Yesterday I flew home from Britain, and it was not an experience I want to repeat anytime soon.  The day before — Monday — I had gotten soaked in the rain, but didn’t think much of it.  On Tuesday I got to the airport in plenty of time, got on my flight, ate my dinner.  I set to work on my Edge 3 edit.  Then not quite four hours into a ten and half hour flight I became desperately, vilely ill.  The first thing I discovered is there were no air sickness bags in the bathrooms in business class.  I guess they think business travelers don’t get sick.  I asked the stewardess and they brought me one.  Eventually I had them running all over the plane bringing me many air sickness bags.  I went through five or six before it was all over.  Then I got hit with violent chills.  The cabin crew was lovely.  They made me a hot water bottle and got me an extra blanket.  Unfortunately this began just as we were nosing out of Scotland heading for Iceland.  There was no possibility of setting down.  At one point I really wished they could just open a hatch and throw me out.  Death seemed preferable.

I almost asked them to land in Newfoundland where my doctor/writer/editor/painter buddies live and have them check me into a hospital in St. John’s.  Still I endured until we reached Los Angeles.  I was so weak, and we landed at a remote location that seemed to be in San Diego County.  The top stewardess said it was a bus ride followed by a really long walk to customs and then standing in line at customs and she recommended a wheelchair.  I have never done anything like this before in my life, but I said yes.  I honestly didn’t think I could walk, and I certainly couldn’t have lifted or dragged the suitcase.

The wheelchair guy was just lovely, and I will say — when you are in a wheelchair customs is a breeze.  He recovered my case, and got a porter to take the case.  They took me outside onto the sidewalk, and I tried to contact Lyft.  Only to discover that they won’t come to the airport now.  You have to meet them somewhere else.  That was not going to happen so I hung up and tried to figure out what to do.  When you are weak, sick and dehydrated your brain doesn’t work very well.  I talked to Super Shuttle about getting a private car.  I think the guy could see I was in bad shape.  He said they couldn’t get anybody to the airport for at least 20 to 30 minutes and that it was going to cost as much as a cab.  So I took a cab to Woodland Hills.

This is one of those times when I’m so grateful that I have done okay financially.  I didn’t need to take a van and endure six or seven stops before I got home.  I could just go home.  I don’t want money for money’s sake.  I don’t want to affect other people’s lives.  I mean, not in a bad way like the Koch brothers trying to buy Congress.  I just want to make my life easier, and that’s what happened yesterday.  I got home, sipped on a Coke and went to bed at 8:00 p.m and slept until 8:00 this morning.  I’ve since had another long nap, and I’m starting to think that a saltine cracker or two might not be amiss.

All in all I can not say enough good about the crew on American Airlines flight 135.  They were kind and as helpful as they could be since they weren’t doctors.