The Admiral’s Club

As I came through the O’Hare airport yesterday on my way home from Tucson to Columbus, I heard the overhead announcement in the American Airlines terminal about the Admiral’s Club being available to members. They added that the Club is also open to all members of the U.S. Military. “Isn’t that great”, I thought, “That they honor the ones who have worked so hard and are likely on their way to unknown hardships and fright, or who are possibly on their way home from hardship and terrors: those who are especially fatigued and needy.”

And then I remembered the day that I was especially fatigued and needy and did not get the same warm welcome.

I can’t remember now which trip this was, but I remember that I was alone coming back from a business trip and exhausted beyond being fully functional, and having severe fibromyalgia pain. I had a 3-hour layover at O’Hare and I realized on the flight that I was not going to be able to endure the ruckus of O’Hare, and I could not face the long walk to my connecting gate. So, for the first time in my life, I asked for a particular kind of help that was unusually difficult for me.

At that time I had not faced my fears of “disability”. I had not made peace with that word, even. Still, I needed help, so I asked the flight attendant if I might have some assistance at the gate, a ride of some sort to my connecting gate. I was hoping for the cool golf-cart thing that speeds around. She made the call ahead, but when I ambled awkwardly and very stiffly off the plane, there was nothing there to take me anywhere. So I asked the attendant at the gate counter about it. She said, “You’re the one needing a wheelchair?” “Yes, I am the one.” “Oh, well they’re not here yet, you’ll have to wait, but they are on their way.” This said with a raising of the eyebrows and a rolling of the eyes. It was a very busy day at O’Hare and she no doubt had her hands full and probably thought, “Great, now I have this whiner on my hands and she looks to be perfectly fine. Some people!” You could see that all over her face. So now not only was I stiff, tired, and in pain, this woman was adding more to my discomfort by treating me disrespectfully. That was yet another reminder that most folks don’t understand that some other folks are in a limbo between “disabled” and “well”. It doesn’t seem to occur to them that there could be a category of people who can sometimes walk and sometimes cannot. And that you can’t tell these categories of people apart by looking at them, and that the same person can change categories from day to day or hour to hour.

So I waited and eventually a young man came with a wheelchair. He kindly helped me on board, although I was awkwardly bumping my feet on the flap things that hold the feet. He also chatted me up nicely as he rode me to my gate, and wished me well and hoped I would feel better. As we approached the gate and I realized the Admiral’s Club was just next door, I decided to disembark there and see if I could plead for a quiet place to rest there.

He let me off in the lobby of the Admiral’s Club and I asked at the counter if it would be possible for me, a non-member, to rest there, because I have fibromyalgia and was feeling very ill and massively fatigued. What did it cost to be a member? And could I maybe pay by the hour just this once? If they have room, could I use some space to lie down until a member might need it? Well, the membership cost was too high – more than I could consider since I would probably use it very seldom. And there was no cost per hour, but I could pay $50 for a trial day which would be applied to membership if I decided to join. For me, this meant that I would pay $50 for a few hours. I asked the woman if they could perhaps accommodate me like they would a person who is disabled. Did they have a place for people with disabilities that I could go? Or is this the place they would go? No, they did not have a place like that, and neither did O’Hare. This was it. She was being nice, but I could see she did not believe me, really, or was very skeptical. I mean, wouldn’t everybody like to cook up a story to get to use the Admiral’s Club? And she probably got characters coming in there all the time with crazy reasons they needed to be let in. It was her job to make sure only members got in.

So, with a big sigh and thinking I must be crazy, I paid the $50 and went in. I told myself it was the cost of being in the world with this disease and I just needed to get over it and get used to paying it. The alternative was to not “be in the world” and I didn’t care for that option.

People – 80% men, it seemed – were lounging in cushy chairs, checking email, reading, munching snacks and enjoying cocktails. There were no couches, but one area had upholstered cube sort of furniture, so I pushed three together, rolled my bag and coat together to make a pillow, hugged my purse to my chest and lay down on my side. I’m sure it was unusual, and a few people looked a little askance, but got over it quickly and I was past caring. I was hurting too badly to fall asleep, so there was no danger of that, but I did get some relief and did not have to endure the noise of the terminal, and for that I was very glad.

When it was time to go I sat up, packed up and went out, with wrinkles on my face from the coat. The woman at the counter nodded very kindly and sympathetically said, “I hope you are feeling better.” And I said I was, a little.
So today, when I heard the announcement about the Admiral’s Club, that all came back to me. I was glad that the military personnel were being taken care of by American Airlines. And I wondered, if possibly the next time a person with fibromyalgia wandered in exhausted and hurting and they had room to spare, they would get in. Maybe if enough of us keep asking, we’ll get in. Maybe, if we keep showing that we can look normal and not be, that we can hurt and not show it, those other people – the ones that don’t get it, will.