I survived my first multi-legged round-trip flight.
Never before have I had to take off and land in an airplane twice in the same day, let alone four times within four days! But survive I did. I would even toy with the prospect of doing so again.
(But first, a brief little background.)
A typical flying experience for me would go something like this:
One month out: Start panicking as soon as I click "Book Flight" on Expedia.
Weeks before flight: Wake up repeatedly in the middle of the night when I realize I have purchased an airline ticket and have ultimately secured my doom.
Day before flight: Clean my entire house (including doing laundry) so that everything will be in order when my family goes in to start divvying up my belongings because I have died in a plane crash.
Morning of flight: Take in the sights and sounds of Earth, as I am surely never going to do so again.
Arrival at airport: Try to appear "cool" and "seasoned" whilst going through security so as not to give the illusion that I am crazy or reenacting the final scene in "Dead Man Walking."
Approaching gate: Smile at every single airline/airport employee to ensure that they know I am a nice person, thus giving them no possible reason to want me to die.
Walking down that tunnel thingy: Finally expose apprehension and fear so that the crew members greeting folks at the cabin door will feel sorry for me and try extra hard not to let the plane crash.
Taxiing: Yelp and gasp at every single noise until passengers start to stare, which eventually leads to the following exchange:
Attendant: "Miss, is everything all right?"
Me: "I'm sorry. I'm afraid of flying."
Attendant: "Would a glass of wine help?"
Me (glancing at watch to see that it is 8:54 a.m.): "Yes."
Take off: Head between knees; play Christopher Cross's soothing smash hit "Sailing" on repeat; rub pant leg so hard my hand actually burns; pray for Jesus to spare my life.
And so on and so forth...
Aside from the nasty hangover upon arrival, it's all rather pleasant, I'd say!
For my recent trip to Kansas, however, I thought I'd try a little something different: Xanax. A drug so innocuous, my own doctor prescribed it without even speaking to me directly.
I must admit, I was somewhat looking forward to experiencing its "effects," considering how the alternative to drugs has been oh-so-enjoyable for me in the past. Plus, I am pretty straight-laced and don't often get permission from my doctor to use drugs.
What a disappointment! Either I didn't take a high enough dosage, or I am just plain beyond help. The only genuine difference I noticed was the added pressure of worrying about why the medication wasn't kicking in quickly enough.
My sweet boyfriend explained that Xanax wouldn't alter my mental state nor my functionality, but would instead prohibit my adrenaline from kicking into overdrive. Simply put, it would help take the edge off of my anxiety.
First of all, my anxiety has no edge. From a geometric standpoint, his explanation implies that my anxiety has an actual ending point, which it clearly does not.
At least with my old method, I got to partake of some interesting wine (though I'm pretty sure a connoisseur would recommend allowing the wine to graze my tongue for a split second, rather than have me simply inhale it).
Nonetheless, with or without the Xanax, I have now managed to survive a total of nine flying experiences, or, to be more exact, 10 take offs and 10 landings.
I'll just chalk this all up to gained experience and give this last Xanax to the dog.