Jill Montgomery:
My Fear of Flying
Or Actually, My Fear of Throwing Up on the Plane and Having All the Flight

Attendants and Other Passengers Rush to the Front of the Plane Leaving Me in the Back with Nothing But a Barf Bag To Keep Me Company

I dread flying. I haven’t done it often; just three times in 50 years, but still every time I fly, I remember why it’s been just three times in 50 years.

It’s not the hours spent on the Internet looking for the cheapest rates. I have a whiz-bang daughter and best friend who do that for me. I tell them where I must go, when I can leave, how long I’m going to be gone, and leave all the details in their capable hands.

It’s not the packing up, either. I travel light, one suitcase and one carry-on and my trusty denim pocketbook that holds everything one needs to survive for six months on a deserted island.

I don’t mind leaving home, either. I love to travel and see new sights. I must have been a gypsy in a former life ‘cause nothing seems better than heading down the highway with the radio blasting Olden Goldies and the road beneath my feet.

But that, you see, is the kicker. The road is beneath my feet and I am in charge of the vehicle. I am sitting in front where I have an unobstructed view and I am well aware of the turns and bends that are ahead of me.

I know in advance if we are about to take a dip down in the road and my stomach and I are quite happy.

Unfortunately, I can’t say the same about flying. From the time I board the plane until the time I stagger white-faced off at the other end, it is a constant conversation between me and God. Mostly in the form of a steady prayer or plea NOT to toss my cookies all over myself and in front of everybody.

The first thing I do after boarding the plane is to check out the availability of the all-important Barf Bag. Is there one tucked in among the shopper’s guide and trendy magazines in the seat back six inches from my face? Does my seatmate look like the hardy type, or will my throwing up cause mass hysteria and a chain reaction? Do I have quick, easy access to the restroom, or have they hidden it behind the stewardess’ station like they did on the last flight I took?

I take my seat and immediately open dialogue with the higher powers. I picture myself talking with a being that looks a lot like Buddha, but with wings, a halo and a staff.

"Please don’t let me puke. Please don’t let me puke." This is my mantra from the time I board the plane until the time I disembark at the other end. I have found that admitting to any chatty passenger that I am in the middle of my "Prayers Not To Puke" will pretty much stop any long term conversations dead in their tracks and quite often result in all the seats around me clearing out.

Besides prayer, I have discovered that looking straight ahead without so much as an eye twitch to either side helps. Like what? I might actually see something out of the window of the plane, a zillion miles above the ground, that will throw my system into overload? If I see anything go whizzing by the window, we probably have a lot bigger problems than whether or not I’m about to hurl!

I also keep my body posed for any switch in tempo of the plane. If I should be so foolish as to relax just when we hit an air pocket without my anticipating it, well, I know that there isn’t a prayer big enough in the world to prevent that explosion. One moment off guard and I’d have the rest of the flight to regret it, as would anyone within projectile range.

I have tried various cures that friends and neighbors have assured me always work for them. I have a tendency to fall asleep if I take any medicine stronger than Excedrin, so I tried NON-drowsy formula Dramamine. Wrong! If it wasn’t for my good buddy Cindy and my youngest daughter Bethany, I’d still be stuck in the airport sleeping. After taking the medicine, I divided my time waiting for my connecting flight between sleeping it off in a couple of rock-hard seats and staggering around the airport trying to wake up enough that they would even allow me to board the plane.

I have tried meditation, prayer and rosary beads. I have tried willing my stomach to behave and chewing gum.

Finally I went to my doctor and begged him to give me something that would keep me awake but out of the vomit zone. And then I didn’t dare take it on a recent flight because I was going solo and afraid I would wake up in Columbus, Ohio and not in Greensboro Bend, N.C., which is where I had hoped to go for a week in the sun with my daughter, who is smart enough not to put up with record-breaking snow fall like the rest of us dummies!

But I gave in while on vacation, tried the medicine, stayed awake and all was good. I took the magic pill on the way home and only had to use a little mini-prayer at take-off, really more of a prayerette than a full-fledged begging not to disgrace myself.

Well that, and keeping my eyes firmly ahead and willing the plane safely into the air and then back down again. After all, there’s no sense in taking any chances!

Jill D. Montgomery lives in Braintree where she loves to travel, but prefers to go by automobile, where the biggest worry is just where she’ll take a wrong turn.