HML, Volume I, Issue VII - PART I

Iowa City is located in the middle of nowhere. It's a small town based around the University of Iowa. It's quaint, it's pleasant and the spirit for college footballs rivals that of any other Big Ten school. But in order to get there, one needs to take a plane...two planes, actually. And a car...driven by an 84 year-old man. The trip seems rather simple. A 2 hour plane ride from NYC to Chicago, a short stop over, followed by a 45 minute plane ride to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. Add a 25 minute car ride to that equation, and you have a little over 3 hours of travel. But tack on a sinus infection and you have yourself a formula for disaster. Let me explain.

I awoke in my grandfather's Columbus Circle apartment, after 30 minutes of sleep, at 3:30 AM on Friday, October 30th. I made eggs while he got ready. Initially, I turned down the idea of having eggs since they do have a tendency to give me stomach pains. But he insisted and I obliged.

We arrived at La Guardia at aroun 4:45 AM for our 6 AM flight. Just moments before take off, I administered several drops of Affrin, a nasal decongestant, into my nostrils. I had a strange feel that I might have OD'd on the medicine since the sensation was stronger on the left side. But, I brushed the notion away quickly and within moments, we were off.

25 minutes into the flight, pressure began building up inside my life nostril. We were gaining altitude rather quickly, but I knew what was about to come. Seconds later, a searing pain gripped the left side of my head. I ripped off my sweat shirt and immediately felt a surge of cold sweat down my temple. And just like that, a 9 FUCKING HOUR MIGRAINE began. Lightning bolts shot across the left side of my face. Even my mouth became a hotbed for these strikes. It felt as though Nikita Khrushchev replaced his shoe with a Soviet Sickle. And all the while, my grandfather gave me this advice:

Grandpa: Try yawning. It'll help. Try yawning.

Fuck yawning. Fuck everything. A gremlin is tap dancing in my head and your suggestion is YAWN?

And before I knew it, I felt the nausea. I felt what I believe pregnant women feel while there's a little person draining the life from them within their womb. I often feel nausea when I get too little sleep or when I am woken up before I finish a few R.E.M. cycles. I looked to my grandfather: comatose. Obviously not very concerned with the situation at hand. I marched down the aisle, opened that lavatory door, and threw up. Eggs, eggs, and more eggs. It was a fucking abortion--no pun intended. I hear a knock at the door. Perhaps most embarrassing, the vomit was still sticking to the sides of the inside of the bowl. I kept flushing to no avail. I turned on the water and began heaving it into the toilet. I did the best I could, tooth-pasted my mouth as best I could and walked back to my seat.

The headache still remained. My grandfather made another suggestion:

Grandpa: You should yawn. Try yawning.

Alright, I know that we should respect our elders. I get it. But if there was ever a time I wanted to launch a big fat juicy "Fuck You", it was then. Even when I keeled over in my seat, the nausea slowed down somewhat, but the blood rushed so fast in my head that the pain became unbearable. And then it happened. Turbulence. Back to the bathroom.

This time, it was House Green Salad, courtesy of Wild Ginger Restaurant. Best salad in the world going on, but the worst salad coming out. Same problem as last time, I heaved water into the toilet. I reached for my toothpaste. It was gone. I had no defense against the smell of bullimia.

After returning to my seat, the "Fasten Seatbelts" sign came on. With my Grandpa playing Sudoku or as he calls he, "Suduko", I was truly on my own. The turbulence came this time with avengence. The pilot informed us that we were entering serious rain and that the flight would be lasting an extra 25 minutes. Like a call and response...it happened. I heaved. I heaved again.
And by the grace of God, I...

Now before I continue, I warn you, it gets gruesome here. It gets REALLY gruesome. Stop reading now if you have a weak stomach...or you're a pussy.

Okay, I heaved and something came up. A familiar taste. Ahhhh, yes...Pan Pan Noodles, courtesy of Wild Ginger. But with no bag, I did the unthinkable. I swallowed. I swallowed like Jenna Jameson on a good day. And that only made me want to throw up more! So I barreled down the aisle, like a terrorist acting on his Jihad, and made a break for the bathroom. The flight attendants yelled, "Sit down! We're in turbulence!" I turned to them and they saw that that was no Jawbreaker in my mouth. I made a move to the "trash can". "NO!!!," said the attendants. One attendant reached for the door, swung it open and I launched into a heaving of epic proportions. Pan Pan Noodles, bodily fluids, water...It was a scene from "Saving Private Ryan". I lay on the cramped floor of the lavatory and had a moment of clarity. Then I threw up, again. 10 minutes went by and the attendants had had enough. They opened the door, kicked me out, handed me two bags and told me to sit down. 20 minutes later, we landed, and I looked like the guy from "Powder".