Those Little White Bags

from the mom

I love air travel. I was nearly born to it. My grandpa flew a little Cessna 180 (er, uh Cessna 210 actually...thanks Dad) and I grew up hitting air pockets and handling those little tummy jumps just fine. My friend Jean can't get on a plane without gathering all the little barf bags for the trip. Whenever I see them in the seat pocket, I think of her.

I thought of her A LOT yesterday. Especially when the flight attendant asked what she could get me. "More barf bags."

Somewhere between Las Vegas and Norfolk everything I had eaten in the past 24 hours made its way out of my body in agonizing fashion. Kudos to the Southwest flight crew who were marvelous and my fellow passengers who seemed oblivious. But really.... My husband who wasn't feeling so good either but managed two children while I prayed for the tail wind to pick up.

I'm quite certain it was food poisoning and it continued through the night. Even now my stomach is a tight knot and I'm not eating. M is feeling improved. We both must have had something but I took it a lot harder than he did.

When we arrived in Norfolk the flight crew suggested a wheelchair. I started to object and then realized I was so weak I couldn't carry anything. So I rode in the wheelchair with Ben on my lap while M raced ahead to the rental counter before it closed. The nice man who transported me took me to baggage, put our five bags on a dolley, and then took turns moving me and then the dolley until we could see M at the rental counter. He did the same thing out to the garage where M pulled up in the vehicle. It is humbling to be pushed through an airport but it was a good decision.

If every vacation has a glitch, we hope that was it. Today I made it to the top of the rise above the beach. I was too weak to plow through the sand, but tomorrow. I'll be there.