So in this post, I talked about how proud I was that I actually got on the plane, instead of changing my mind at the last second and booking it off of that tin can. It was a major win for me over anxiety. I felt like a grown up. I did what real, normal, well-functioning people do all the time. Although, it occurred to me as I waited in line at security how many people are uncomfortable flying. I overheard one younger guy say to another, "so do you like flying?" You really only ask someone that question when you don't. So I knew I wan't alone.
As I boarded that plane my eyes were immediately searching for who was in the seat next to me. I hoped it was a woman. I guess I felt that I would be more comfortable with a woman. And it was. She looked about 45. Immediately I felt relief, though the anxiety was still trying to convince me to remove myself from this situation. I stowed my bag and sat down next to her. We started chatting and I told her almost right away that I was a nervous flyer. I was just uncomfortable in the air. I felt like she responded to that right away, talking to me and asking me questions to keep me calm and distracted. Even knowing that she would do what she could throughout the flight to keep me as calm as possible was a comfort. This was a person to whom I could say, "Can you hold my hand until the turbulence is done?" and she would and she wouldn't make me feel weird about having asked.
On the flight, we talked all of the usual, getting to know you talk. She told me about her three children, that she lives on a farm (but doesn't farm) in a small town outside of Regina. I told her about my boys and Jeff and what I do for work. Of course, we talked about my anxiety. She also told me about her husband who had passed away of Cancer two years before. He was in his late forties (I think he was 48). As we talked, we would circle back to certain topics, including the loss of her husband and, at one point, she started to cry. Then I started to cry. I'm pretty sure that the people around us thought we were crazy: strangers, talking non-stop about really personal things and then crying together. But, we didn't care.
It was evident to me that she was a woman of faith. She talked about how she was angry with God when her husband passed. She told me that her son was in Bible School, etc. As I said in yesterday's blog, I didn't tell her this then, and hope she doesn't think I was misrepresenting myself, but I talked about God some too, and said that in so many instances, it seems that when something we hope works out doesn't, it's because something better is waiting. (Not that I think this is true of death or loss -- that feels impossible to explain.)
One of the things that I told her was that somehow (by God? by fate? by nothing except defining something as true because we want it to be?), in life, these people are placed in our path. Pat was placed in my path. Provided to me at a time when (though I didn't know it) I would need the kind of support she could offer to me and vice versa. I have felt the same way about Krystal. There is some kind of connection that exists that feels deeper than either of us. And then, the same is true with Rene. I was so nervous about that flight. Seriously considering listening to the voice of my anxiety, and here, right when I needed a support person, the most perfect person for the job just happens to be in the seat next to me. So, what is that? I don't know. If it's God, I think him/her; if it's the universe or fate, I thank it. If it's the result of nothing, then I thank myself for searching and surveying the situation I was in to "use" what and who was around me to assist me in the struggle I was currently faced with.
Whatever it was, I felt so blessed that at the end of that flight, I truly wanted to cry. We exchanged phone numbers and blog addresses and within 15 minutes she texted me and I texted her back and added her as a contact in my phone. And there, was another gift from the universe. She's a wonderful person with a beautiful spirit and how lucky I felt to sit next to her for that hour and a half.
I felt so prepared and confident about my second flight. Excited even and ready to board it and get another flight under my belt and get to Calgary to see Krystal.
The flight itself was good. It was definitely more turbulent than the first one. It was another propeller plane. The exact same plane I was on the first time, actually. We were only flying at 16,000 feet, which meant we were just below the clouds. This made me a little more nervous, even though I initially liked the idea of not going up as high. But being lower made me think that turbulence would be more likely. The turbulence wasn't the problem with this flight though. The problem was what happened in the seats behind me.
Behind me sat a man -- about 50-55 maybe? And next to him (behind the man next to me) was a younger guy (22 I would guess) with a little boy. I would think the little guy was maybe about Grayson's age: probably two. The little guy kept kind of crying and fussing, which is normal for a two year old who is being made to sit still. Just as we were taking off, the little boy threw up onto the man directly behind me.
Now, we all know that vomit is my anxiety trigger and there was definitely part of me that was like, "OH MY GOD. IT'S RIGHT BEHIND MY SEAT!" Immediately, I pulled my bag, which was wedged under my seat, forward, although (TIM alert) I don't think it was a TON of puke and I don't think any got on the floor at all. The little guy threw up once more for sure that I know of and possibly more times than that - I suspect at least once more, but I don't know for sure.
How did my anxiety react to this? For sure, it altered me to the threat of catching whatever virus was making this poor little guy sick. I didn't think it was airsickness because, as the dad kept saying, "He's not a puker. He never does this." So, I believed that the little guy had flown before and didn't get airsick. I imagined all of the airborne bacteria landing on me and me breathing them in, contaminating me with the virus, so I pulled my hoodie up over my mouth. I did wonder if people around me (the man sitting next to me) found it odd, but 1) I didn't care because, you know, self-preservation, and 2) I thought they would assume it was the smell (which I couldn't smell, even when I took my face out of my hoodie to get some "fresh" air.
Exposure to vomit is a good thing, actually, so - though I did pull my hoodie up over my face, I didn't freak out, or anything even close to freaking out. I absolutely felt I'm getting so much better about being around puke and being totally okay with it -- which is a huge improvement on where I was years ago. This is a very, very good thing and an indication of my progress. At least, I think it is. The hurdle that I need to get over at this point is feeling terrified at being "contaminated" with whatever virus the vomiting individual has. So, it wasn't the kid getting sick that stressed me out or that continues to haunt me today. It was the way the dad handled it.
He actually seemed frustrated and borderline angry at the child. He kept saying, "Jesus Christ, Joey," like the kid did it on purpose. He also kept apologizing to the guy his son threw up on and then back to "Joey! Jesus Christ." First of all, asshole, there's no reason to ever use those words to a child, regardless of what they did. Second of all, he's TWO. He's a baby. He threw up. It's not like he was old enough to be able to understand what was happening and know what to do. Third of all, he's clearly not feeling well, he's stuck on an airplane (which is unpleasant even when you're not sick or scared of flying) and on top of that, his clothes are no wet (which is also going to be uncomfortable) since he got sick on himself. You know what you're supposed to do? You tell him, "it's okay, buddy" apologize to the guy next to you, tend to your kid and COMFORT him.
I just felt so bad for that little boy. It bothered me so much to know that this is how his dad deals with him when what he really needed was to be comforted. I actually almost started to cry on the plane. I wish I could have just kept that little boy. I felt grateful to know that Jeff or I would never react that way if we were in the same situation, and then sad again to know that there are other parents like this guy, and for every parent we see like this guy, there are X number of other parents who are the same way that we don't see.
Honestly, I just cannot express how sad the situation made me. The dad did start saying after a bit, "are you okay buddy?" to the little guy, in a more comforting tone, but I'm just haunted by the initial reaction and I'll never be able to unhear his words and his tone.
So, there you have it. My flight experience -- both made excellent and ruined by a good and bad human.
Ultimately, both flights felt like grand wins in the anxiety battle, I just wish I could forget about that little boy. I've wondered all day if he's feeling better. And I hope he got some really good cuddles... from someone.
No comments:
Post a Comment