Pretty wheelchair girl

I very recently got back from the best and most glorious vacation I’ve ever been on. I left Alaska with three of my closest friends. We landed in the hot Las Vegas desert, picked up a big beefy truck and a toy hauler camper, which accommodated my power wheelchair, and set off for Rachel, Nevada… A.k.a. Area 51. We spent two nights at the adorable and hokey Little A’le’ Inn amongst other tourists making the same pilgrimage for the same reasons: Aliens. Rachel, Nevada hosts several other hokey little alien tourist traps like the Alien Cowpoke gas station, and a little shop a few miles up the road from there that sells the famous alien jerky. Inside they have a robot fortunetelling Donald Trump alien… I dare you to find that anywhere else in the world.

Next we drove through the Valley of Fire and I watched my friends play like children on and around the appropriately named fiery red rocks. My friend Lorenzo was raised in Jamaica and always believed that the desert was nothing but death and hopelessness… watching his joy and elation (and on his birthday no less) while romping around this gorgeous desert was an absolute treasure. He’s actually not an American citizen and is considered a legal “alien.” We definitely didn’t make enough jokes about that in Area 51…

Later that evening we settled at a fancy RV park in Lake Mead surrounded by what my sister-in-law Gemma calls “land yachts.” Row after row of enormous fifth wheel motor homes and campers. Our truck and little toy hauler stuck out as much as we did… four colorful 30 somethings that look very different than the typical traveling retirees that traditionally occupy these sites. We spent the evening under the stars, next to a campfire, hopeful that each blinking light in the sky from air traffic was anything other than an airplane.

The following morning my companions spent tidying and packing up our tiny land yacht while I rolled around exploring in the 95° weather. This particular RV park was speckled with little mobile homes that look like they were brand new in 1965. Lake Mead itself is a bit of a time capsule… one can clearly see how full the lake used to be, and what was once prime, breezy, lakeside camping, is now 200 feet of dusty, overgrown snarls before one can even reach the lake. Just google pictures of Lake Mead… it’s pretty sad. Fortunately, by mid afternoon, we had our truck and camper returned and were checked into our hotel rooms at Harrah’s, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the strip of Las Vegas. We spent the evening bumbling around the strip drinking vodka and playing craps.

And finally it was Saturday which marked the purpose for the entire trip… Sick New World! I got tickets for this music festival all the way back in November when it was first announced that the headliners would be Incubus, Deftones, Korn and System of a Down. Incubus and System of a Down are my two favorite bands and I just I knew I had to make this happen. So I called on my best bitchachos, Sarah and Gemma, and the plan was formulated. I got us general admission passes, because who needs VIP, right? I emailed waaay ahead of time to ask about accommodations to make sure I could have the best all day experience. There were strict stipulations on the size and color of the bag you could bring in, which wasn’t going to work for the supplies that I need in order to pee, change if necessary and stay hydrated. Plus, I really wanted to know about ADA viewing and what that would look like and how to navigate it. I received an email back, accommodation for a larger backpack accepted, and some direction on the accessible viewing stations and who could come in with me. I felt super prepared.

Concert day was too hot, honestly. Most of the day was fucking miserable. It was so hot I couldn’t wear shoes and there was almost nowhere to get shade because all of the shaded areas were full of other miserable people. There were so many people all around that getting anywhere near a stage where music was playing was completely impossible. I watched Chevelle from what seemed like a quarter-mile away… quite underwhelming. The ADA viewing stations were nowhere in sight and maneuvering through the crowd to find a staff member was not feasible. I was feeling pretty disappointed as the headliners were gearing up to take stage, which I was even farther from at that point since the crowds really started swelling towards the end of the day. I planted myself as close as I could possibly get with an unobstructed view of one of the enormous screens that displays activity on the stage and buzzed with excitement for Incubus. I know literally every song on every album front and back, so no matter what they were about to play I was going to scream along. They kicked off their set with “Privilege” which is the opening song from their iconic album ”Make Yourself” which is a typical fan favorite and has most of their radio hits… I was absolutely losing my shit and screaming along every word smiling ear to ear. It was glorious even from that distance.

While I was in another world headbanging and singing and using every working muscle in my body, I was being observed by a benevolent onlooker. He leaned over and said something to Gemma and suddenly she was staring at me with wide eyes and a dropped jaw: she was holding two VIP passes. He had noticed my discomfort amongst the masses and offered a reprieve… wide open spaces and a whole football field fucking closer to the stage! Gemma and I gleefully entered VIP during ”Nice to Know You” the third song of their set. I sang the words “I haven’t felt the way I feel today in so long it’s hard for me to specify” with tears of pure wholesome joy in my eyes. It was not the first time I would be moved to tears during their performance. It was fucking perfect.

As I moved through the wide open spaces of the VIP Area, suddenly it appeared to me… the ADA viewing area! It was tucked away in front of VIP this whole time. No wonder I couldn’t find it… couldn’t get close enough! However, when we asked to get through I was denied access because I didn’t have a fucking blue ADA wristband, which apparently they were supposed to give me at the entrance to the festival. There was absolutely no chance I was going back to the entrance to get one, and I already had a MUCH improved view and space. But seriously… access denied because of a wristband? I’m driving a 350 pound chair with my face… Jesus Christ am I disabled enough? So I stayed planted squarely behind the ADA area for the remainder of the festival.

I wasn’t overly thrilled for Korn and Deftones, although middle school Maggie would’ve been losing her goddamn mind, and even current Maggie was feeling very nostalgic and happy. Korn actually pleasantly surprised me with a lot of their older stuff. And watching Deftones fans was positively magical! But then there was System of a Down…

They have only played a few shows since 2017, and this performance was their only scheduled one for 2023. Me and Gemma know every single song and album front to back. We scrame, we laughed, we cried… it was 90 minutes of pure perfection with my closest compadre. I frequently took several moments to scan the crowd and look at everyone else singing and enjoying themselves as much as we were. It felt so amazing to fit right in to a colorful crowd of freaks.

When all the music finally stopped, the sun was down and all the pain from a very long and intensely hot day was setting in. Fortunately, getting a wheelchair accessible cab in Vegas is not too difficult a task. We only waited about 30 minutes and were safely delivered back to Harrah’s.

Sunday was Mother’s Day and the final day of our trip. Our flight was taking off at 7 PM, leaving just enough time to squeeze in a bit more Vegas experience, and I had a hot date with my kiddos and their girlfriends at the newly opened Punk Rock Museum. It took a bit longer to get an accessible cab this time, which was a bit frustrating, but by the time we got there and started museuming, all the frustration subsided… for a time. The museum is multi levels, and a guided group had just begun on the bottom level so we decided to start up top. I was actually surprised when there was not an elevator, and I wasn’t SUPER pleased to see a stair lift… but hey, at least it’s accessible, right? If you’ve ever had to drive your very heavy power chair onto a stair lift platform over a very steep staircase you’d understand. It’s terrifying.

I made it up the first staircase to a medium level, which turned out to be an adorable little chapel. You can actually get married at the Punk Rock Museum! There was a humongous picture of Sid and Nancy (of course) and several rows of seating. At no bigger than a typical bedroom, it added the most charm of any room I saw in the building. So freaking cute.

Next, I mounted the stair lift to access the upper level. It was a much shorter and less steep staircase, so my guard was down as I chatted with my family and the museum’s operations manager who was assisting me with the lift and who were all behind me on the staircase as I was ascending. I noticed a low hanging beam on the ceiling above the staircase about midway up. As I started to pass under it, my head grazed it slightly so I casually tilted my head to the side thinking I would easily pass right under unscathed… but my calculations for how much head space I had were very off. As I realized my head could not pass through, it was already too late to scream. I couldn’t say stop, I couldn’t say anything at all… and my head was being crushed between the ceiling and the back rest of my wheelchair, and the man behind me holding the button couldn’t tell. It all happened so fast. In what absolutely felt like my final moments, I looked towards the top of the staircase and someone was there… we locked eyes and I knew he could see the anguish in mine. He screamed ”STOP!” and very literally, right before I blacked out, the stair lift stopped.

In this one horrible moment everyone else realized what had been happening. I was reversed back down the staircase and off of the lift so my people could assess my head. Thankfully and miraculously… I was fine. I had a decent dent in the back right of my head and also at my left temple, where all the squeezing had happened, but I wasn’t bleeding… and holy shit I was still alive. My head did hurt, and I was pretty shaken up, and the boys REALLY wanted me to get checked out by a medical person, but I really didn’t want this to color my entire experience with my kids on Mother’s Day. We had limited time together that day, and I didn’t want everyone fussing over me… so I snapped into survival mode. I traversed the terrifying trip back down the steep stair lift on the initial staircase and went straight to the Punk Rock Museum Bar for a little pain and anxiety management in the form of gin and tonic. After about the 15th “are you sure you’re OK?” from my doting crew, I was ready to have anything else be the focal point of attention… so I did like I always do when I’m in pain and uncomfortable… I pretended like I wasn’t and carried the fuck on. I made a bunch of jokes about how “punk rock” it would be to literally die at the Punk Rock Museum, especially on Mother’s Day in front of my kids. Now, that’s dark enough to make GG Allin jealous (Punk rock legend, look him up). I’ve gotten WAY too good at this in 18 years of quadriplegia. Some call it “fake it till you make it” others might say it’s blatant “internalized ableism”… tomato tomahto.

Soon enough, the kiddos had an escape room to go to, and I had a plane to catch. By the time we made it to the airport I had a throbbing headache and was nearly completely shut-down, emotionally. Fortunately, my companions and I have traveled together numerous times, so they made quick work of loading me onto the tiny aisle chair with assistance from the airport staff, backing me into the plane, and plopping me into the tiny uncomfortable seat near the back of the plane where I would spend the next 6 hours until we were back in Alaska. A vulnerable melancholy washed over me suddenly, like I have not experienced in a very long time. I wasn’t exactly sobbing, but the tears were absolutely painting my face with sadness. I couldn’t quit thinking about how much of a close call it was. It was playing over and over again in my mind. I kept seeing gruesome images of my bloody, exploded brains all over Dylan and Daemon as they screamed and held my dead body. It certainly wasn’t funny anymore.

It’s taken me nearly a month to process everything and finish writing about it. All in all… it was the best vacation of my life. I learned that I will never purchase General Admission peasant tickets to a festival ever again. It’s VIP or nothing.

Even though the only alien we encountered was the one that came with us. Even though it was too fucking hot. Even though I almost died. I get to live to advocate yet another day… with a lifetime free pass for me and my family to the Punk Rock Museum, which will likely be getting an elevator soon.

Love,
Maggie