The Plane! The Plane!

I am terrified of flying.

It is a wholly irrational fear I have, so I take no comfort in the statistics about the alleged safety of flying. I know flying is very safe, that it is indeed safer than driving in most cases and that I have nothing to worry about. That is, I know it intellectually. But I don't know it, not in my bones. The mere thought of flying gives me the heebie-jeebies. That fact that I am getting on a plane in a little over a week has me suffering mild panic attacks.

A friend of mine advised me not to think about. This blog is pretty convincing evidence of my inability to take that advice. She suggested that I instead focus on the fun parts of the actual vacation, like warm weather and pools. This unwittingly conjured up a different sort of panic attack - I'm still carrying an extra 20 lbs of "baby weight" and will be forced into wearing shorts and a bathing suit. A maternity bathing suit no less. (To be fair to myself, the suit was too small for my enormous pregnant self, but I'm still somewhat chagrined that it's fitting me now.)

The last time I flew was almost two years ago. I took a trip across the country to Nova Scotia with my daughter to visit my family. The flight takes about eight hours, the majority of which I spent in prayer. (Much like there are no atheists in a foxhole, I never pray as much as when I'm on a flight.) I was pretty much a wreck the entire time. During my extended stay with my folks, there was an incident involving a plane suddenly dropping 4,000 feet, injuring several passengers. This echoed an incident I had flying into LAX earlier that year - our plane got caught in the wake turbulence of another passing jet and rolled over. Not all the way mind you, but enough. I starting obsessing about what would happen to my toddler if I didn't happen to be holding on to her extra tight at the right moment. (This was in addition to my usual worries about the plane falling out of the sky.) My anxieties prompted me to instead take the five day train trip back to my home outside of Vancouver with my then 18 month-old. (It was as fun as it sounds. And I'd still take that over flying.) I haven't flown since.

I've never been a great flyer, but this almost paralysing fear did not develop until after I had my daughter. It actually started to really manifest the first time I was away from her for a few days. Emma was just over a year old and I left her alone with her dad while I flew to Las Vegas to meet my parents for four days. I was already burdened with the usual mommy guilt - how dare I leave my child alone to pursue my own pleasure trip! (Never mind that this was the first time I had be separated from her in her life - the child never even had babysitters at this point, or that she was being cared for by her father.) On my way to Vegas, I had a stopover in Los Angeles, which was when the aforementioned rolling incident occurred. My first thought was "Oh my God, I'm actually going to die in a plane crash." My second, third and all subsequent thoughts involved prayers. Once I made it safely to Vegas, I rebooked my flights for the way home, ensuring that I had a direct flight through a different airline. (At the time, my husband was curious how I managed to change my flights to a different airline. I explained that it was easy, I just paid for an entirely new ticket. He was welcome to think of it as a slot loss if that made it easier.)

Apparently, if you are afraid of flying, you are supposed to confront your fears and take small trips until you get accustomed to it. I think that is advice for those who are afraid and have never done it. I've flown lots in my life - mostly doing the circuit from one side of Canada to the other, which is not a small trip. So that's not going to help. What I'm hoping will help is the prescription I have acquired to help "take the edge off" for the duration of the flight. I would prefer to be comatose, but I'll take "not caring" for the time-being. (The "comatose" prescriptions probably aren't safe for breastfeeding mothers). Also, both of my kids have their own seats and we will be strapping car seats into them. No more lap-flying for any of my babies.

When it comes down to it, what has made me really afraid of flying is my children. I am petrified of the idea of dying and leaving them behind. I am still more terrified about the idea of them dying, period. This for me has crystallized with respect to flying. (Which I suppose is a good thing. I don't fly that often, so it is better to be afraid of that instead of say, driving.) On the one hand, I am struck by how incongruous it is that the most life affirming thing I've ever done has made me think the most about my own mortality. On the other hand, at an intuitive level I realize that life and death are two sides of the same coin. I just never thought that babies would lead me to think about death and dying so much. I think it's because I didn't realize how much I could love another person until I had them. (Disclaimer - I am very much in love with my husband. I also have lots of love for my family. But you just don't understand love the same way after you have a child.)

So... I had hoped that this post would help me work through my fears. At this point, I'd have to say that my plan has not been an overwhelming success. So wish me luck, Internets! For soon, I will once again be praying in the skies.