Will My Face Fit On The Plane?

Carolyn's travel calamity

This is truly the dumbest thing I have ever done. Mind-numbingly stupid. And I am about to pay . . . in pain. 

As our plane pulled away from the Austin airport, ambled down the runway, and took off for our eight hour flight to Amsterdam, I knew I was making a horrible mistake. 

Two weeks before I had successfully closed on the sale of my Austin apartment. I had gotten the money, in euros, to our French notaire by April 5th. Success! We were set to travel to Montpellier and close on the purchase of the apartment there on April 20th and then stay for a whole month. I had made my way through an incredible to-do list in order to be ready.

I had opened a French bank account and was therefore able to obtain a home insurance policy, which we would need for closing. I’d gotten an eSim card for my phone and a phone number for France. I’d bought emergency health insurance to helicopter us out of France should we break a leg or get attacked by a gorilla or both. I’d managed to stop Roberto from packing a saw in his luggage to France. It was busy, people. 

One week before we were scheduled to leave I’d started to have a tooth ache on the right side of my mouth. I was panicked that maybe it was a problem with a filling. I did not want this to be something I had to deal with in France. France is known for fabulous health care, but from what I’ve heard, the dental care is subpar. I don’t think this is due to a lack of funds so much as lack of concern. 

French soccer star Frank Ribery

I called my Austin dentist, and, bless him, he was able to see me that afternoon. After a thorough exam, he decided the problem was not a tooth but my sinuses. The root tips of your upper molars go up into your sinuses, so if your sinuses are inflamed, you might have pain. 

Anyone who has ever been to Austin knows that it is an allergy hellhole. As soon as the weather becomes perfect, out come the oak pollen and mold, and I turn into a Grey Gardens shut-in. This spring was no different, and I was on a NASA level countdown until we left for Montpellier with its glorious stone streets, stone walls, and seaside location. I could put up with the runny nose, the itchy eyes, the heavy head, the exhaustion, because relief was so close. Just days away.

But friends . . . I didn’t make it. 

In the middle of the night, five days before we were scheduled to leave, I woke up with pain on the other side of my mouth. I thought, "Hmm. This hurts way more than the right side. I have to wonder if . . . wait . . . is this what all my friends mean when they say ‘sinus infection?’” Oh God.

At 9:00 am on the dot Wednesday morning I called the allergist. They could only see me the next afternoon. Okay. No big deal. Breathe. This will be fine. But then my cheek started to swell. Throughout the day I went from "a little flushed" to "did she get some filler on one side?" to "half her face is doing a Godfather impression."

My pain increased ten fold. By the time I got to the allergist the next day it felt like someone was stabbing my face with an ice pick. I’m not exaggerating. As a migraine sufferer, I’ve had a lot of pain in my life, and this was an 8 out of 10 in the pain department. I was taking Tylenol but it was only lasting about an hour an a half, giving me only brief moments of being rescued from the skewering pain. I couldn’t think straight.

How I felt.

The allergist agreed it was an infection. When she heard I was flying in two days, she gasped and then prescribed a round of steroids and a round of antibiotics. She assured me that we were nuking this infection and that I would be feeling much better within one day. I was relieved but unhappy she didn’t hand me one pill and say, "This will stop your pain faster than a Republican stops a reproductive rights bill."

I picked up all my meds and started the treatment, and twenty-four hours later . . . my pain was worsening. Coincidentally, I had an appointment for a dental cleaning. I was in no place to actually have the cleaning. The pain would have been like having your mammogram during a bout of appendicitis. But, hear me out here. I thought A. I can triple check that this pain isn’t dental. And B. Is it crazy to think he could shoot me up with novocaine and relieve me for a few hours? C. They will charge me for the appointment regardless.

Again . . .  the dentist says no tooth problems. When I ask him about the novocaine, he says, "Of course! Happy to help you with your pain," and he numbs up the entire left side of my face! For the first time in three days, I don’t want to cry. Funny that I was so doubtful he would do this, but it’s not laughing gas. Who walks in off the street and says, "Please take out your huge painful needle and stick it in my cheek so I can drool and not feeling anything for the next four hours?" Needless to say, I was eminently grateful. I was finally comfortable enough to pack and prepare for our trip. We were flying out at 6 pm the next day.

But I didn’t sleep that night because my pain kept getting worse. Tylenol no longer worked. Saturday morning Roberto took me to urgent care. They decided I was perhaps on the wrong antibiotic and switched me from amoxycillin to clindamycin. 

Our flight was in eight hours. We discussed postponing. The bags were packed. The dogsitter was arriving soon to stay at the house. We had a nonrefundable hotel reservation in Montpellier. But would we miss our closing if we waited two or even three days? No. Was I being stubborn as hell about not changing any plans. YES. I wanted to get on that plane, goddammit. Eyes on the prize.

I started on the new round of antibiotics and we headed for the Austin-Bergstrom Airport. After we boarded our plane I followed the protocol my allergist had given me: Sudafed and then a squirt of Afrin. I was feeling confident about things until we were on the runway and I realized that I was already at the peak level of pain I thought I could handle. What if the change in altitude and pressure caused more pain? What if I passed out? What if I screamed so loud that they had to land the plane in Arkansas? Not only would these other passengers not make it to Europe, they would end up in Arkansas. 

I couldn’t believe we hadn’t postponed. What was so freaking important that I had to be in France Sunday and not Tuesday? I was an A-class, bone-fide moron—be it one who had stuck to her agenda.

“I’ll make him an offer he can’t refuse.”

The plane took off, and I watched for the fasten seat belt light to go off like the characters at the end of Say Anything. When I finally heard the little ding I decided I was going to be okay. Tomorrow’s headlines were not going to read “Crazed American Woman Opens Plane Door and Flings Herself Into Sea.”

We landed on Sunday in Montpellier without incident. We went to the notaire’s office on Thursday and signed our closing papers. We got the keys and were ready to move into our new apartment. And most importantly, after six days on antibiotics, my pain was finally gone and my face returned to its normal shape and size! I did not have to visit l’hôpital or learn to say “sinus passages” in French.

Place de la Comedie in central Montpellier

We can’t wait to update you on the apartment!

Jusqu’à la prochaine fois (until next time),

Carolyn & Roberto

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