I can’t remember how long it’s been since I was on an airplane. 3 or 4 years? Last week, I left the state for the first time since we drove to Las Vegas. And it went smoothly. Too smoothly, as if the air-travel gods were luring me back to the sky.
It did help that I took an Ativan before leaving for the airport. But security was a breeze, though I did receive the usual X-ray rescan of my compressor and cold pack for my Cayston. Snowpiercer and the sequel to 300 kept my mind occupied on the flight, and I touched down in New Jersey ahead of schedule. Too smooth.
The rented O2 concentrator was at the hotel when I arrived. Smooth.
After a brutal week of intense 12-hour days of work launching our training event, and an episode of A fib one stressful morning, I flew home. Okay, so the A fib wasn’t very fun, but I know how to deal with it now. I told everyone I was car sick and waited for the double Ativan dose to kick in.
With the exception of some blood on the day following my return, I’ve been okay, knock on wood. I wonder if the blood had anything to do with my falling asleep on the plane and possibly destatting? Question for my doctor.
Though I didn’t cough up blood on the flight, or at my destination, I have no interest in getting on a plane anytime soon. I still hate the whole process of flying. And I only flew this time because it was summer. Flying in the winter? No thanks.
But at least this time I made it back without any stories of hospitals. That, my friends, is cause for celebration.