Greetings, Internet! Forgive my months-long absence, but I am too excited and have to report that this lady is officially off the market.

[Featured photo: Me, a wheelchair-using woman with glasses and dark hair, wearing a black sleeveless top and purple skort, holding my left hand up and showing a sparkly engagement ring; next to my fiancé, a man with dark hair and a sweet smile, wearing a light blue polo and dark blue jeans.]

Nearly three and a half years into our relationship, my boyfriend decided to propose. He wanted to make it super romantic, but he ended up having to change his plan like three times, and popped the question in a busy hallway at the Bellagio in Vegas (which, honestly, was still romantic, but not I suppose what he had envisioned). I shall explain.

But before that, let’s backtrack a bit, because I haven’t been updating this blog all that much. Long story short, my fiancé and I have been acting like a married couple since our first date, in which we literally went refrigerator shopping. He moved in a little over a year ago, and while cohabitation is never immediately seamless, things went pretty darn well. Three months ago, he suggested we make an appointment at the jewelry store of my choosing so that I could pick the exact ring I wanted. Because he feared buying the wrong one (I insisted that the only “wrong” ring was a Ring Pop, but he knows I’m picky AF, so he did not believe me). I picked one out, and well, I hoped he was serious.

Fast forward three months, and we’re getting ready to go to Vegas to meet my sister and her friends for a weekend of eating everything and losing money to slot machines. One of the things I was determined to do in Vegas was see the Bellagio fountain, in no small part because I love “Ocean’s Eleven.” Did I think he might propose on the trip? I was hoping, yes, but I also decided not to get my hopes up, because if he didn’t, then I would have ruined the trip for myself.

Flying as a wheelchair user is still stressful, in case you were wondering. This was our first time flying together and boy, my boyfriend needed a drink or two. Which he got at an airport lounge after we missed our flight.

And why did we miss our flight? Primarily because the TSA at JFK doesn’t have enough female agents who can perform a security patdown on a female wheelchair user. I waited half an hour for a security screening, and this was after both me and my boyfriend pleaded with a TSA agent until he became defensive and started to yell at us. I had prepared myself mentally for the aisle chair to get on the plane, the sitting on something that wasn’t my wheelchair cushion for six hours straight, the extra bladder management, and the knowledge that I was most likely going to be the first one on and the last one off the plane. But a 30+ minute wait in addition to normal security waiting time? This was a first at JFK. Neither my boyfriend and I were prepared for running the entire length of the terminal just to miss our flight.

My boyfriend and I were fortunate enough to get booked on the next flight, which was only 2.5 hours after our originally scheduled flight. The downside was that we couldn’t sit next to each other, but our rowmates on the plane were perfectly pleasant people.

By the time we touched down in Vegas, it was 10pm PST (1am EST). We waited for a wheelchair-friendly taxi for about an hour, because Vegas doesn’t have as high a percentage of wheelchair taxis as does, say, NYC or Boston. Eventually, we gave up and grabbed a sedan taxi so that my boyfriend could transfer me into the car and disassemble my wheelchair. I am grateful that we have that option.

After we got to the hotel, checked in, and went to bed, it was close to 2am (5am EST). I woke up about six hours later, exhausted but excited to hang out with my boyfriend, my sister, and her friends. We got brunch, and of course I had a cocktail, because Vegas. It was a pretty light meal though, because I was trying to take it easy.

But oh, I was falling asleep. A couple of hours later, my sister and I split the strongest latte I have had in a while. I don’t normally drink coffee, unless it’s decaf, so my body was feeling a little off. An hour later, my sister and I were near the hotel pool and she got me a cup (not a glass, a CUP) of sparkling rosé. This cup held at least 1.5 servings of alcohol. By the time I started feeling buzzed, it was time to get ready for dinner.

But oh, what’s this? Our dinner reservation was canceled due to a burst pipe in the hotel. No worries, my sister’s friend has booked us a table at a restaurant across the street from the Bellagio fountain. Perfect! My boyfriend and I were planning to see a show at the Bellagio afterwards anyway. And Google Maps said it would only be a 24-minute walk.

This, I learned, was a lie of an estimate. Vegas is not a walkable/wheelable city. Especially when an elevator on a pedestrian bridge is out. Forty-something minutes later, we finally got to the restaurant. By this point, I was somehow a combination of exhausted, caffeinated, buzzed, overheated, hungry, gross, and stressed. The Bellagio was across the street, but I was still concerned that my boyfriend and I were going to miss the show (Cirque du Soleil was not playing around with late admittance, or so the tickets would have you believe).

As a result, I couldn’t enjoy dinner. In fact, I felt downright queasy. I could sort of see the fountain show across the street, but it was blocked by other diners and large tied-up umbrellas that were sticking out of tables. I was feeling slightly claustrophobic and could barely eat the bread on the table.

Everyone at the table noticed how awful I looked. My boyfriend hardly touched his food seeing the state I was in, so he escorted me out of the restaurant and to the bathroom. Maybe I needed to catheterize? We went back to the restaurant maybe 30 minutes later to say goodnight to my sister and her friends. We were going to see the Bellagio fountain, take a selfie in which we made silly faces, and then go to our show. On the way to the fountain, I noticed that my boyfriend was mostly silent. I also noticed that there was something that looked suspiciously like a ring-shaped box in his jeans pocket, but I kept my mouth shut and tried to focus on my stomach instead.

The area around the fountain had major Times Square energy. It was bright, loud, and full of people who had no regard for others’ personal space. This didn’t surprise me. After all, this is a major tourist attraction. There was also no “perfect spot” to watch the fountain show. I had thought to myself prior to the trip how romantic it would be to be proposed to at this most beautiful of fountains. After all, years ago, my boyfriend had consoled me at the fountain by Lincoln Center after I had received disappointing news about a medical procedure. It would have been really sweet.

This, however, did not feel sweet. I was unable to hear my boyfriend over all the noise. And I had to pee. Again. Before the first selfie could be taken, we ended up bolting to the Bellagio to find the nearest restroom.

By the time I exited the restroom, it was twenty minutes until the show began. There was no time to go back to the fountain.

“Hey,” my boyfriend said, “There’s a Van Cleef across the hall. Wouldn’t it be funny if we took a selfie there?”

“Haha.” A Van Cleef ring, dear reader, is what I had picked out three months ago.

“Let’s just do one silly selfie outside Van Cleef. It’ll be funny.”

“Ha. Sure.”

We parked ourselves next to a window with a lovely necklace display.

“Okay, close your eyes, and on three, open them and make the silliest face you can.”

“Sounds good.”

“One…two…three!”

I opened my eyes with my cheeks puffed up full of air. My boyfriend was on one knee and holding out a much nicer version of the ring I told him I wanted.

“Will you marry me?”

“OH MY GOD, YES!” I squealed. We kissed. Applause rang out in the Bellagio hallway, and it occurred to me that this was a rather public proposal.

“Smile!” My sister was in front of the crowd and had her phone out.

“YOU KNEW?!”

She knew. A week ago, my fiancé had let her know of his intentions. He wanted a family member at the proposal, and my sister is the only one in my family who can keep a secret. Was this the plan he had concocted? No, this was basically Plan D. But my man regularly wings it and somehow pulls it off.

“Now go!” My sister yelled. “Go to your show!”

While my fiancé and I were waiting in line to get into the venue, a woman who had witnessed the proposal offered to take our picture. And to be honest, it’s my favorite photo of the night (it’s the featured one here!). My stomach still needed some time to calm down, but my heart was happy.

I do wonder how the original proposal ideas would have gone. I mean, obviously a successful proposal is one that ends with an enthusiastic “yes!” But some proposals are more chaotic than others. A proposal at the fountain would have been overwhelmed by all the loudness around us. The restaurant across the street from the Bellagio was Plan B (as I later learned), but that would have been hectic, because that restaurant was packed. Weirdly enough, I think the Bellagio hallway proposal in front of a branch of the jewelry store where he bought the ring worked out great. It was well lit, quiet enough, and full of witnesses (also, Van Cleef, can we get a discount on wedding bands?). Plus, it was easy for my sister to find us (I later found out that my fiancé and sister had been texting and coordinating with each other each time I was on my way to or in a restroom). A kind passerby filmed basically 90% of the proposal and air dropped it to my sister, which means that now I have it and my parents have it (and I posted it to my IG story a couple of days ago). So, I think everything worked out great.

I didn’t really get to see the Bellagio fountain (at least, not the whole fountain show), but dang, Vegas was awesome.

Thanks so much for reading!

Val