Antoinette takes her powered wheelchair for a trip across London. But will the journey be truly accessible? Read on to find out more.
I have just come back from a visit to my friend who lives south of London. When I did the same trip a year ago, I missed my connecting train because there just hadn’t been the time to cross London, so this year I decided to leave lots of time for the Underground between stations.
This worked really well on the way down. It was a very hot day and London was at its best, everyone was very relaxed and looked happy. It all connected smoothly. I needed to get from St Pancras to Vauxhall, which meant one Underground line directly between the two, and this time I found it easy to get on and off.
I sat outside King’s Cross for a while, soaking in the atmosphere. There was an (overpriced) food market outside the station, and people milling around. On arriving at Vauxhall, I again sat outside for a while, people watching.
Then I decided to get a coffee as that was what people all seemed to have, and it just seemed the right thing. So, when I went up in the lift I was carrying a coffee, and I realised too late that the lid wasn’t fixed on properly so it had dripped on my blouse.
As I have one hand on the wheelchair controls and had a backpack slung over the other arm, there is no other way to carry the coffee. Trying to have a sip spilled more down me. By the time I was on the platform and able to put the coffee down on a ledge, I was a hot sticky mess.
It wasn’t a portent of my weekend though, which was excellent, and I told my friend how clever I had been to allow a couple of hours of extra time during my journey, and that the secret to everything is to pace yourself and slow life down amongst all the chaos.
The weekend was over far too quickly, and it was time to take the train home. It had been so easy to travel to Vauxhall on the tube that it all seemed to be a smooth journey ahead. However, life doesn’t seem to want to be easy, and there was an announcement on the train telling us that due to signalling trouble, the train would not stop at Vauxhall but continue straight on to Waterloo Station.
The guard who had helped me on to the train came to tell me that the best thing for me would be to get off at Waterloo and double back to Vauxhall. I thanked him, but was thinking that I couldn’t be bothered to get another train back when I might as well just get the tube to St Pancras. Ha! Famous last words.
When I got off at Waterloo, I took it slowly – after all, there was no rush as I had an open return ticket. I sat for a moment thinking of my best route and realised that I couldn’t think straight. My brain was tired after the weekend.
So, I did what I don’t usually do and approached the information desk and asked for the best route. The man said I should change at Oxford Circus and directed me to a lift in the far corner to take me to the right platform. It didn’t sound right to me – I remember Oxford Circus being full of steps when I used to go through with a pushchair, but went over to the lift.
The next 45 minutes were spent being lost on the lower levels of Waterloo Station. There were so many corridors and entrances and a few different platforms. I found out that the train using that platform was completely the wrong one and then couldn’t find the lift again. I did find the ticket hall and asked someone who pointed me towards what was a dead end.
It just went on and on, getting worse and worse, until I saw an older woman who was working there and who directed me to the lift and told me I needed the Victoria Line and to change at Green Park. She said I had been right – there are steps at Oxford Circus. She also told me to go back up to the main station and take exit two, and that was the correct lift.
Back up on top, I thought I should find the toilets before crossing London. I approached them to find that the disabled toilets had some barricades across the doors. So no using them. OK, I would hold on until St Pancras. Thank goodness I wasn’t desperate. Then I saw exit two, nice and straightforward. The lift was right there - with a sign on it apologising for the inconvenience but the lift was out of order.
I think that it is easy to imagine how I felt then. Waterloo Station was like a huge nightmare of a warren with no escape. But then I remembered my big message of the weekend: slow down, pace myself. My ticket had a lot of extra time allowed. I could take any train home and I just had to take some deep breaths.
I went outside the station to get some air and saw a bus. The obvious solution! I googled and there is a bus directly to Euston, which is a stone’s throw from where I needed to go. I find buses a bit trickier because there isn’t the room to back into the wheelchair space as they ask, and I need more practice.
But, unlike my local buses, this one opened up the door in the middle and the ramp automatically came down so I just had to get on that way and didn’t have to navigate past the driver. Also, he was fine with me just being in the space and not backing against the backrest, the part that takes me forever.
I thanked my earlier self for my good advice: Remember to live life at a different pace now. Be that person standing still while the film speeds up the crowd of people all around them. We have to remove the pressure from our lives as, after all, we have the open return ticket and can take any train.
At diagnosis 17 years ago, I was given a handful of booklets by the MS Nurse, the most informative and intelligent of which were from the MS Trust. I have always turned to them for answers, and now find strong support in the lovely community on their Facebook groups.
