My blog is about the scenic, stressful, spectacular life (and everything screwy in between) of a
California girl turned expat transplanted to the land down under: North Queensland, Australia.

August 28, 2010


So I’m absolutely terrified of planes. But, like birth, you forget about how horrible it is until you do it again. With all my goodbyes done (FYI-all that worrying about having to say goodbye to everyone forever hasn’t even hit me yet. I cried when I saw my grandpa, and I cried when I said goodbye to my mom. That’s it. *Pats self on back*), I wasn’t really concerned or anxious about my impending flight-even at the airport. But I was sick as a dog. Without going into the gross details, I may have had a little too much milk products combined with stress the last few days. Needed to make a couple stops on the way to the airport. Unfortunately, being sick left me dehydrated and with a wicked migraine waiting to board the plane. I was faced with a handful of hypochondriac options: Take the anti-poo medicine for a bubble-less flight? Chug a bottle of water with airborne in it? Take a migraine pill and have a clear head? Be sick all over and overload on Xanax? I chose option 4.

Right before we boarded I swallowed the relaxo-pill and headed for the plane. I get a sheer sense of panic as I tell J, “I’m going to throw up. I’m going to throw up” and start to semi-hyperventilate and tear up. I’m trying to do everything I can to not get emotional and go batshit crazy, so I start staring at the flight team guys bright yellow jacket. It’s yellow it’s yellow it’s yellow it’s yellow I say over and over in my head so I don’t think of death, fear, grandpa, California, Mexican food, everything. I’m finally relieved when we come to our seats-a two-seater in the very back of the plane with extra leg room (I did my research-they say people who sit in the back of the plane have a better chance of living in a plane crash. Heck yes!). All is right with the world. I call my mom from the plane, post a Facebook status update, and buckle my seatbelt. That’s when all hell broke loose.

We start taxi-ing (is that a word?) onto the runway and I’m doing okay. I see planes take off and I’m like, “no problem, I can do this!” and I hold J’s hand. As soon as we start the sprint and lift off, I must have left my rational brain on the runway because my teeth lock up along with the rest of my body and I can’t move. Because we are in the back of the airplane, I swear it feels like we are going up into the air vertically. I’m holding J’s hand so hard I’m surprised he still has feeling in it! Plus the plane is doing these mini dips to level itself out, so I’m convinced we’re just going to fall from the sky. Holy crap I’m gonna die. I’m throwing out Hail Marys and telling Jeebus please don’t let me die on a plane! Let me die from a food-induced heart attack! Let me die in my sleep! DON’T YOU LET ME DIE ON A PLANE!!! all the while with tears streaming down my face and gasping for air through my teeth. My poor, sweet hubs is in my ear telling me “you’re okay! This is normal! I love you! I’m so proud of you!” and I’m bawling like a baby. Oh, and since I’m an adult next to like, a hundred passengers, my face is plastered to the window so I don’t look like a wuss. The “bong” sound for the seatbelts pops on and people start walking up and down the aisles, doing their thing, and I am so shocked they can walk at a time like this! By the time the plane levels out my Xanax had (FINALLY) kicked in and my husband suggests we watch The Simpsons together, and the episode they had on the plane was one of my favourites ever (OH! Since this is my transplant blog, I need to start typing and using slang like an Aussie, hence the extra “u” in favorite lol), PLUS the food came out then too so all was right with the world…until we crash, of course.

I dozed off watching “Hot Tub Time Machine” and woke up with only eight hours left on the flight. THEN dozed off listening to opera on the radio and woke up with only four hours left. Holy crap! I never sleep on planes because I’m usually too scared to move, let alone close my eyes. The two extra Xanax after dinner may have helped that out. Watched two episodes of “True Blood” (seemed like it would be a good show to get into-don’t have HBO sadly), dozed off…again! and the time flew by, and all was right with the world. Until of course the landing. Holy crap!


  1. God, I used to be terrified of flying, part of anxiety disorder I guess. did you know its inherited and genetic? I have it, two of my boys have it and I know my creepy mother has no matter how much she denies it! But, when I got a job that required constantly being in an airplane I got over it. Now if there isn't any turbulence I'm disappointed...kidding! Glad you made it, this sounds like the beginning of a movie and I can't wait to see the next scene.
    love you, Auntie R.

  2. Way to go option 4...enough Xanax and you could care less if you shit your pants! I was gonna say give a shit if you shit your pants but that seemed like too many shits. Shit.

  3. *Waves the anxiety flag* THANKS AUNTIE :( (lol)

    Yeah, I think when you don't care about anything, even being sick, you don't mind if you know, the wings fall off your plane!