I'm back; and it's all about throw-up

It's hard to start writing after taking such a long break from the blog.  My negligence started with some camera problems and was then compounded by a trip to Halifax (I don't like to advertise my travels until they are finished) which was bookended by an annual scourge of the stomach flu.

Isaac, Joseph and I were scheduled to depart for Halifax on Saturday, Oct. 1st.  Dave and the other kids were driving us down to the airport where we would merrily depart to a week's rest and relaxation.  Except that Jacob started throwing up on Friday night and Joseph awoke in a puddle of vomit on Saturday morning.  Hannah had already fought the scourge the previous weekend so half of us remained still untouched.  We managed to make it to Ottawa with only two highway stops for dry heaves.  Dave unceremoniously dropped me at the airport where I and a drugged-up Joseph and Isaac navigated our way through security and early boarding.  I kept repeating:  Dear God, please no throwing up on the plane.  In case my prayer was not as earnest as required I had brought extra clothing for us all in the diaper bag.  (If only I had heeded that little voice for the return flight.)

Amazingly, we made it to Halifax without losing any bodily fluids.  Isaac eventually fell asleep on the plane after I rocked him wildly to and fro in the tiny space provided for stewards and stewardesses to make coffee and passengers to wait for the bathroom.  All of this was performed with the seatbelt light ON!  Apparently, there is an unspoken agreement among airplane staff that mothers with crying babies need not obey any standard regulations.  I actually told the stewardess to shush once as Isaac was just about to fall asleep and her voice had startled him back awake.  After the shhh, shhh had escaped my lips I immediately apologised for having treated her as one of my older children, oops.

My mother met us at the airport and we arrived to the tail end of Hurricane Ophelia which essentially meant rain, rain and more rain.  Even the money is wet in Halifax.  The rest of the week was spent resting and shopping for items that I find hard to buy around our parts without trips into the city:  snowpants, really cheap clothing at Value Village etc.  In short, the week was uneventful except for one night in which I spent fighting the stomach scourge.  We flew back the following Saturday at 5:15pm.  My mother brought us to the airport and Isaac seemed a little irritable.  I thought perhaps that he might be sick but fed him anyway and prepped his in-flight bottle.  I was glad to see that there were many other babies and toddlers on the flight who would mask Isaac's cries.

I spent the first part of the flight setting Joseph up with his earphones and TV schedule (courtesy of the TV in the back of the seat) and trying to settle Isaac.  I walked him up and down the aisle, rocked him wildly outside of the bathroom and eventually returned to my seat where I asked for more milk for another bottle.  This would be the big mistake.  I wrapped him tightly in his blanket while gently rocking him and feeding him his bottle.  He would begin to fall asleep and then wake wildly with a painful cry. The only thing that seemed to help was sitting up so that his tummy was scrunched.  It was when I sat him up that the voluminous bottle made its reappearance.  It was a bit like a waterfall.  I just held him on my lap and watched the vomit cover his blanket, my shirts, jeans and that nice space between the two seats.  I neglected to watch it cover the luggage of the passenger behind me until I saw him filing an official complaint on an official green paper with the steward.

Up until this point I had never yet pressed that button with the little man located between the light and air controls.  I can now say that I have pushed that button and the flight attendants do come very quickly.  In this case, a male and female were first on the scene followed quickly by one other male.  They were all from Quebec (are all flight attendants from Quebec?).  All of their eyebrows went up and two of their smiles faded.  And then they went into action which amounted to bringing me serviettes and a bag into which I could throw Isaac's blanket.  The female attendant quickly rushed back with two products:  one which was a powder that when sprinkled on the vomit caused it to harden and the other a sort of gel that reduced the smell.  I sprinkled myself, Isaac and our seat liberally.

I should tell you that Joe's only reaction was to sneer at Isaac and continue watching the TV.

The first male attendant then asked me if I had another shirt with me.  I almost cried when I recalled my failure to include extra clothing for me in my on-line luggage.  "No,"  I whimpered.  "Oh!" he said and then suggested, "Perhaps inside-out?"  I just stared back.  I was then ushered to the back of the plane where two seats happened to be open.  The other passengers stared but one couple with a brand-new baby told me that I was handling the whole situation remarkably well.  Such remarks really do help at times like that.  I changed Isaac into an extra sleeper and installed an angry Joseph in front of another TV.  I also have a vague memory of hazard tape being strung across my former seat like some sort of crime scene.

The male attendant, who was quickly growing in my esteem from international playboy to a man with a real heart, arrived back at my side.  He had clearly made a decision.  "I have an extra shirt that I was going to wear on my overnight.  You can have it.  I will give you my address and you can send it back when you find the time."  When such an offer is made to a woman covered in vomit who has 40 minutes left in her flight and an airport departure to navigate, the only option she has is to humbly
accept.  If I wasn't happily married, I would have fallen in love.  I don't think that I have ever been so grateful for the kindness of strangers.

I changed into his green t-shirt emblazoned with a Scottish lion (bought in Scotland, he informed me) and returned to my seat where he continued to reassure me that I had caused absolutely no inconvenience.  To prove the normalcy of my situation he told me all about the flights back from Orlando where the kids are hyped up on Burger King and Disney World.  He also told me that one of his colleagues had once spilled 4 litres of milk on a passenger two hours into an overseas flight.  "Can you imagine the smell?" he laughed.

I put my flight attendant's shirt in the mail today along with a card thanking him for his kindness.  I hope that he is one day repaid for the love which he extended to me and my children on that doomed flight.  I have yet to write a letter of commendation to Air Canada; but, they will soon receive one and I hope that they let him know.  After handing me his address I couldn't help but notice that his name was Francois, a modern-day St. Francis; after all, a woman covered in vomit and holding a sick baby is a bit of a leper, isn't she?