So, the Xanadu was, as I was saying earlier, my legal ticket to high-dom, or so I thought. We'd get to the airport, check our bags, eat some dinner, and I'd pop the pill. And then when I got on the plane, I'd be serene and calm. You know, like an actor in a herpes-drug ad.
This, however, was not what happened. What happened was we checked our bags, ate some dinner, I popped the pill, and then I got giddy. Silly giddy. I giggled. I recalled funny moments and fart jokes from seventh grade. And my hands felt tingly. Still, I thought, still...this is about 100 times better than panic-attack Terrible Mother. And it was. Until I discovered giddy panic-attack Terrible Mother, a version which should never have been released.
I was giddy at the gate, giddy in the tunnel, freaked out on the plane, and then panicky once we actually started moving. I imagined going back to my doctor and saying "it isn't just planes I'm afraid of--it's the flying part!" as though I hadn't been specific enough, or there was some secret right answer, much like a GRE exam question. Basically, the drug made me giddy until the plane started moving, which seems to me a major deal breaker.
As we taxied, I breathed like a rhino in labor and gripped the seat in front of me. Friend One rubbed my back, held my hand, but also said, at one point, "you are freaking me out, Terrible Mother. Knock it." Nurturing on an Airplane should never be on Friend One's Curriculum Vitae, that's for damn sure.
Five minutes after we were in the air, and I started breathing like a human again, I popped a second pill. Fifteen minutes later, I was out like a light, and slept for three hours. This, I think, is what I need: the Mr. T. approach to flying.
and yes, to be continued freaklikeme.
Also, I had to meet not only the sister and brother-in-law, but another sister and brother-in-law, grandparents, aunts and uncles and cousins--a whole slew of people. But it went well, I think. I hope.