Airplanes and beloved Aspie.
I think terror is the word.
He’s terrified of flying and I’m terrified of putting him through it, whilst also knowing it will be worth it at the end. I am also terrified of what other passengers will think of us while I talk whatever shit is necessary to keep him sane for the duration (on one occasion that involved hijacking Kate Garraway in the toilet queue with something like, ‘‘scuse me famous woman’ - couldn’t remember her name- ‘would you come and talk to my son a minute, cos he really needs the loo and he is too scared to get out of his seat and you can just talk about being on the telly and that will distract him. OK?’ And bless the woman, she did just that).
So next time, I thought ahead – drugs. Here’s what not to do: walk into your local Boots, ask for the pharmacist, then say, “I need something to drug an 18 yr old boy, to take him on a plane.” I can only imagine I looked a lot hotter in those days, because stressed mummy was not what he saw when he told me he could advise no such thing.
Well in a moment of madness or desperation, hubs and I decided about ten days ago to book a last minute holiday. In Spain. Never been. It’s not too long a flight, we can go from the local airport and beloved son hasn’t got too long to panic. Mmmmm.
Stress levels through the roof. ‘What sort of plane is it?’ He means is it big enough that he won’t feel every movement (which he does because of his damaged ears). I don’t know.
‘What is there to do in Spain?’ I gave him a list of places to research.
‘Will someone try to blow up the plane?’ I’m thinking a wee flight to Malaga is an unlikely target, but apparently that’s not reassuring.
Anyway, thanks to my predilection for nightmares and consequent sleep deprivation, I have some very low dose tablets that just might save the day/flight. Of course, I’m the one who’ll be taking them. (No, M’lud, I’m not winking at anyone).