Not So "Plane" Jane...

I feel like a lot of my crazy stories seem to take place on planes. When I travel, I never expect normalcy and most times I'm right.

Planes are like a breeding tank for awkward social interaction. They provide you with the opportunity to sit in close proximity to complete strangers for hours on end so conversations often start up.

One time when I was 14 or 15 years old, I had a lady next to me insist that I try on her engagement ring, which naturally got stuck on my finger. It took about 20 minutes to remove with the help of a flight attendant and some soap. During the panic, when my ring finger was swollen, blue, and stubbornly holding on to the ring, the lady next to me threatened to cut off my finger if she had to! It was very uncomfortable sitting next to her for the remainder of the flight knowing that she would have disfigured my hand just minutes earlier.

There are other times when you and the people around you come to a silent understanding that you won't speak to each other and you take turns stealing the armrest. It was on a flight like this that I realized I was having an adverse reaction to some meds I had taken right before I boarded the plane (Afrin and some antibiotic I was on… not a good combo).

Half of my face had gone completely numb, my whole body began to tremble, and I started having shooting pains in my neck and spine. It was at this point that I started thinking, "These symptoms seem kind of serious. If I just sit here, my whole body may go numb or even worse, I may become paralyzed. I should probably do something." But what was I to do? I was all alone and had no one to talk to about my ailings and fears, no one to try to diagnose me, no one to say it would wear off. My mind was racing with “what ifs.” My self-diagnosis was very dismal so I decided I needed to tell someone. I looked to my left since I was on the isle and only had one option. There was a man in his 50's who was reading and perfectly content with our treaty of silence. I tried to get his attention for awhile by intently looking at him for periods of time that cross social norms, by almost speaking (where you open your mouth and words almost come out... then finally, I blurted out in hush tones, "Sir, I can't feel half of my face and I don’t know what to do." Of course, he stared at me for a second as if to say "What!? I thought we had a no talking agreement and now I am responsible for your health? What am I supposed to do about it?"

When I realized he could do nothing about it other than to say “I’m sorry,” I decided to page a flight attendant whom I shyly asked "Is there a doctor on board?" And then I explained my symptoms and she bustled off (I assumed to see if there was anyone on board who could help). However, upon her return she notified me that they had called a doctor on the ground who had declared me a "medical risk." I was not going to be allowed to finish my trip. The airline had decided it was too dangerous for me to get on my last leg and make it back home. They were going to ground me in Kansas City at MCI. After delivering the news, the flight attendant ushered me to the front of the plane to sit in the fold down seats by the cockpit. She wrapped an AA navy sweater around my shoulders, served me hot tea, and then stood about 3 feet away in the "kitchen" with the other flight attendant staring at me.

I finally decided that I couldn't be stranded in Kansas City. I was in high school and flying alone. I had to make it to my final destination. So as the plane began its decent, I began to "miraculously recover.” I was pretty convincing and made it on my way with the side effects tailing off as I de-boarded in Tulsa, OK.

Anyways, my last trip this past weekend was unusually uneventful. I sat by kind people who offered me cheese-its, a man who kept kissing his wife (I guess that's kinda weird), and got to sprawl out over three seats on an empty flight. Maybe this just means that my next trip will be extra weird and exciting.