Travelling with oxygen? Plan, plan and plan again!

The hum of an airport is like the symphony of the world on shuffle. Overhead announcements, hurried footsteps, the occasional bout of laughter from a group of vacation-bound travelers. For most people, it’s a process—check-in, security, boarding, takeoff, arrival. For those who require oxygen, however, travel is  a logistical puzzle where every piece must fit, because one wrong move could mean delays, discomfort, or even a cancelled trip.

Al Menting knows this all too well. He and his wife, Bonnie, are seasoned travellers, but their experience comes with layers most people never consider. At 68, with a deep-rooted love for exploring, he doesn’t let his reliance on oxygen slow him down. He lets strategy take the lead.

The art of planning

Spontaneity? That was for another lifetime. Now, every trip is a meticulously crafted plan. Airlines require approval for oxygen concentrators, and that’s not a process you start the night before a flight. Al ensures that paperwork is squared away months in advance.

Then, there’s the airport. Security checks take longer, pat-downs are inevitable, and TSA agents don’t always recognize medical equipment on sight. “Patience,” Al says. “You have to have patience, because the only other option is giving up. And that’s not an option.”

Packing? That’s another beast. A nebulizer, batteries (carefully measured for airline regulations), and backup tubing all need to fit in his carry-on. On longer trips, he even ships a larger oxygen concentrator ahead of time, so it’s waiting for him at his destination. It’s a system that works—because it has to.

The airports, the airlines, and the battles in between

There was a time when Al and Bonnie flew on budget airlines, saving a few bucks and making do with the cramped conditions. That time is over. Now, it’s major airlines and, when possible, first class. It’s not about luxury but practicality. More space, better boarding processes, and a higher likelihood that someone will actually be there with the requested wheelchair when they land. Because, believe it or not, that’s not always a given.

“There was one time in Atlanta, after an 18-hour flight from Australia,” Al recalls, “we got off the plane, exhausted, and there was no wheelchair. We found one, but then my wife had to push me. We’re both in our late sixties. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

The game of travel is different when medical equipment is involved. There are no assumptions. Everything must be confirmed. And re-confirmed. And sometimes, re-re-confirmed.

Why keep travelling?

With all the extra effort, the added headaches, and the unpredictability of it all, one might ask: Why bother? Why not just stay put?

Because sitting still isn’t an option.

Travel, for Al, is freedom. It’s a break from the routine, from the house projects he can no longer do himself, from the day-to-day realities of managing a condition that demands constant attention.

It’s the ability to still say “yes” to the world.

Sure, some destinations have fallen off the list. Cabo, for example, with its steep hills and lack of accessibility, is no longer feasible. But Florida? Australia? Absolutely. With the right planning, the right mindset, and maybe a few deep breaths along the way, the world is still wide open.