When people hear the word cruise, they probably picture endless buffets, beautiful sunsets, amazing ports, and someone magically folding their towel into an elephant.
And yes, there was plenty of that.
But when you travel with a disability or chronic illness, cruising comes with a few extra passengers you definitely didn’t invite.
I recently took an Alaska cruise with my family, and before I ever boarded the ship, I knew one thing for certain:
MS was coming too.
But this time there was another new adventure waiting for me.
A mobility scooter.
Warning: Rookie Scooter Driver Coming Through
Before this cruise, I had never driven a mobility scooter.
How difficult could it possibly be?
Forward. Backward. Turn.
Piece of cake.
Apparently, I greatly overestimated my scooter-driving abilities.
I ran into walls.
More than once.
I may have run over a few toes.
Okay, I did run over a few toes.
There should probably have been a little flashing sign attached to my scooter:
CAUTION: ROOKIE DRIVER. PROTECT YOUR FEET.
Thankfully, I got better as the cruise went along. And that scooter gave me something incredibly valuable: the ability to get around that enormous ship and actually participate.
That was one of my biggest surprises.
The Ship Was Surprisingly Accessible
Before the cruise, I worried about how much I would actually be able to do.
Cruise ships are huge, and walking long distances with MS simply isn’t realistic for me anymore.
But with the scooter, getting around the ship and participating in different activities was surprisingly accessible.
I could go to dinner.
I could attend activities.
I could explore different areas of the ship.
That meant more to me than I can adequately explain.
Because when you live with a disability, sometimes you aren’t asking to do everything.
You just don’t want to be left out of everything.
Then We Arrived in Port
Driving my scooter around the ship eventually became manageable.
Then we got off the ship.
Picture four cruise ships arriving at the same port at approximately the same time.
Now add thousands of people.
Narrow sidewalks.
Shops.
Tour groups.
People stopping suddenly in front of you.
And one woman with MS who recently received her unofficial scooter driver’s license.
What could possibly go wrong?
Maneuvering through those crowds was probably one of the most difficult parts of the trip.
There were moments when I wasn’t sightseeing as much as I was trying desperately not to take out an entire family.
The scooter gave me freedom, but it also required patience, concentration, and a good sense of humor.
Fortunately, I had something even more important than the scooter.
I Had My Family
I could never have enjoyed this cruise the way I did without my family.
My husband is always there to help me, but on this trip I had my family surrounding me too.
They helped when I needed assistance.
They stayed close when things became difficult.
They helped me navigate crowds and unfamiliar places.
And because they were there, I was able to experience so much more of the cruise than I could have on my own.
There’s something humbling about needing help.
For someone who spent much of her life being independent, accepting that help hasn’t always been easy for me.
But this trip reminded me of something important:
Receiving help doesn’t take away my independence. Sometimes it’s exactly what allows me to experience it.
My family wasn’t taking the adventure away from me by helping.
They were making it possible for me to have the adventure.
Sometimes You Have to Travel Differently
There was a time when traveling meant simply packing a suitcase and going.
Now there is more planning.
More assistance.
And apparently, more apologies to strangers whose toes happen to wander into my path.
My life has changed.
MS has changed it.
But different doesn’t automatically mean worse.
I saw Alaska.
I laughed with my family.
I explored the ship.
I participated in activities.
I went into the ports.
I made memories with people I love.
And yes, I occasionally introduced a wall to the front end of my scooter.
But I was there.
That’s what matters.
I’m learning that living with MS isn’t about pretending I don’t have limitations. It’s about finding ways to live within those limitations without allowing them to become the boundaries of my entire life.
Sometimes that means using a walker.
Sometimes it means accepting someone’s hand.
And sometimes it means climbing aboard a mobility scooter for the first time and hoping everyone nearby is wearing sturdy shoes.
MS came on the cruise.
The scooter came too.
My family came alongside me.
Because this journey may look different than the one I once imagined, it’s still my journey.
And I’m still going to see where it takes me.
Preferably without running over anyone else’s toes.
Julie Payne
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