A FLIGHT, A HOSPITAL VISIT AND A HORRIBLE DRIVE HOME – first published 14 August 2012

In the end it turned out the flight delay was the least of our worries. When we finally stepped aboard the plane at Agadir airport our biggest concern was a long, late drive home. Little did we know it would be a flight we would never forget and it wouldn’t end with a drive home at all.

14 August 2012
We were lucky the flight wasn’t full and we ended up with three seats between the two of us which meant Commando could stretch out his long legs a bit and try to get some sleep. As we flew over Agadir I looked out at the twinkling lights sadly, my last view of Morocco for a while. I then settled down to get as comfortable as I could, which on a flight is not very, even with a spare seat between the Commando and I.

Once we’d had our cheese toasties and coffee we both settled down, put on our sunglasses, closed our eyes and tried to snooze the rest of the flight away. I’m not very good at sleeping on flights. I don’t know why, I can fall asleep at home sitting in the chair, but on a plane I can’t quite seem to nod off. I could hear Commando gently snoring (not a real snore, just a kind of loud breathing thing that he does) so at least he was getting some sleep and as he was driving it was probably a good thing.

We were about thirty five minutes from Gatwick when Commando sat up and said “I think I need a sick bag.” Those are never words you want to hear on a flight and I have to say I was concerned. We fly a lot and neither of us have ever needed a sick bag before. It wasn’t as if it was a turbulent flight. I called the flight attendant over and asked for a bag, as there didn’t appear to be any in the seat pockets. He disappeared off to get one and I looked at Commando with concern, he looked very pale under his tan. The attendant didn’t seem to be in much of a hurry and I began a frantic search through my bag for any kind of carrier bag I could give him instead. By the time the bag finally appeared Commando said he didn’t need it after all, the nausea had passed to be replaced by a rather more urgent feeling further down his digestive system. This was not good!

I went up to make sure the toilet was free and Commando followed, looking rather worried and clutching his stomach. He made it to the door I was holding open for him but, just as he got there, his legs buckled and he collapsed to the floor, banging his head against the cabin door as he fell (I imagine it gave the captain a bit of a fright, he probably thought he was being hijacked). I was beside myself with worry. At this point the crew all sprang into action. One of the passengers helped Commando to his feet and one of the male flight attendants helped him into the toilet. He was in there for ages and I was frightened to death, unsure if he was unconscious or merely being ill. The flight attendant informed me that the Captain had called Gatwick and arranged for an ambulance to meet the plane when we landed. After what seemed like hours but must have only been minutes, Commando emerged, looking slightly less pale and was helped back to his seat.

When we landed the Captain announced that everyone should remain seated until the paramedics had come onto the plane and examined ‘the unwell passenger.’ Poor Commando was totally embarrassed. I was too worried to care what anyone else thought, although, to be fair, the other passengers had all seemed quite concerned for him as people kept asking me if he was OK and did we need anything. The children on the flight were quite excited to see the blue flashing lights outside the plane and there was a lot of pointing and oohing and ahing. The Captain actually came and spoke to us, he said he understood that Commando didn’t want any fuss but he had to follow the correct procedure for the situation because he was responsible for our safety. He was very kind. It’s not often you get to talk to your pilot I suppose, although I would have rather it was in happier circumstances.

Much to his dismay, Commando was loaded into a wheelchair and taken to a quiet area where the paramedics gave him a thorough checking over. Thankfully everything was fine and they said they thought it was probably just a stomach bug. Given that we’d both eaten exactly the same things over the last twenty four hours and neither of us had consumed any tap water, they ruled out food poisoning or something more sinister.

Just as they were pronouncing him fit to go, albeit with a lift to passport control, he suddenly went very pale again and said he needed to lie down. Another round of checks ensued and, even though all his vital signs were good, it was decided that an ambulance should be called to take him to hospital just to be safe.

My mind was racing. We had a meet and greet arranged to bring our car to us on arrival, we had luggage to collect, we had a two hour drive home and, as I only have a provisional licence, Commando was supposed to be driving. I guessed I would have to find an airport hotel so we could have a good sleep before we even thought about that. Someone took our passports to take care of immigration so at least that was one less worry, and they told me I would be able to pick up our luggage the next day as Easyjet had taken it to a storage area for us. I rang the meet and greet and explained the situation. They said to call whenever we wanted the car delivered but we would have to pay for any extra days parking.

After a bit of a wait we were loaded into an ambulance and taken to Redhill Casualty. We were given priority as Commando was transported on a stretcher but even so it was a two hour wait until we were seen. The place was teeming with the usual Saturday night casualty crowd of injured drunks, fight victims and young women who’d fallen off very high shoes.

Commando had a barrage of tests and checks including having his heart monitored (very good for a man his age), his blood pressure (low) and a load of blood tests the results of which would take about two hours. He had a drip set up because he was dehydrated due to his time in the aircraft toilet and was wired up to monitors. By now it was close to four in the morning so the airport hotel was looking like a bit of a waste of time, especially as you usually have to check out by ten. I really didn’t know what we were going to do but my main concern was Commando’s health.

While we waited, Commando slept as best he could on his trolley and I curled up on the floor surrounded by our hand luggage and tried to sleep. This was not an easy task as people were coming and going all the time. A casualty department is not a quiet place, even in the early hours, and there is a lot of talking, beeping machines, things being dropped, drawers and cupboards being opened and shut and general noise. I noticed that doctors and nurses all seem to wear very squeaky shoes too. I did ponder on that for a while, wondering if there was a special shop somewhere that sold them. Hand luggage does not make a very good pillow either.

When the tests came back the doctor pronounced Commando very fit for a man his age. All his blood tests showed there was nothing wrong with him and the only concern was his blood pressure which was still a little on the low side. This was put down to still being a bit dehydrated, even after the drip, and it was decided he had been suffering from a nasty stomach bug.

It would be easy to blame it all on being in Morocco, after all so many people get sick on holidays in North Africa, but neither Commando or I think this is the case. We have both travelled extensively in Africa and we always take the correct precautions, we don’t drink the water, we avoid ice in drinks, we don’t eat food from places we’re not sure of and we wash our hands a lot because the money that changes hands so frequently can be a source of bugs and germs. I think he was just unlucky, he caught a tummy bug, the same kind of bug we all catch all the time, if he hadn’t been on a flight when he started to feel ill it wouldn’t have been a big problem. Everything is worse on a plane, the combination of the confined space, the pressurised cabin and the dehydration caused by the cabin air conditioning makes any illness far worse than it would be on the ground.

It was such a relief to walk out into the cold Surrey morning. Commando was feeling much better, although not quite right. He’d had a bit of sleep on this trolley, not as good a sleep as he’d have had at home in bed granted but he was much more wide awake than I was for sure. I still wanted to try and find a hotel and have a long rest and a shower before we even thought about driving home. Commando wouldn’t hear of it. Long experience has taught me not to argue with him, there’s no winning. Reluctanty I gave in, but on the proviso that if he felt unwell at any time we would stop and find somewhere to stay.

We had to get a taxi back to the airport and find our luggage first though. I was a little worried about that. I’ve had luggage lost before. I once attended a very swish travel event in the Manchester Hilton wearing a borrowed strapless dress a size too big (quite a nerve wracking experience to say the least), flip flops and no make up when BA lost my bags between Heathrow and Manchester. To say I wasn’t all that confident of getting my bags back would be an understatement.

After a lot of ups and downs on escalators and lifts and some semi aimless wandering, with me terrified that Commando was going to take a turn for the worst again, we located the correct Easyjet desk. I left Commando sitting by the desk while I went with the nice lady from Easyjet to collect our bags. She warned me that we would have to go airside to get them and that I couldn’t take any prohibited items (sharp stuff, liquids etc) with me. I assured her I didn’t have any in my bag and we set off through the staff only entrance.

The checks are more stringent for staff than they are for passengers. The same passport check for me and ID check for her, bag, jacket and shoes through the X-ray machine and then the dreaded body X-ray. I always set them off. Normaly they just pass a wand over me and listen to the beep as it hits my bra wires. Not this time. She patted me down, three times, she ran that thing over me again and again. I had my bikini on under my dress and the metal decorations in the straps were setting it off and the little metal tag on the pants. I pulled out the stap to show her the metal on the top and then offered to show her the tag on the pants. “Its either that or I strip search you,” she told me. I was not exactly impressed. I never moan about security on flights, I understand it’s for my safety and I have nothing to hide. This felt a little excessive for someone who isn’t going anywhere near a plane though.

Just when I thought that was that and went to pick my bag up from the X-ray conveyer belt another staff member pounced. “I have to search your bag,” he said with a less than happy face, “Do you have any sharp items or liquids in there?”
I assured him I didn’t. He opened the bag and scowled into it. I have to say at this point that it is a huge Ted Baker bag with loads of pockets and everything was just chucked in higgledy piggledy. The only reason I knew there were no banned items in there was because it was the bag I had with me on the flight and I’d checked it all before we left the Royal Atlas.

“What’s this then?” he snarled, pulling out a full half litre bottle of water. It was the water the flight attendant had given me when Commando was first taken ill. I’d put it in my bag and forgotten it was there.
“I’m sorry,” I said, wondering what he was going to do next, he really seemed very angry and I felt like a criminal. “They gave me that on the plane for my husband when he was sick. I’d completely forgotten it was there. It’s not even opened.”
“I’ll have to confiscate it,” he said, then proceeded to swab down my phone, my purse and my iPad and check for explosives.
By this time I was beyond caring. I had been awake for twenty seven hours, I was worried about Commando, I just wanted to get my cases and get the hell out of there.

Once we had the bags we went and got a coffee to wake us up and rang to get the car delivered. It took a while for them to find it but at least they didn’t charge us for the extra nights parking. It was eight o’clock before we were actually on the road and even then I was nervous about the journey. I spent the whole time desperately trying to stay awake and watch the road, even though I wasn’t driving. I was terrified Commando was going to be ill again and we’d crash. Thankfully it was an uneventful journey but I have to say I have never been so grateful to pull up outside my own little house.

Commando went straight to bed while I filled Commando Junior in on the night’s events. My own bed felt like heaven when I finally sank into it. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. Unfortunately it wasn’t for as long as I’d have liked because Commando Senior knocked on the door about two hours later. I left Commando sleeping while I went down to explain the situation.

By the time Commando Senior had gone I was wide awake again so I tackled the cases. I washed all the holiday clothes and got them on the line (it was actually a sunny day), cleaned the bathroom, tidied up and checked the fridge to see what food we had then Commando Junior and I went up the Big Hill to Sainsburys for supplies (yes I did buy melon). It wasn’t until Commando got up at about three that I realised I hadn’t had anything to eat since my cheese toastie on the plane the night before. It takes quite a lot to make me forget to eat.