DON'T get sick on an aeroplane. And I am not talking about puking into a paper bag during a spate of turbulence. On a direct flight from Malaga to Dublin not so long ago I had a brief black-out in my seat soon after take-off, writes WESLEY BOYD.
It was a hot, sticky day at Malaga airport after a long car drive. The queues at check-in and at security were long and slow-moving. I was fatigued, sweaty and dizzy when I eventually reached my seat. The plane took off and I was gazing out of the window towards the distant slopes of the Sierra Nevada away to the east, anticipating a refreshing drink and a snack. Next thing I knew a stewardess was shaking me by my shoulder and asking me if I was all right.
I said I felt a bit clammy and asked for a glass of water. Apparently, fainting on board aircraft is not a rare occurrence. Even experienced crew members are not immune. Recently passengers refused to continue their journey on an airliner in Germany when two flight attendants fainted before take-off.
I was given a glass of water and was sipping my way back to normality when there was an announcement from the flight deck inquiring if there was a doctor on board. None came forward but a retired nurse volunteered her services. She took my pulse, whispered something to the stewardess and a canister of oxygen was produced. I protested that I did not need oxygen as I had no difficulty breathing. Ex-nurse and stewardess both persisted and rather than create a fuss I accepted the mask, saying I would prefer a gin and tonic.
The canister was soon exhausted. In spite of my protestations that I did not require oxygen another canister was produced, as was another and another. We were over the Bay of Biscay and, by my reckoning, about three-quarters of an hour from Dublin Airport. I was about to order a snack and a drink when the captain made an announcement. There was a medical emergency and the aircraft would have to divert to a French airport so that the sick passenger could receive expert attention. We landed at Nantes and the heavily-clad paramedics of the Sapeurs-Pompiers came on board. It was only when they stopped at my seat that it dawned on me that I was the medical emergency.
They took my pulse and inquired, more by sign language than with words, if I had pains in my chest. None at all. Did I feel malade? Non. In spite of what I considered a positive check-up the stewardess informed me that I would have to leave the plane and go to hospital for further examination. I said I felt fine and wanted to continue my journey to Dublin. My wishes were ignored and I was escorted, unaided, down the steps and into a waiting ambulance. Obviously, the arrangements had been made before the aircraft landed. My ticket with baggage tag was retrieved, my solitary suitcase isolated and dumped with me in the ambulance.
As we travelled through the streets of Nantes I pondered on the crew's dilemma. On the advice of the retired nurse they genuinely believed they had a seriously ill passenger on board. They had used all the emergency oxygen. If they continued the flight to Dublin and the passenger died because of a lack of oxygen they would face all sorts of inquiries, an inquest and maybe even a court case. Better to dump the problem. Divert to the nearest airport.
The ambulance off-loaded me at the AE department of a large hospital. An English-speaking consultant was produced and I was taken to a ward and given a range of tests from the taking of blood pressure to an electrocardiogram. After about an hour-and-a-half I was given a clean bill of health and coffee and biscuits. A taxi was summoned and the consultant told the driver that in no circumstances was I to be charged. He was to retrieve the fare from the airline. She even wrote the instructions on the hospital's headed notepaper. No charge for the hospital, no charge for the coffee and biscuits and no charge for the taxi.
At the airport check-in I was told all flights to everywhere had departed. I was given a voucher for an airport hotel and a meal and told to report back the following morning. After the fast-food fodder of the Costa del Sol, dinner in the hotel restaurant was leisurely and superb: poached salmon in a delicious sauce accompanied by a splendid local wine of the Loire. After breakfast it was back to check-in and quickly on to Paris to connect with a flight to Dublin.
Back home, I sent a letter to the airline saying that the captain might have taken the trouble to step out of the cockpit to assess the situation for himself before diverting to Nantes airport to dump me like a bag of rubbish. I received a reply from the chief executive, no less. He sharply informed me that as a result of the medical emergency (ie, me) an additional aircraft had to be dispatched to Nantes to "repatriate the remaining passengers". The additional aircraft had cost the airline €9,900 plus €8,185 for fuel and €383 for extra landing and airport charges. The cost of inconvenience to other passengers was incalculable, he added for good measure.
P.S. If you do get sick on an aeroplane and have to be off-loaded, try to make it happen over France. The food is invariably better there.