There are moments when you feel like the universe is teasing you — holding something you love just close enough to touch, only to snatch it away again. For me, that something is Rome.
Before COVID turned the world upside down, we had plans — real, confirmed plans — to go back to Rome for the first time since our wedding. I’d arranged everything carefully: liaised with the airline to submit all the details about my wheelchair, found a beautiful accessible hotel that ticked every box, and was just beginning to allow myself a little excitement.
But then the world stopped. And our plans, like so many others, just… dissolved.
Eighteen Years Without a Break Together
Since 2007, my husband Graham and I haven’t had a holiday together. Life, illness, caring duties — it all got in the way.
So when Graham told me he might be able to get a week off in August, I tried not to get my hopes up. But quietly, I started making enquiries again.
To my surprise, everything was falling into place. The same hotel was available — it’s absolutely stunning and so reasonable. The airline confirmed they could accommodate my chair. Even the tourist board reassured me that disabled visitors and their carers get free entry to many of Rome’s attractions with valid documentation.
For the first time in years, I let myself dream. Really dream.
Why Rome?
Rome isn’t just a holiday destination for me — it’s where we fell in love all over again.
We first visited in October 2005 to scout it out for our wedding. We stayed in a charming little place called Domus Inn, tucked inside a building that looked more like a haunted Italian film set than a hotel. It was perfect.
Each morning, pastries and coffee would arrive at our door — an absolute gift when you’re nursing a hangover from too many Negronis and not enough dinner the night before. One night, I got so drunk I needed help undressing. I was insisting we hit the clubs and grab pizza slices at 1am, but Graham knew better. I passed out, face-first, the minute my head hit the pillow.
We spent our days wandering hand in hand, eating gelato, visiting landmarks, and laughing. Rome wasn’t just beautiful. It felt like home.
Then Reality Hit — Again
When Graham came back from work one Sunday and said, “Just book it,” I was bursting. I re-sent the emails, double-checked everything. It was happening.
And then, that same Sunday, we opened the paper and saw that our home region might go into quarantine.
Now, going away for a few days is one thing. But not being able to return home — not being near my medical supplies, my bed, my setup, my sanctuary — is another thing entirely. For someone with Severe ME/CFS, that risk isn’t just inconvenient. It’s terrifying.
So once again, I had to let it go.
It’s More Than a Trip
This wasn’t about a luxury getaway. I wasn’t craving beach clubs or all-inclusive pools. I just wanted four days in a city that holds a piece of my heart. A few days of feeling like Alisha the Wife, the Woman — not just Alisha the Patient.
Instead, we got a broken dishwasher and another chunk of our savings gone. Honestly? I wanted to scream.
I didn’t want the world — I just wanted Rome.
And Still, I Hope
It breaks my heart that I haven’t been back since we boarded that flight home in 2006. Every year since, I’ve quietly hoped. And now, with more barriers than ever, it sometimes feels like it’ll never happen.
But maybe one day, when the stars align and the borders stay open and the dishwasher behaves, I’ll be able to get on a plane again — back to cobblestones and cappuccinos, back to the place where my heart feels full.
Until then, I’ll keep dreaming.
