New York Days 1 & 2

ENEMY(S) OF THE STATE!!! (or RYAN vs. the TSA)

Wow. Normally when people stumble around NYC covered in their own vomit it's because they got to spend the prior night downing endless shots and groping random strangers! Unfortunately, in my case, I didn't drink a single drop of alcohol (though I did get groped by a TSA agent...but more on that later)!

Welcome to the second worst day of my life, folks! Because I just a huge part of my day vomiting not once, not twice...oh hell, let's just skip right to it- at least EIGHT or NINE times yesterday. And because I am a mature, evolved human being who is able to differentiate between a few grouchy, old battle-ax flight attendants (who I hold responsible for my vomit-soaked t-shirt, sweater and bra) and the airline they happen to represent, I will refrain from mentioning the airliner by name (and will instead refer to it as...cough! cough! "Brontier Bairlines"). Which hypothetically...could be based out of Denver, CO., and may or may not be a partner airline to "Brepublic Bairways."

So we left Kona, HI. yesterday (you know, a hotbed of terroristic activity) afternoon. I had been told by a TSA agent/friend that parents are allowed to bring a reasonable amount of liquids on board for their children, so I had packed three small, 4 oz. apple juice boxes for Ryan. However, at the screening, I was asked to open each juice box for testing (I told them that if I did, they could keep them, 'cause what good would three open juice boxes be to me...but I did say this with a smile). I was then asked to ahem...'step to the side' with my 1-year old son...where we were both asked to spread 'em baby. Wink wink. I could NOT believe Ryan had to do the same thing! And though I should have been outraged, I was DYING. I mean DYING with laugher. He looked so cute and dejected sitting there on a bench all alone with his shoes off (I was told to just 'stay put' when I asked if I could sit next to him...you know, in case I tried to hand off additional contraband over to him, like his organic banana cookies). ;-) As he was getting patted down (at this point I was asked to stand next to him and hold his little arms up like he was a windmill so the agent could pat him down better...because those little armpits are excellent places to stash goldfish crackers), I could see Rich standing off to the side with the rest of our luggage quickly fumbling for his cell phone to try and snap a shot of this unbeliveable scene (both knowing that this was definitely not permissable, but ohhh, so worth the risk!), but he couldn't get it in time! :-( I should note that Ryan was awesome throughout the entire experience. Even the TSA agent (who I do not blame for any of this since she was just following protocol) praised him for not crying during the body search (I had prepped/told him "Aunty is going to hug you!").

TWENTY DIFFERENT WAYS TO USE THE WORD VOMIT

Our flight from Kona to Honolulu, and then Honolulu to LAX were relatively calm and uneventful. Ryan was a champ. Even though we woke up him at 1:15am Hawaii time when we touched down in LA, he adorably popped right up babbling about 'airplane go down down down' without so much as a single protest. It was on our third flight segment from LA to Denver on Brontier Bairlines that things started to go awry. Our landing was in heavy winds (when we slammed down, Ryan cheerfully called out "Too fast!") and sitting on the tarmac while the plane rocked back and forth for awhile made me moderately ill. So at the airport during our super quick layover I dry-heaved a bit in the restroom. No biggie. I'm a seasoned motion-sickness pro. I can ralph nicely and neatly any time or place. Doesn't matter if it's a train, plane, automobile or thrill attraction. Ask Rich. I'm good. But enough bragging about that.

It was sitting on the windy tarmac for about 30-45 min. leaving Denver (for NYC) that kinda pushed me over the edge. It felt like we were on a hot, cramped (the flight was full...there was only one seat unoccupied) small boat that people were jumping up and down on. And so after about an hour of this, I threw up again. And again. And again. You get the idea. Pretty much every 30 min. I would ralph. And it wasn't like every thirty minutes I felt like throwing up, I felt like throwing up EVERY. SINGLE. SECOND. It took everything in me, EVERYTHING...to not puke every single second. I swear, I thought I was gonna die. I wanted to die. I remember thinking I felt better with 103 degree fevers. I was tossing cookies so violently and relentlessly that I swear, I could not have possibly have had a single molecule of liquid left in me.

But here's what made the experience soooo much worse- the flight attendants. As soon as I walked on the plane (already a bit green), I noticed our seat backs did not have airsickness bags.
So I asked a flight attendant for two, and she pulled out a boxful of them and handed them to me. Within the hour, I had filled both up. So I dragged myself to the back of the plane and asked for a few more. At this point, I was given...the look. You know the look. You've gotten it from the librarian before. And I was told (without her looking for them) that they didn't have any left. I politely told her that there were some somewhere, because another flight attendant had given me a few from a stack of 'em. She said she'd call up front and check for me, and then left to distribute beverages. I stood back there waiting, alternately running back into the bathroom to spew some more before she finally reappeared and said nope, they were all out. What happenned to the stack of them? Why not ask other passengers for theirs? Well, whatever. I was to sick to argue, and she did hand me two large, gray TRASH bags and said to use those instead. Wonderful. Very discreet. After I filled both of those with barf, I returned to the back and asked for two more. At this point, I was asked to return to my seat. The flight attendant eventually came and handed two more trash bags to me, and in front of all my seatmates and Rich, told me that I needed to be more 'mindful' of the fact that those trash bags were meant not for me, but for the disposal of beverge cups...and that they were going to run out of them if I didn't start using them more than once. She helpfully suggested that I tie them up after using them once, and then unknotting them and using them again as a means of saving them. Nice. Classy. Because anytime you spew you have PLENTY of time to calmly unknot your half-filled, sticky, regurgiated crap in a trash bag. A-hole. I wish I had had a nice, snappy retort back to her, but I was soooo sick and miserable I didn't have the strength. At one point, I even asked Rich to see if they had an IV on board (I had thought that since they had defibrillators they might have a bag of fluid) because I felt so faint and lightheaded and wanted to pass out and knew I needed liquids. He told me that no, they did not, but that he would carry a crying Ryan (who had watched me tearfully tossing my lunch more than once and was now sufficiently traumatized) to the back of the plane so I could lay down across our two seats. However, shortly after doing so, he was tersly told by the friendly flight attendants of Brontier that he couldn't stand there (...two inches from our seats in the LAST ROW of the plane and right next to the restrooms) because he was 'in the way.' And so would you like to know what my poor, sweet husband did? He trudged up to the ONE open seat on the plane in the middle of a row and asked to sit there with Ryan, without any of our toys or snacks for Ryan. Just so I could try to get my bearings. And so they did, for about 30 min. Until Ryan's cries for mommies made him come back to check on me. I sat up and promptly greeted them by gagging into my unknotted bag of vomit.

They sat back down and thankfully, Ryan fell back asleep in my arms. I ended up throwing up ito my recyclable, reuseable, rationed trash bag THREE more times right over Ryan's face without him ever knowing it. Unfortunately, because one of my arms was holding his head, I had to use arm to hold the bag while Rich held the other. And on one of those times, I was heaving (sorry, I ran out of ways to say this) so hard that I let go of the bag...and it all poured out, down into my sweater and all over my chest. So there I sat. Covered in my own vomit, some of it pooling up into my bra. Lord...please take me now. The poor teenaged grunge girl next to me was probably rocking back and forth, closing her eyes and thinking of a special place that did not involve a sad looking Asian girl blowing chunks every 30 minutes.

While I did not pray for death, I honestly believed I would need a wheelchair to get off the plane, and might possibly spend the night in the hospital getting fluids and heavy anti-nausea medication (I even tallyed up the expected costs in my head in preparation). Thankfully, once it was over, our luggage came out quickly, Rich flagged us a cab and we quickly checked into our BEAUTIFUL hotel room facing Manhattan (it's enough to bring tears to your eyes gazing at the city's night lights through our large window fronting the city). It's the best hotel I've ever paid for.

So are things starting to turn around? I know they will. As sick as I was riding through the city to get to our hotel, I felt a surge of excitement just seeing the beauty and energy of the city. I can't say I had a nice night though- I kept waking up every hour thinking the building was rocking, and had to take four Benadryl to fall asleep (even though I hadn't slept the night before while flying all night). We never left the room yesterday because I still felt sick, but I do feel a bit better this morning and think I'll be back to normal once I get my toasted New York bagel and a nap. ;-)