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The One Where I Nearly Didn’t Get On The Plane






It was the afternoon before I was due to fly to London Heathrow, where I had a hotel booked near Terminal 3 so that I could catch my 8:00 AM Virgin Atlantic flight to Montego Bay the next morning. I was finishing my packing when I noticed that my neck was itching. By dinner time I had fully broken out in hives.

It got progressively worse through the night. By the time I got up at 6:00 AM, I was shaking all over from the heat on my skin against the cold of the morning.

Despite dosing up on all the antihistamine tablets I could find, by the time I was at the Premier Inn at T3 I was not only feeling terrible, but panic was setting in. That night I phoned my husband, who pleaded with me not to go. Meanwhile, my sister was kicking herself because on my last visit to Italy only a couple of weeks before, she had given me a supply of essential medicines, including antibiotics to take to Jamaica, but no cortisone tablets, which she had in the house and which would have almost certainly cleared the hives very quickly.

I considered my options, which were pretty grim on a New Year’s Eve Sunday evening, when the only chance to see a doctor would have been a trip to A&E. Should I call my travel insurance and see if I should start a claim? By that point the hives were clearing on one part of my body only to move to the next available bit of real estate. I was itching like hell and freaking out because Jamaica is the last place you want to find yourself in if you need medical care.

It was almost 11 PM when my friend H, who was flying with me the next day, phoned me. In her other-wordly calm, reassuring voice, she talked me off the proverbial ledge. She said she just knew that I would be ok, but she would pack some extra long sleeve clothing for me so that I could cover up. ‘But I’m three times the size of you’, I protested. ‘They’re stretchy’, H said.

And so I got on the plane the next day. Let me tell you, a 10-hour flight is torture when the inside of your feet and ankles itch like hell. Unsurprisingly, I got very little sleep - and I’m the kind of person who is out the moment they fasten the seat belt. 

I landed in Jamaica still itching and with a basic plan of going to see the resort nurse the next morning. But miracles do happen and by the next morning, I had a feeling that the worst had passed, and, as H. had predicted, the hives gradually cleared, leaving me with large purple bruises on my shins. ‘You can cover those up with make-up’, H said, exultantly. 

No make-up was needed in the end - by Pictures Day my legs looked almost normal. 

I learnt a few lessons from the experience:

  1. Always keep a supply of cortisone tablets.
  2. Never again travel over New Year’s Eve/New Year’s Day.
  3. Travel with a friend like H.


Before flying to London
The night before Jamaica
On the mend


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