have asked me if we ever had to travel by plane again.
And the crate with my chair? Well, I was without the wheelchair—and the clothes Dan had packed with it—for the next week. The airline mistakenly sent the crate to Boston before forwarding it to London.
Runaway Wheelchair
Four months after I refereed at the National Games held in Vancouver, BC, in 1993, I had the privilege of travelling with Jen to Sheffield, England. I enjoyed refereeing there, but that wasn’t the most exciting part of the trip.
We had a day off during the competition, so Jen and I decided to take the train to Birmingham. I had been so impressed with the wheelchairs used by the British team that I wanted to touch base with the people who manufactured them. While we were there, I picked up some spare parts.
“That was a good day,” Jen said when we arrived back at the Sheffield train station.
I agreed.
We got situated on the platform, and Jen placed the box of spare parts on my lap. Everything would have been fine, except the train whistle blew and I jumped. The box of parts went flying.
“Here, let me pick those up,” Jen said. She got to work but forgot one important thing: to secure the brakes on my wheelchair.
I was screaming for help in my mind, but nothing came from my lips as I began to roll toward the moving train. I crashed into the side of the train with such force it bent my footrests. Angels must have been surrounding me that day. Even though my seatbelt wasn’t fastened, I stayed in the chair.
“Deb, I’m so sorry. How can I ever make it up to you? I can’t believe that happened.”
I was speechless during our ride back to the hotel. I’m sure I was in shock, but I was also contemplating just how good and gracious God had been.
Surgery and a Wedding
When I got home in February, I went to the doctor’s for a routine test.
“Deb, I have something to tell you.” The doctor pulled up a chair in front of me. “I suspect you have endometriosis, and I want to send you to a specialist next month.”
Endometriosis...really?
When I got the name and address of the specialist and the date I was to see her, I made all the necessary arrangements. After the examination, I went home to await the results. Because it’s difficult for me to get to the doctor’s, they usually give me the news over the phone. I was alone when the specialist’s office called.
“Miss Willows?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
“We’re
