The Ordeal...

So, as Melissa pointed out, after declaring to the internet last week that, yes, I’m knocked up, I promptly left the state of Texas. That is just the latest example of how I roll when faced with making a voluntary, if not awkward, public announcement.

Speaking of: since it doesn’t have known a gender yet, I’ve started referring to it as The Fetus. As in “The Fetus doesn’t like the smell of garlic or fish, and hates the heat” or “Trevor told me The Fetus has ears now and reacts to light, but I don’t have to start watching my language yet because it won’t speak English for at least another year”. Once I know the gender, I promise I will use more endearing and motherly pronouns like him/her and/or he/she. In the meantime, I’m all about being technical.

(Mainly because I really dislike referring to it as "it" and accidentally called it a "thing" a couple of weeks ago which horrified my coworker. Trevor wants me to call it "baby" but, since I am not showing yet, that just seems weird to me. I’m not sure it reaches baby status until it can survive outside of the womb. And, really, Trevor is just lucky that I don't refer to it as "The Parasite".)

Anyhoo, I went to Martha’s Vineyard to visit friends on Wednesday and came back last night. I’ll eventually get around to posting pictures, but the point of today’s post is to document yesterday’s Travel Ordeal.

I awoke yesterday morning to a 6:30 AM automated phone call from American Airlines informing me that my 2:45 PM flight from Boston Logan to DFW had been cancelled. Apparently, the plane had a “mechanical failure” (a.k.a. it was broken), so even though the flight was completely full, we were grounded. But because I had splurged for the $30 trip insurance, I had already been rescheduled for a 5:30 flight to New York’s JFK with an 8 PM connection back to Dallas the same afternoon.

Apparently, had I not purchased the trip insurance, I would have been put on another flight home. Just not yesterday. $30 is a lot cheaper than any hotel in Boston, so I am thinking I won.

The weather in NYC was calling for thunderstorms, and I had a feeling that flying through NYC was destined for failure. So, I called American Airlines and opted for the direct flight from Boston to Dallas that left at 8 PM. It would get in at the same time as the JFK flight, but without the risk of weather delays and/or cancellations.

The problem was that I already had a ticket for the 9:30 AM ferry from Vineyard Haven back to Woods Hole, and the 10:35 bus from the ferry back to Logan. So, I arrived at the airport at 12:45, and had…well, a LOT of time to kill.

Other than the obvious boredom, it really wasn’t that bad since it allowed me the extra time to do things like opt out of the security body scanner. Not that I really care so much about someone seeing me sans clothing because, hey, it is their eyes. But because there were all these “Danger! Radiation!” signs all over it. Feeling concerned for The Fetus, I asked what effect, if any, the radiation would have on my unborn child. The TSA person just looked at me and said, “Well, there is no evidence to suggest it will do any harm to the baby. But, then again, there is no evidence to suggest it won’t. It just hasn’t been around all that long.” So, yeah. I opted out.

Maybe I do have a maternal instinct?

The resulting pat down wasn’t that bad, either. I had been carrying a heavy bag over my shoulder, and when she ran the backs of her hands down my upper back, it was almost like a massage (a little to the left, please?). True, she got a little friendly with the bathing suit areas, but - dude - if it keeps my plane from falling out of the sky, I’m all for it. And, honestly, it wasn’t THAT bad. The TSA agent explained everything she was doing and where she was going to put her hands and whatnot. It was as professional as a pat down can be. Maybe I just have a high tolerance level when something is done in the name of safety or maybe (now that I’ve been through it) I just don’t understand what all the fuss is about.

But enough about that.

The afternoon at Logan was spent trying to fly standby on the 3:15 and 4:35 flights to Dallas and failing both times. Apparently, everyone that had been on the completely full 2:45 flight was trying to do the same thing as I was, and – statistically – the deck was stacked against every last one of us.

I did almost get on the 4:35 flight. They called the first four standby names, and issued them seats. I was number five.

Just my luck.

The 8 PM flight I was confirmed on STILL had a list of over twenty standby passengers. So, I was extremely happy that I had a seat, even if said seat was in the very back of the plane and in the middle (I have a preference for aisle seats - especially now that The Fetus mandates that I pee approximately every 15 to 20 minutes). Of course, my middle seat was in between two very friendly and sweet, but larger individuals. And we all know I’m not petite (I think the word used to describe me recently was “wide”), so I was instantly claustrophobic. This was exacerbated by the fact that I couldn’t use either arm rest because they were resting on the thighs of my neighboring passengers.

I spent the next five hours chanting, “Stay calm, breathe, stay calm, breathe, stay calm, breathe” in my head.

Then, when we started to taxi to the runway to take off, all the power (lights, AC, engines, etc.) shut down unexpectedly. The captain came over the PA system and said:

“Ladies and gentlemen. We just lost power. This is an exceptionally rare problem on this type of aircraft. In fact, it has only happened to me once in my twenty-five year career. But don’t worry. The last time this happened, I still made it to my destination safely.”

WTF?!

The cabin was instantly filled with nervous laughter.

It took about half an hour for the ground crew to successfully jump the plane. Yes, they had to JUMP. THE. PLANE. Nothing about the situation made me feel confident about our four hour flight back to Dallas. Mainly because I am not sure how well a 757 glides back to Earth if it loses power at 37,000 feet.

We did take off, though, and other than the EXTREMELY turbulent ride (which had me VERY aware of the location of my air sick bag in the seat back pocket in front of me), the flight was uneventful. Of course, the jumping of the plane delayed our arrival by nearly an hour, so we showed up in Dallas closer to midnight than eleven.

Disembarking took FOR-EV-ER. Remind me never to voluntarily sit in the back of a plane again. It was awful. It took all my energy not to start screaming. Apparently, five hours is the limit of my “stay calm, breathe” mantra. I was literally starting to panic. There were too many people and not enough oxygen. And it was hot. I broke out in a sweat, and honestly believe I was THAT close to losing it.

Finally, though, I got off the plane and made it to the baggage claim. Where my bag was NOT. Because, really? Why would it be there? After watching the carrousel travel in circles long enough to feel confident that, no, my bag wasn’t going to magically appear, I headed to the baggage service desk. Where I learned that my bag had better luck flying standby than I did. It made the 3:15 and had been waiting patiently at Terminal C, Gate 31 for six hours.

Problem was that my flight had arrived at Terminal A, Gate 29.

So, after nearly 16 hours of traveling and airport delays, I got to go on a wild goose hunt for my bag. Luckily, my sister and her fiancé were nice enough to pick me up and drive me around DFW to find my luggage.

C31 was all but deserted when we arrived. There was one official looking guy standing near the baggage carrosel, but he made it very clear that he didn’t know anything. So, Amy and I hiked to the nearest FUNCTIONING baggage claim six gates away where a flight had just arrived. Of course, the baggage service desk employee at C25 promptly walked us BACK to C31, and unlocked a cabinet less than 15 feet from where “official looking guy” was still standing. But, at that point, I was just glad to have my bag and be done with the entire ordeal.

Adam and Amy drove me home and I showered and collapsed into bed around 1:45 AM. I don’t think I have been that level of exhausted in years. My bed felt wonderful.

And that folks was my Travel Ordeal. I am still not fully recovered. The experience was almost enough to make me want to avoid air travel for the foreseeable future. Or at least airports.

The Fetus feels the same way.