Flying for Scaredy Cats


I hate to fly.

Really, really, really hate to fly.

Just typing that sentence makes my hands sweat.

And, yet, in a few months, my darling children, husband and I will get on an airplane and fly to Florida. Believe me, I’ve thought about driving, but am trying to be reasonable and get over this fear of mine.

I have an interesting way of looking for the right flights.

First, I search for direct flights. Absolutely no way do I want to land and take off a second time if I can avoid it. If this means I have to drive to a less-convenient airport to get that direct flight, so be it.

Once I find some flights, note that the lowest-priced flight is from an airline called Air Tran. I have never heard of Air Tran. Immediately start researching this company, its accident record and the planes it flies. Worry that their price is too cheap. Are they paying their pilots enough? The fact that they merged with ValuJet in 1997 does not make me feel better.

Do the same ‘research’ for Jet Blue. See that it flies an Airbus. An alarm in my head goes off: isn’t Airbus the plane that is supposed to be very difficult to fly? Where did I hear that? Search for source of this supposed fact with no luck.

This goes on as I scan the airlines and their fares. Feel increasingly anxious.

Then, I remember that I never did take any of the Vicodin that I was given for my recent surgery. Memo to myself: “Hang on to those pills; you may need them“. But, then I admit to myself that I’d never take a single thing to calm my anxiety on a plane; I need to be alert for the in-flight safety demonstration.

Feeling Groovy

My uterus wanted to let you know that it feels all shiny and new today. Many thanks for your kind words.

May 41 be less—ahem—invasive.

For those of you in my corner of the earth, here is a little something I wrote that may interest you.

40 is Kicking My Ass


I’ve always believed that age is a state of mind. Lately, though, I’ve felt about 75.

Since turning 40 last July, I’ve had:

* a colonoscopy;

* found out I’m just a step away from having a torn retina (a bit startling since the only other person I know who had a torn retina is the 80+ year old music director of our church);

* a mammogram which came back as ‘suspicious’;

* a second, let’s-really-squish-them-to-hell mammogram which, thankfully, came out fine;

* a hysterosonogram which is about as fun as being punched in the gut a few times.

And now, on Monday, I go in for a ‘procedure’ that involves some heavy sedation in the Day Surgery wing of our local hospital. Nothing too serious (well, at least I’m told that 99% of woman are ‘fine’ afterward), but, geesh, do you think 41 will be a bit easier to take?