Down Syndrome

I love dogs. Always have.
I hate leaving our dogs when we go on vacation, and this morning is no different as I say goodbye to our sad and sleepy Golden.
Walking through the airport on one of the busiest travel days of the year, I envy people bringing their dogs, ribbons and festive scarves around their harnesses and leashes.
My disabled adult son, however, is totally terrified.
The simplest way to explain his reaction is that when a dog barks, Charlie’s anxiety skyrockets and he physically recoils spiraling quickly into a full blown panic attack.
Will the dog bark?
Will the dog bark again?
Where is it?
Which way is it going?
Am I safe?
It can take Charlie hours to recover emotionally and physically from an attack triggered by a barking dog. And, unfortunately, today we see 6 dogs en route to our gate, only one a service animal. They are all quiet, well-behaved and honestly add to the happy excitement of families gathering for the Christmas holiday.
But then we hear the 7th dog, a shaggy, little pup sticking its head out of a carrier. The AirPod-wearing owner is seemingly oblivious, even as many passengers turn to see what’s happening. My husband and I glance at each other, and then at Charlie who sees the dog but is working hard to maintain calm.
Unfortunately the pup keeps barking non-stop, yip-yip-yip-yip-yip-yip all the way down the very long echo chamber concourse. There is no escape.
The damage is done, and we frantically search for an airport lounge or quiet zone for Charlie to calm.
But let’s pause here for a moment as I am pretty certain I can hear readers thinking: give him anxiety meds, have him wear headphones, don’t travel with him.
Let me clarify that Charlie has tried all three options and many, many more at different times of his life. What I can share is that medication makes him inconsistently woozy, headphones hurt his ears and head and leaving our son behind on a family vacay is heartbreaking.
Especially because Charlie French loves to travel.
He is an adventurer. He is a 33-year old man who works very hard for primarily three financial rewards: vhs tapes, gifts for the siblings he loves and flying Business Class.
No matter how bad of a trip we have experienced, Charlie eventually wants to try to go out in the world again.
Arriving at our gate we encounter a family with 4 small dogs waiting to board. A 5th pup comes inside from the decking at the end of the concourse where I see an outdoor seating area, and surprisingly, a giant pee pad.
Pretty nice.
I glance at Charlie struggling to find equilibrium staring at all the little dogs and their entourage of humans.
Why isn’t there a space for Charlie? And other individuals with sensory challenges or auditory processing needs? How can public spaces support these humans?
Accessing public areas seems like something everyone in society should be able to achieve fairly easily. Right?
There are children’s areas in airports Lounges have games and spaces for teens. There are notifications about food allergies at restaurants and food courts. There are family restrooms and baby changing rooms. There are smoking areas. There are carts assisting travelers with mobility issues. And, there are pee pads.
I won’t presume to speak for the disability community on how to problem solve this issue (#nothingforuswithoutus), but I can share Charlie’s perspective: I don’t want to hear barking dogs. I want it to be quiet.
Well, we pre-board (hooray for accommodations), take our seats in disappointing First Class (if it isn’t Business, Charlie is always a bit bummed), and wouldn’t you know it: 2 pups and their owners are just behind us.
Not sure how this trip will turn out, but I am proud of my brave son who continues to go out in a challenging society to chase his desires despite the hurdles he faces.
Here’s hoping the air bnb doesn’t have any barking dogs nearby!