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CHAPTER TEN
While living in Indiana with parents of modest means, I never had the opportunity to fly anywhere. Pair that with my mother’s crippling anxiety, and you got a teenage girl who was terrified to get on a plane. And while the fact that it was a private jet made me feel more at ease, it was Dr. Asiimwe who really saved the day.
My IV was still in place from my lengthy stay in the hospital, though they’d had to start a new one a few times. When I boarded the plane, shaking like a leaf on a tree in late October, my beautiful dark-complected savior in a white lab coat seated me in a reclining, pillowy, white leather chair and gave me enough Ativan to calm my ass right down.
I learned a lot about her in the thirty minutes before we taxied down the runway since my anxiety had me rattling off rapid-fire questions. She had a beautiful accent paired with a soft voice, and when I asked where she was from, she told me the sweetest story.
“I’m from a small village in Africa,” she’d said with a smile. Her skin was perfect, and she had sparkling, dark, almond-shaped eyes. Her hair was done in elegant cornrows that came down to meet in a singular braid down her back. “My husband was from another village in Africa, and we spoke two different languages. We met in college, and we could only communicate by speaking English.”
The story itself was pretty normal to expect from two people from different areas, but it was the way she told it and the way she smiled when speaking of him that made my heart flutter. You could see just how much she loved him. “That’s all we speak in our home, but I’ll tell you a secret.” She laughed. “When we argue, he knows he’s gone too far if I stop using English.”
For some reason that struck me funny, that sweet, patient soul getting feisty enough to argue in her first language to make a point.
When we were about to take off, she’d told me that would be the worst. I could safely say that was accurate. It scared the hell out of me, but thanks to the meds, I was able to not freak completely out. Once we were in the air, my drowsy eyes stared out the window and watched the world below pass us by.
The good doctor had offered to knock me out all the way, but I decided against it. I wanted to sleep through the trip, but I knew if I did, I wouldn’t see firsthand how non-threatening a flight could be.
In my mind, I thought if I watched it happen from start to finish, I’d know everything that came with it. I’d also experience the beauty from the window. Then, when it came time for me to fly back to Indiana later, I wouldn’t be scared. More than that, I’d be able to fly alone and not ask Daddy Warbucks for another in-flight doctor to get me high as a kite before the flight.
So far, I’d say my plan had worked great.
Looking around the plane, I was almost disgusted at the extravagance. I didn’t have an issue with rich people, but sometimes the excess annoyed me.
When I got on the plane, my anxious eyes took in everything there was to take in. From nose to tip, I saw the cockpit followed by a small hallway with a bathroom on one side and closet on the other. Then the exit. Then a doorway that opened into the cabin. On either side of the doorway was a wall. On one side, there was a large TV with gaming systems underneath, and on the other was a weird painting of an abstract nude woman. It was rather hideous.
On the left side of the cabin was a long, white leather sofa with three small tables evenly spaced in front of it. It looked like the tables could collapse if needed, and the bottom part of the sofa was in sections. I wondered if they slid out like an ottoman, or maybe it was extra storage.
On the right side, where I was, were two luxurious, oversized, white leather chairs with armrests. Both reclined and swiveled, and next to those along the right wall was a one-foot-wide, light colored wooden bar that extended from one end of the cabin to the other. There were holes in the bar for glasses and larger ones for what I assumed was bottles—wine or champagne more than likely. There were controls where the cup holders could be chilled or heated.
It was insane.
Behind the cabin was another bathroom and a kitchenette area where the flight attendant sat when not needed. And behind that was a bedroom with a king size bed decorated in royal purple bedding.
I didn’t even want to think about how much this thing cost.
“Do you need anything? How are you feeling?” a nurse asked as she came over to take my blood pressure.
“I’m doing okay,” I responded. “Very relaxed.”
She smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. On a scale of one to ten, what would you rate your pain right now?”
“Two if I’m not moving. Four if I do. Doesn’t feel like I’ve just had surgery anymore though. Mostly it just feels like I got kicked in the side. I think the worst is behind me for sure.”
“I’m very happy to hear that, too. I wanted to ask just in case. We want to make sure your pain doesn’t get worse in flight. That could be a sign of trouble if it does,” she said. I didn’t respond because she’d just released the air from the cuff, and I knew she’d need to hear it. When finished, she pulled her stethoscope off and hung it around her neck. “One-thirty-four over seventy-two. Perfect.”
I gave her a lazy, sleepy smile, and she patted my shoulder before walking back over to the couch.
After turning my head back toward the window, I zoned out. My brain wandered, and my eyes saw nothing. I wondered how long it would take for everything to become my new normal. I wonderedifit would become my new normal. Part of me hoped it would, but the other part just thought I’d bide my time until the threat disappeared, and then I’d go back home. Back to myrealhome, and myreallife.
The truth was, I had no clue what I was in for. All I knew was what I’d lost and thinking of that only made me think of my parents—my dad mostly.
They were good together when I was young. We went to church, and my mom was a homemaker. She was beautiful, my dad was handsome, and they made a beautiful couple. He worked at a golf course and supported them both until I came along, and then he got a job at a factory. He bought a new house and a new car, and he took care of us the best he could.
Mom was good up until I was about eight. Granted, I was a kid, so I only knew what I saw, and I doubted very seriously I saw even a fraction of it. She seemed depressed, Dad seemed angry, and I was just confused.
She left when I was nine, and I didn’t see her for months. It stayed that way for years. She’d pop up, get into the swing of being a mom again. Dad would drop me off at her house at night before work, and then he’d pick me up in the mornings to take me to school. They worked together even though they weren’t together anymore. From what I could tell, it worked well.
Until Mom started dating. Ugh, she could pick them.
