flights are like doctor visits…

…even when they’re good, they’re still really bad.

I never loved air travel prior to dysautonomia, but it’s no secret that I now loathe flying.  Airports and airplanes combine some of the most symptomatic inducing experiences – lots of standing, altitude changes, dryness and increased dehydration, carrying heavy items, noises, lights, vibrations and unexpected movement.

I had posted previously about some tips for flying on a wonderful blog post over at With a Side of Salt. I knew this was going to be a particularly harrowing flight, as the day before I was going on a long six-hour car ride, only to have to fly back home less than 24 hours later. That would have been a lot to handle in my pre-POTS days, but now, it’s like the rapture.

I had a very busy few days before the drive and flight.  I co-hosted a dysautonomia fundraiser, which was lots of fun.

The BF had his car towed.

I got sick to my stomach and puked a couple times.

I had developed random rashes, as I tend to do when my system is a little out of whack.

And it was HOT for the 24 hours I was actually in Phoenix.

Knowing that my flight was going to occur at the end of a particularly stressful 24 hour period, I decided to follow every chronic illness travel tip I could find.  Lots of fluid. Salt. Compression socks. Meditation. Extra rest. I even purchased a pill cutter so I could accurately divide pills in the event I felt my heart needed something a little extra. As I mentioned previously, cutting pills just using a kitchen knife was starting to crush the pills into a fine white powder.

It has been my experience that fine white powders and airports don’t mix.

So, needless to say, I was prepared for my flight – at least to the extent that I could be.

My flight was on a Tuesday afternoon – probably one of the best times to fly, as airports are generally pretty dead. Admittedly, the situation was about as good as it could be…check in line was short, security line was reasonable, I had an entire row to myself, and the flight was only an hour. Save for passing out the entire duration of the flight or finding a million dollars hidden under your seat, it doesn’t get much better than that.

Yet even though the circumstances were good, the experience was still bad. Any unexpected noises or vibrations seem to cause my adrenaline to surge. About halfway into the flight, we suddenly hit a windy patch, which is not uncommon for this particular route over the desert. My adrenaline surged, my heart rate soared, and I had an instant severe headache.  The turbulence stopped after a few minutes, but at that point, the damage had been done. I can’t get my heart to calm down, and the adrenaline continues to pump, even though I know I’m not in any danger.

I was hoping all my tips and tricks would reveal the secret to successful flying for those with chronic illnesses, but alas, it did not.

I think I just have to accept that flying is one of those new challenges to life that I just can’t change.

“Acceptance doesn’t mean resignation; it means understanding that something is what it is and that there’s got to be a way through it.”
– Michael J. Fox