I had planned the perfect Bully Pulpit for this issue.

A cross-country trip to attend a conference seemed like the ideal opportunity to write about my first flight in almost four years. Surely the hours I’d spent agonizing over how to handle my first trip with a colostomy and my first time traveling with my current power chair would translate to a thoughtful Bully Pulpit.

I’d packed my bags and started writing the column in my head. Then, with less than 12 hours until my 4 a.m. wake-up call, my body started writing its own story. Much to my chagrin, it focused on dysreflexia.

I’ve written here before about my battle with my bladder. To make a long story short: After 25 years with a suprapubic catheter, my bladder and I no longer see eye to eye and have been locked in a struggle for dominance for the past 18 months. Part of my excitement for the trip was thinking I had finally found a working solution that would allow the two of us, my bladder and me, to travel in harmony.

Five problem-free days leading up to the trip helped diminish my concerns about the tube causing an incident on the five-hour flight. Two bouts of dysreflexia in less than four hours brought it all back again. Most frustratingly, neither followed the pattern of the issues I had been struggling with.

In the comfort of my home, both flareups would be manageable — a catheter change and some time in bed were all my body usually needed — but on a plane? My attendant and I tried to wrap our heads around a possible solution, but not knowing the exact cause made an already-difficult problem seem impossible.

This was supposed to be my big return to flying! Column material aside, I’d built the trip up in my head as a needed reminder that air travel is doable and that after a few years of dealing with some tough medical issues I was back on the upswing.

Now I was just stressed about what to do next. In my mind, canceling at the last minute was akin to admitting that the upswing was a lie. At the same time, going forward with the trip was like going all-in on a weak hand.

Adding to the cocktail of stress and frustration was a sense of guilt. The event organizers had gone above and beyond to accommodate me. You can say that’s what they should do, or have to do, and you’d be right. But there were a lot of speakers they could have invited who didn’t come with all the added costs and hassle of traveling with an attendant. I wanted to validate their effort and show why the extra effort was worth it.

Physically and emotionally worn out, I eventually decided to cancel. I wish I could say it felt like the right decision, but at the time it felt like failure. When the dysreflexia passed, my body felt fine. Maybe if I just went ahead, everything would go smoothly and I’d come away with the confidence boost I’d been looking for. Doubt corrupted all my thoughts: Did I stress myself into dysreflexia? Had I been looking for an excuse? Was I afraid of flying again?

Later that night, a few hours before I would have been transferring into an aisle chair for the flight, the dysreflexia returned with a vengeance. As much as I hated writhing in bed in discomfort, it did make me feel better about my decision to cancel.

I’ve yet to pull any life-changing or revealing insights from the whole incident, aside from the fact that sometimes there simply aren’t any appealing choices. Sometimes even the Bully Pulpit gets bullied.

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