We’ve been back from London for just over a week and I have one more story to tell. This story is with regard to the airplane landing we experienced on our flight from London to Washington DC.
In a nutshell: it involved using the biohazard bags found on planes.
So if that’s something that bothers you, I’ll warn you that about halfway through this story, you may want to stop reading.
The flight was initially uneventful – until we were within 30 minutes of Dulles Airport. My sister and husband both had warned of inclement weather in DC that day, but I had flown before when there was dark clouds and rain, and never had a problem.
However, about 15 miles from the airport, I suddenly began to feel unwell. I closed my eyes for a few moments, willing myself to feel better.
My eyes flew opened in a panic. I thrust my hands into the seatbacks searching for a biohazard bag. Nothing. I pulled open CG’s seatback frantically. Nothing.
I quickly began looking around across the aisle, and saw a dad sitting next to his teenager, whose face was buried deep in a biohazard bag. My throat began to close, saliva gathering in my mouth more quickly than I could swallow. He saw my wild look and asked, “Do you need a bag?” I nodded, and accepted the bag he held out to me.
Seconds later – 1 or 2 at most – I was hurling the contents of my airplane lunch and afternoon tea into the bag. It was awful. I did my best to be quiet, but I’m not a quiet wretcher. At home I am so loud the entire house knows I’m sick. On the plane I managed to be a bit less obnoxious, but I was still audible as my stomach continued to lurch. CG was so sweet, gently rubbing my back saying, “We’re almost there, Mama. We’re almost there.”
Finally my nausea began to abate, when I suddenly heard the man in the seat ahead of me begin to hurl, followed quickly by the woman in the row behind us. And then someone a couple rows behind her.
And still we were in the air, slowly approaching Dulles Airport. So. Slowly.
FINALLY I could see the runway out the window, and that we were almost back on solid ground. It was a very jerky landing, but I know those of us in the back of the plane all silently cheered as we finally came to a near stop.
But now we were all left holding the bags, literally. We began looking for a flight attendant to help, and finally one came around with a biohazard trash bag, sympathetically asking, “Rough landing?” to all as she passed.
Uh. Yeah. You could say that.
I apologized to the gent in front of me in case I was the cause of his nausea, and his wife was quick to tell me he had already been nauseous when I started. And then I heard the lady behind me say, “I was fine until I heard her,” with ‘her’ being me. I turned and apologized to her as well. And then I thanked the dad across the aisle for coming to my rescue because had he not offered me that bag, I’d have hurled all over myself – which would have been WAY WORSE. *shudder*
I used to get motion sickness on long car rides as a kid, and when Denis and I took our honeymoon cruise in 1997 I felt nausea on the ship, but I have NEVER felt motion sickness on a plane until that return flight from London.
And I hope I never experience it again.
