Dealing with fear at 39,000 feet
August 1, 2004 | 12:00am
Most people are surprised when I tell them I’m scared of flying, since I travel quite a bit.
I’m not sure how it began. The first time I ever rode a plane was when I was seven or eight years old, on a small plane to Baguio.
I remember praying the rosary with our yaya who was also afraid, and that the plane shook so much.
My first trip out of the country was when I was in third grade. We went to Hong Kong. I found out large planes didn’t shake as much. So I thought it was just small planes I should look out for. But as I grew older and flew more often, I just developed this abnormal flying disorder I can’t seem to get over.
I’m not just talking about long trips to Europe or America. I am deathly afraid of even flying to freaking Hong Kong. The irony of it all is that I love traveling and I love airports. I love looking at nice luggage and buying traveling accessories. I love watching people and families in airports, eating and shopping there. It’s the flying part I hate.
My anxiety starts days before I fly, and on the car going to the airport. That’s when I start praying the rosary. That’s nothing compared to the fear that rises in the airport lounge and the actual walk towards the plane. The minute I step into the tunnel leading to the plane entrance I start praying Hail Mary, like a death row inmate approaching the electric chair. I always think it’s going to be my final journey.
After I reach my seat and settle my things, I go to the lavatory – the first of many trips down there. I just seem to burn so much calories when flying that I always have to "go". I hate taking off, and I envy people who are asleep even before the plane leaves the ground. My sister-in-law used to be a flight attendant. The plane is like a second home to her; she can doze off as soon as her back hits the seat. What I’d give to be just like that.
At take off, I resume my rosary. As soon as the pilot turns off the seatbelt sign I’m back in the lavatory. I look at the mirror and check for zits and white hair. For some reason pulling out stray white hair calms me. But I’m getting old and the white hair are getting too plenty to pull out.
Forget the food. I don’t really eat on the plane unless the food is fantabulous. Like this Chinese shrimp with egg white sauce they served on my flight to Hong Kong last week. I ate that. Northwest sometimes serves this really nice beef medallions chuva, and Japan Airlines food excites me. Sort of.
I just got back from Hong Kong this afternoon. I didn’t eat, because I was too nervous. I’ve noticed that the plane seems to start shaking every time food is served. I hate being trapped in my seat with my tray when that starts to happen. I hate it when the ice clinks on the glass when the plane shakes. That is enough to make me catatonic.
I have to wear earplugs because it helps that I don’t hear noises that make me imagine the plane is falling apart. I don’t watch movies because it also makes me nervous. So basically I try to read, play video games, pray the rosary, and if the plane has an airshow on the screen, I keep track of how many minutes are left before landing.
Flight attendants and seatbelt signs are my gauge of how much I should be nervous. If, mid-flight, the pilot turns the seatbelt sign on, I anticipate turbulence and start getting edgy. I watch the flight attendants. Are they smiling, are they still walking around and helping people? If the pilot announces that they have to go back to their seat, it’s panic time. That’s when I stick my head out into the aisle to view their facial expressions. Most of the time they are poker-faced, even if the plane is shaking violently. That’s good.
If the plane shakes for a long time I start looking at passengers’ faces: Are they scared like me? Nope. Is the liquid in their glasses shaking? Sometimes I get into full-blown panic attacks when I actually have to bug people. I sometimes press the flight attendant button just to ask if we’re OK (we always are, it’s just turbulence). I’ve sat next to a purser and held his arm on a PAL flight. He was kind. That’s why I need to fly Business if I can.
Forget about tranquilizers and sleeping pills. They don’t work when combined with my adrenaline rush. Not even 1-1/2 Dormicum could knock me out on a KLM flight to Amsterdam. It was the kindness of a senior flight attendant who talked to me in the dark while everyone was zonked out. She convinced me to take 1/2 more Dormicum with hot water that finally put me to sleep.
When I woke up six hours later the plane was steady and I was alive. I love moments like that when I’m calm and I can look out the window and watch clouds. It’s such a spiritual moment for me. I think of God and how many people He needs to take care of. The best part is when I see patches of land from the window and I know landing is near. I love landing.
I don’t know if I’ll ever conquer this fear. I wish someone would invent a super tranquilizer that would really make me OK when I fly. Because I love traveling. It’s the flying part I hate.
I’m not sure how it began. The first time I ever rode a plane was when I was seven or eight years old, on a small plane to Baguio.
I remember praying the rosary with our yaya who was also afraid, and that the plane shook so much.
My first trip out of the country was when I was in third grade. We went to Hong Kong. I found out large planes didn’t shake as much. So I thought it was just small planes I should look out for. But as I grew older and flew more often, I just developed this abnormal flying disorder I can’t seem to get over.
I’m not just talking about long trips to Europe or America. I am deathly afraid of even flying to freaking Hong Kong. The irony of it all is that I love traveling and I love airports. I love looking at nice luggage and buying traveling accessories. I love watching people and families in airports, eating and shopping there. It’s the flying part I hate.
My anxiety starts days before I fly, and on the car going to the airport. That’s when I start praying the rosary. That’s nothing compared to the fear that rises in the airport lounge and the actual walk towards the plane. The minute I step into the tunnel leading to the plane entrance I start praying Hail Mary, like a death row inmate approaching the electric chair. I always think it’s going to be my final journey.
After I reach my seat and settle my things, I go to the lavatory – the first of many trips down there. I just seem to burn so much calories when flying that I always have to "go". I hate taking off, and I envy people who are asleep even before the plane leaves the ground. My sister-in-law used to be a flight attendant. The plane is like a second home to her; she can doze off as soon as her back hits the seat. What I’d give to be just like that.
At take off, I resume my rosary. As soon as the pilot turns off the seatbelt sign I’m back in the lavatory. I look at the mirror and check for zits and white hair. For some reason pulling out stray white hair calms me. But I’m getting old and the white hair are getting too plenty to pull out.
Forget the food. I don’t really eat on the plane unless the food is fantabulous. Like this Chinese shrimp with egg white sauce they served on my flight to Hong Kong last week. I ate that. Northwest sometimes serves this really nice beef medallions chuva, and Japan Airlines food excites me. Sort of.
I just got back from Hong Kong this afternoon. I didn’t eat, because I was too nervous. I’ve noticed that the plane seems to start shaking every time food is served. I hate being trapped in my seat with my tray when that starts to happen. I hate it when the ice clinks on the glass when the plane shakes. That is enough to make me catatonic.
I have to wear earplugs because it helps that I don’t hear noises that make me imagine the plane is falling apart. I don’t watch movies because it also makes me nervous. So basically I try to read, play video games, pray the rosary, and if the plane has an airshow on the screen, I keep track of how many minutes are left before landing.
Flight attendants and seatbelt signs are my gauge of how much I should be nervous. If, mid-flight, the pilot turns the seatbelt sign on, I anticipate turbulence and start getting edgy. I watch the flight attendants. Are they smiling, are they still walking around and helping people? If the pilot announces that they have to go back to their seat, it’s panic time. That’s when I stick my head out into the aisle to view their facial expressions. Most of the time they are poker-faced, even if the plane is shaking violently. That’s good.
If the plane shakes for a long time I start looking at passengers’ faces: Are they scared like me? Nope. Is the liquid in their glasses shaking? Sometimes I get into full-blown panic attacks when I actually have to bug people. I sometimes press the flight attendant button just to ask if we’re OK (we always are, it’s just turbulence). I’ve sat next to a purser and held his arm on a PAL flight. He was kind. That’s why I need to fly Business if I can.
Forget about tranquilizers and sleeping pills. They don’t work when combined with my adrenaline rush. Not even 1-1/2 Dormicum could knock me out on a KLM flight to Amsterdam. It was the kindness of a senior flight attendant who talked to me in the dark while everyone was zonked out. She convinced me to take 1/2 more Dormicum with hot water that finally put me to sleep.
When I woke up six hours later the plane was steady and I was alive. I love moments like that when I’m calm and I can look out the window and watch clouds. It’s such a spiritual moment for me. I think of God and how many people He needs to take care of. The best part is when I see patches of land from the window and I know landing is near. I love landing.
I don’t know if I’ll ever conquer this fear. I wish someone would invent a super tranquilizer that would really make me OK when I fly. Because I love traveling. It’s the flying part I hate.
BrandSpace Articles
<
>
