At the Airport: An Encounter That Changed Everything
Thursday, September 19, 2019
It’s 5:48 p.m. in Denver, Colorado, as I begin to write these lines, sitting on the floor of the city’s airport. In front of me, there’s a window, and beside me, a woman murmuring words in a language I can’t understand. She traces the thickness of the glass with her index finger, studying it carefully, as if trying to grasp the barrier that separates us from one of the many airplanes stationed here. Right now, I’m waiting for my flight to El Paso, Texas, where I’ll cross the border into Mexico to see my grandmother, who was in the emergency room this morning.
I could have arrived earlier, but just minutes before takeoff, something overcame me.
Sitting in seat 10A, right by the window, I had fastened my seatbelt and was listening to the flight attendant’s instructions. The airplane doors had closed, and then—suddenly—I had only one thought: I needed to press the call button.
The flight attendant approached me, and with the desperate feeling of something burning inside my chest, I told her I needed to get off, that I wasn’t feeling well. Immediately, she notified the pilots, and with remarkable kindness, they reopened the aircraft doors so I could exit.
I walked away, consumed by embarrassment, with pressure in my chest, trembling hands, a racing heartbeat, exhaustion, tears streaming down my face, weakness, dizziness, anguish, and desperation. All of that—yet I had no clear explanation why.
All I could think to do was sit down and call my best friend to tell him what had just happened, but I couldn’t stop crying, so I hung up. At that moment, a woman whose face I can’t even remember, left her belongings and, I assume, headed to the restroom. When she returned, she extended her hand and gave me a piece of tissue. That small gesture became one of the most meaningful acts of kindness a stranger had ever shown me.
Another would soon follow, from paramedic J. Baker. He checked my blood pressure, it was high, and noted my rapid heart rate. In just a couple of minutes, he realized I was having a panic attack.
It had happened again. It had come back…this time worse than ever.
Paramedic Baker asked me to focus on my breathing and whether I had experienced anxiety before. Out of shame, I said no. But he remained patient, staying by my side until this, the thing that had become my worst enemy, finally left.
As I was trying to calm down, I vaguely remember seeing the airline manager approaching from a distance. Manuel, I think that was his name helped me rebook my flight, the one I’m now waiting for. And as if that wasn’t enough, he handed me a meal voucher. He walked with me to get a bottle of water and, as if he understood what had just happened better than I did, told me to let them know immediately if I felt unwell again. I have to admit, I was lucky to encounter such kind people in this situation.
Manuel said goodbye as I started wandering through the airport, eventually making my way to the second floor. That walk felt endless, but it was only a few minutes before I found myself sitting there, surrounded by everything yet nothing at all.
I got tired of thinking, so I stood up and bought food with the voucher the airline manager had given me. The truth is, I ate, but not out of hunger. I ate to quiet the thoughts spinning in my head, over and over again. To quiet my fear, my shame, the weight in my chest. I ate as fast as I could, just as fast as my heart races whenever my body senses danger…
I’ve finished eating, and now I must move toward Gate A77. It’s 6:40 p.m., and I’m waiting once again for my flight to El Paso, Texas. Here, in this very place where no one is beside me anymore, where no one sits in front of me either.
Here, where I hope the cold in my chest will fade, where I hope hope itself will return.
So that what I love doesn’t slip away.
So that I don’t miss another flight, another chance, another moment, another piece of life, because of a disorder that has changed my body, my mind, and my spirit.
Learn more about anxiety, its symptoms, causes, and prevention [here].