Fly the Friendly Skies

I’m scared to fly, and I don’t understand why everyone isn’t. I have a variety of reasons, most of which are irrational. The basic reason is I don’t understand how a giant heavy metal tube filled with people can stay in the air. I am sure there is a simple explanation, involving the laws of nature and basic engineering principles, but it’s probably too complicated for my pea brain to grasp.

It’s more than just the feasibility of the big metal bird. It’s the canned air, filled with H1N1 virus and whiffs of Legionnaire’s disease. It’s the noise on takeoff, the hum mid flight, and the racket upon landing. It’s all that bumpy, the invisible bumps like potholes in the sky, that make me thinks one more jolt like that and we will fall out of the sky.

The parts of flying that I’m not scared of I just don’t like. The unregulated temperature of the recirculated air, always too hot or too cold. The existence of the barf bag tucked into the seat back, and the knowledge that other people considered using it, or, at the very least, have touched it. The shifting of the contents of the overhead bin. The way the air smells like microwaved chicken, even though they stopped serving meals in 2003. The cramped seats and the cramped aisles and the cramped bathrooms.

And while we are on the subject of airplane bathrooms, what is up with the airplane bathroom? It’s like a port-a-potty in the sky, only not that nice. The only thing missing is feces smeared all over the textured walls. I always wondered about the receptacle for used razor blades. Are that many people shaving with disposable razor blades while flying, or are they more likely contemplating slitting their wrists? I am so scared of someone opening the door while in that tiny water closet, even though it says occupied. I am going to be sitting there, in the middle of a big pee, when the accordion door folds in on me, my jeans at my ankles, bracing myself against the wall in case we hit turbulence and my own pee flies up and hits my ass. How mortifying would that be? Have you ever tried to change a diaper on that rickety little shelf? I’d be scared my baby would be sucked into that metal toilet vacuum hole. Now, seriously, why would anyone want to join the mile high club in there? And what if one day, while sleeping in my bed, a frozen blue chunk of airplane waste crashes through my roof and kills me? What an undignified way to go.

I haven’t even gotten to the parts I don’t like about the airport, but let’s save that for another day, shall we?

Other than writing about it now, however, I don’t’ really talk much about my issues with flying because I don’t want to influence my daughter E’s issues with flying. E has flown several times before, but like me, the older she gets, the more the idea of flying just freaks her out. So when we planned two months ago to fly to Orlando instead of driving for a Thanksgiving trip to Disney World (why spend the holidays with family when you could actually have a good time?), E decided she didn’t want to go at all. Not because she doesn’t like Disney; she loves it. No, she didn’t want to fly there. My husband and I explained to her the advantage of a one hour flight versus a nine hour car trip, but it didn’t matter. She didn’t want to go, and she cried a lot to show us how much she didn’t want to go, and then she had trouble sleeping for two weeks to further illustrate how much she didn’t want to go. I decided we would make a visit to the pediatrician for a little something to help make the proposed vacation a reality.

Our pediatrician, Dr. L, asked the reason for our visit. I explained to him that we needed some medication so that E could fly to Orlando with the rest of the family. He paused and said, “In all the time that I have been a doctor, no one has ever asked me for that.” “Well,” I answered, “if you have any suggestions on how to get her on the plane, I’m all ears. If not, we’ll be needing that prescription.”

We discussed how other children are also scared to fly but don’t need medicine. We discussed how E had already taken Valium for minor oral surgery, and how I had to kick her down the aisle the last time we flew. Then he wrote out a prescription for anti-anxiety medication. Four Valium. Perfect! Two for her and two for me.

The day of our trip, E and I both got nervous. It didn’t help matters much that our flight left after lunch, so that we had the entire morning to sit around and panic. I occupied myself with last minute obsessive packing of unnecessary things. E opted for a whole lotta Spongebob. When we finally drove to the airport, I could tell E was getting all worked up. Her face was red, her eyes were big, and she kept putting her hand on her chest as if she were going to say the Pledge of Allegiance.

We checked in at the ticket counter, went through security, bought non-terrorist bottled water, and each popped only half of a pill, because I got some bright idea that we really would be fine once we boarded and sat in our seats. Was I wrong!

After we settled in our seats, E’s red face and big eyes gave way to tears and shallow breathing. We asked the kind looking elderly lady in the window seat if we could keep the blinds closed, and she huffed but did as we asked. I spent the next hour playing motivational coach, talking my daughter through each noise and jostle of the plane. It’s a lot easier to keep your mind off how scared you are to fly when you are trying to convince someone else to not be scared to fly.

I learned some important things that flight, things I’ll need to remember for a long time. I learned that my daughter thought we had to know where the emergency exits are so we can jump out of the plane mid-air. I learned that flying is not so bad, although I’m sure I’ll be just as scared the next time I do it. I learned that just because an older lady looks like a grandmother, it doesn’t mean she will be nice too. But most importantly, I learned I should just take the whole Valium.