On Travel

A handful of months after receiving my MS diagnosis in 2014, I boarded an international flight that deposited me in Istanbul, Turkey to join my parents for a week in the Eurasian metropolis. Because of my dad’s work in global academia, I had the good fortune of travelling throughout my adolescence, but this was my first time tackling international travel alone - and my first time flying solo with a brain disease. 

An MRI from the month prior to the trip showed active lesions in my brain and spinal cord, evidence of my second relapse since the disease first flared earlier in the year, but the neurologist that I was seeing at the time prescribed oral steroids and assured me that I was good to travel. As zings of electricity shot up my legs, I limped my way through security and boarding, through connections and foreign layovers, navigating the chaotic airport congestion, those swarms of tired, harried passengers rushing to their gates, oblivious of the people around them. I quickly learned that the whirlwind of activity and the constant need for hyper-awareness in such an ever changing environment was a heavy taxation on my energy resources. 

As my parents waited for me to come into view at the Istanbul airport, they were met with a fatigued and cringing daughter exiting customs. Worry spiked in my mother’s heart. She observed my unbalanced gait, the poorly masked wince that accompanied my painful footfall. My senses were flooded with new sights, sounds, and smells, but the Mediterranean climate also delivered a muggy malaise as the humidity elevated my MS symptoms. Upon arriving at the hotel, I took a long nap, regenerating stamina for the rest of the day. I had never been a napper before, but I found it necessary to rest each afternoon on this trip in order to make it through the remaining daylight.

One morning, we rose in time to catch a river cruise up the Bosphorus strait, alighting on the Asian side of the waterway for a few hours of self-led exploring. The tour guide recommended walking up the hillside to view the ruins of an old castle, a remnant from the territory’s Byzantine past. All three of us were interested, but my parents weren’t shy in ensuring that I was up for the task. I was outwardly adamant that I could handle the trek, even if I held the same trepidatious concerns as them internally. The mild walk, which may have only been a kilometer in actuality, felt like an arduous half-marathon. Arriving at the stony relic was worth it, a feat that filled me with pride and awe, but it was also the first time that I felt truly limited by multiple sclerosis, a fact that filtered the entire experience with bitter sadness. 

On boat and bus, on taxi, funicular, and foot, my parents and I made our way throughout the former Constantinople in adventurous, eye-opening wonder. Our minds expanded as we learned about the storied culture and history of Istanbul’s people, as well as through a glimpsing of what was to come in my personal MS journey. 

At the end of the week, my parents sent me homeward bound, once again flying alone while they stayed behind for a stint in London, holding a parental concern greater than they had known it could be. My dad later recalled that, had he realized how impinging my state of health had become, he wouldn’t have been in favor of me traveling alone. But at that point in time, he had no choice. I had to get home somehow.

In the months that followed, the disease got much worse, much faster. Soon, the question wasn’t whether or not I could travel by myself, but whether or not I could travel at all. With time and medical advancements, I journeyed through the worst of what multiple sclerosis had in store for me, but the aftereffects were long lasting. Car rides as a passenger resulted in migraines, vertigo, and the unpleasant sensation of a bile-like secretion below my tongue. It would be years before I regained the stamina to safely operate a vehicle on longer stretches of highway. Road trips were insurmountable, resulting in a conflicted choice between pricier airfare or travel abstinence.

This is a new normal to which I have grown accustomed, but it has been an adjustment all the same. Trip planning necessitates one-to-two days on each end of travel to allow time for rest and recuperation. Airports take a heavy toll, as does walking long distances in warmer climates. Not willing to test out international travel, I let my passport status lapse, instead traveling vicariously through the stories relayed by jet-setting friends and family. I thought I had made my peace with such a home-tethered lifestyle, but I’ve come to realize that I’m hungry for more. 

I do not know how I will fare. I do not yet know where my travels will take me. But a new passport application is in review. And I know that I will relish whatever traveling explorations await me in the future.