Flying the Unfriendly Skies

Airline travel used to be fun and exciting. I vaguely remember my first time flying; it was to Michigan with my mom when I was a toddler to see my Grandfather who was sick. All the little houses and cars that looked like ants. My next flying experience was when I was 16 and flew to Colorado for the Young Life Convention in Estes Park. Now I find it hard to believe that I experienced any sort of anticipation at getting on an airplane. After years of flying, countless flights between California and Michigan, and numerous long overseas flights for still exciting international travel, I experience more of a sense of extreme dread when it comes to an upcoming flight.


They say that all the changes the airlines have been making in the last couple of years, are to keep costs down in the face of looming jet fuel prices. Why then has the cost of my flights between Ontario and Grand Rapids tripled. Why I ask? Why? I always flew Northwest more than any other airline. My big brother used to call it "North-worst". But not so with my experience. I would fly through Minneapolis, home of the Mall of America, and spend my layovers smelling lotions at The Body Shop. I was a Northwest Frequent Flier member. I could walk through the "elite" line and bypass the poor suckers not smart enough to sign up for the free card. A few times I was even upgraded to First Class. Whoo hoo! And, most recently, I didn't have to pay for my baggage. But all of that is gone. Now Delta has taken over. Now I get to fly all the way over and east to Atlanta, before my next long flight to Grand Rapids (now does that make sense?). I pay for my baggage like everyone else. Long lines, late flights, and surly flight attendants is the norm. And upgrades? What's that?
Every time I fly lately, I say it was my worst experience ever. Could it possibly get worse? Here was my latest round trip:
I planned a timely red eye flight, leaving at 1:30am, in order to arrive Saturday morning in time for my nephew's 1st birthday. I envisioned an overnight flight with restful Ambien induced dreams. I should have known it was all downhill from the moment I arrived at the airport. As I walked up the empty Delta counter (except for the 3 check-in desk attendants) the thought went through my head of "How is this possible?" Silly me. I did my computer check in duty and then walked to the desk only to be asked "First class?" Nope, definitely not me. And as the lady gave me an exasperated frown: "You're on the wrong side." Only to realized that "hidden" behind the next wall was a very long line of disgruntled passengers with a mere 1 check-in attendant for them all. Thank you to the obnoxious guy near the front, who asked nearly everyone, including the cleaning guy, why there weren't more people to help.

25 dollars later for my baggage (and minus my water bottle, of course), I finally made it up to the gate. I sat down and waited for boarding. And waited. And waited. A little information sure would be helpful, oh airline gods. Apparently, a mechanical problem. Another plane was needed -- couldn't they have figured this out while the plane was sitting on the tarmac for 2 hours?
Ok, so we left "only" an hour and a half late. But of course, my layover was only 1:15 long in Nashville. We made up some time on the flight which involved only restless Ambien induced sleep. I ran to my next gate (literally), making it there just before the scheduled time, but the door was already closed. REALLY? Could they not have held the plane for a few minutes? So I spent the next 30 minutes trying to find Delta Customer Service which was "over there" according to the quite crabby gate attendant. Of course, there wasn't another available direct flight so I had to wait for a flight to Detroit, from which I could catch a flight to Grand Rapids (which was also ultimately late leaving from Detroit, by the way). Well Delta, I snatched one of your germ infested blankets to keep me warm in the airport while I snuggled up on one of your crappy waiting room chairs, so take that!

5 hours late and without my suitcase, I caught the very end of the 1st birthday party only because they waited for me to have cake (sorry Uncle Ben who had to leave before cake because they waited so long!). I was minus a gift (bad aunt!) because I was going to get one before the party. But I got to see this. Apparently, Levi likes to eat.

And sorry to my family who had to endure me wearing the same clothes, including underwear (too much info I know) for over 24 hours, even after a shower.

Well, you'd think it couldn't get worse. But I didn't fare any better on my flight back. With my two layovers, leaving late from O'Hare (no surprise there, it is O'Hare afterall), missing my next flight in Houston (partly because of the late flight and partly because it takes an eternity to go from one terminal to another, plus I had to check in with Continental and go through security AGAIN -- but a plus: my suitcase made my original flight though), and finally getting into LAX at midnight, still needing to take the shuttle to the garage for my car and drive home to Redlands.

And the airlines wonder why their satisfaction rates are down. Go figure.

This isn't the first time...

Yep, that's me with the cast from hip to toe.  So no, this isn't the first time I've broken my right leg.  I'm 6 years old in this picture, and, go figure, that break occurred because of a bike incident too.  Remember those little banana seat bikes that you had to pedal backwards to stop? 

Well, apparently that time, I forgot that and decided to use my foot as a brake after flying down a long gravel driveway.  Result?  Summer spent in a cast.  No fun! My favorite trip to the cottage wasn't spent on tubes, skis and disks behind the boat, but with a garbage bag over my leg floating around in a tube.  I guess I just haven't learned.  Pretty much all my broken bones have come while riding a bike (excluding the time I broke a toe by dropping a frozen water bottle on my foot), but I just keep getting back in the saddle.  Will I get back into the saddle this time?  Only time will tell.  But I'm definitely going to start running more.

For now, no flip flops

Matt beat me to the blogging punch by writing about our latest adventure.  Unfortunately, adventure sounds rather romantic, making it the wrong word to use, because it wasn't even close.  He said that he'd let me blog about my version of the story, but his is rather accurate, so I'll spare you a repeat of  the unfortunate details.  But, can I tell you that having the biggest long bone in your body (that's the femur) broken in two (or in my case 7) does not feel good when it is moved?  The pain goes beyond description, and even though I have never experienced it, I am quite sure it is worse than labor.  And since the emergency peeps had to carry me out, there was definitely a lot of movement.  And while I had the displeasure of experiencing the pain (which when all was said and done still hurt like hell after 30 mg of morphine), Matt got to experience my screams of pain which I'm quite sure were not pretty to listen to.  Thank you so much to my man for keeping calm, getting help, and providing what comfort was possible during those hours which seemed like an eternity.

After the accident, I got to spend 4 days in the hospital.  Much to my relief, I was transferred to Kaiser from Loma Linda, in the middle of the first night.  My frantic call to my orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Sean, at 1 am, expedited my transfer.  At LLU ER, I feared that every doc that came to my bedside was an overeager intern, ready to slice me open on the spot.  Of note: yes, I do have a personal orthopod who has placed extra metal in my body on two separate occasions now.  Everyone jokes that I am becoming the bionic woman; my question is, will that rod beep when I go through the airport security?   Most disturbing of my hospital stay?  Little old ladies were passing me when making hall rounds with our walkers.  There is definitely something wrong with that.

I was able to come home on Monday night.  Matt and I discovered that stairs were out of the question -- no lifting, supportive efforts, or walkers could help me traverse, without severe pain, the meer 3 stairs between bathroom/bedroom and living room/kitchen.  So I chose the lesser of the two evils, where rest and bed (which is about all I can do anyway) and easy access to my bathroom are available. So now, I have to rely on others to bring me food (and somehow I didn't relish the thought of using a commode anyway).

This morning, Dr. Sean did nothing to shed hope on how long this situation will last.  Non (or bare minimum) weightbearing for the first 8-12 weeks and crutches or a walker for at least 3 months.  Some may relish the excuse to become sedentary and fat, but not me.

So, thank you to all of my wonderful caregivers.  From the docs, nurses, and other hospital and emergency personnel who rescued me, answered my questions and my call light, and gave me those fabulous drugs.  To my dear friends and family who have sat at my bedside, kept me company, called, texted, emailed and facebooked, cooked, cleaned and helped me out in too many numerous ways to mention.  An extra special thank you to Matt for doing all of the above, and for staying by my side, caring about and for me, and for loving me.  There is nothing I can say that can express how glad I am that you are in my life.