For months, I’ve been falling down the YouTube rabbit hole of “everyday carry-on” videos. Most of them feel like glorified product placements for bags and gadgets you probably don’t need. As an amputee, I’ve learned pretty quickly that I really don’t have the luxury of carrying excess baggage, so these videos have been very useful in a general sense.
When I weighed my gear at the airport this morning, the total was a mere 5.5 kilograms. This brings me to my first secret: since losing my leg, I’ve never actually had my luggage weighed by Jetstar staff. They see the leg and give me a wide berth. I suspect it’s because they assume my bag is full of medical essentials—shrinkers, liners, or even a spare limb—which don’t count towards weight limits anyway. I floated this theory to one of the wheelchair support staff today; she was a bit coy, but she gave me a knowing nod and a smile.
In contrast, I watched a couple nearby struggling with 22 kilograms between them when they were only allowed 14. The bloke was wearing several kilos of gear in his pockets, including a massive power bank he only unpacked after the scales. They also had a “mystery” medical bag with a blood pressure monitor poking out the top. It made me wonder: why carry so much stuff?
I’ve always been a light packer, but I’m even more minimalist now. Years ago, I ditched wheeled suitcases—they’re heavy and a nightmare to use. I still have “trauma” from dragging a dodgy wheel over European cobblestones. Now, I use a backpack to help with my weight distribution and balance.
That backpack is all I’m taking for Europe and Asia, plus a small sling bag for my amputation-related gear. My strategy for the mixed climates is simple: pack for the cold and let the warm weather look after itself. I’ve got one puffer jacket compressed down to nothing and a thinner one I’ll wear on the plane as a mid-layer. If I’ve missed anything for the European leg, I’ll just hit a second-hand shop and donate it back before I leave.
Even though I don’t always use a wheelchair, I usually book wheelchair support for flights. You never know how far the gate is or if there are stairs involved—some of those Chinese airports are massive, and I know I’ll be trekking across the tarmac in the Swedish Arctic soon. It’s a bit of a “travel hack,” but you often breeze through security in a chair.
Mind you, today was an exception. I tested positive twice during screening (likely some residue on the chair or equipment). The woman assisting me was rolling her eyes, muttering that some of the security staff don’t know what they’re doing. A nice perk, though, is that wheelchair assistance often results in an empty seat next to you. On the Lismore run or other domestic hops, I frequently score a whole row to myself.
Unfortunately, the “Amputee Advantage” couldn’t save my connection today. I was supposed to fly Sydney to Melbourne at 9:40 AM to catch a 2:20 PM flight to Bangkok. I originally thought a three-hour buffer was overkill, but a four-hour technical delay in Sydney proved me wrong. We sat on the tarmac forever, and my anxiety spiked. If I’d had just 20 more minutes, I might have made it. Instead, I watched my Bangkok flight disappear.
Jetstar put me up at the Parkroyal Melbourne Airport and handed over a $30 food voucher. It doesn’t go far—it won’t even cover the $44 breakfast buffet tomorrow—but it’s something. So, the trip starts a day late. I was tempted to head into the city tonight, but I’ve decided to stay put, enjoy the comfy bed, and recharge before I try again tomorrow.
