I'll never forget that March morning. I woke up before the alarm sounded, ready - so ready - to start our adventure. Over the course of the last six months, we had been talking about this trip. (If I'm honest, we'd probably been talking about and planning for the trip for over four years, since before we were married!) I had checked the calendar multiple times to make sure that we had the right day and time. We had spent the previous weeks meticulously packing our bags to ensure they were under the weight limit and would fit in the overhead compartment. We were so ready. We were so excited.
On our way to the airport, I double-checked and triple-checked that we had our tickets. We had seats reserved and we were ready. We were so excited.
I had been dreaming about a trip like this since I was a little girl. I would often make up stories and worlds and go there in my imagination. On and off throughout my teens and my college years, I dreamed of a trip like this - and somehow, I just knew I would go someday. I had often thought about what it would be like once I was there, how I would feel, what I might encounter. There were days when the mere preparation for the trip felt a bit overwhelming. But I was determined. We were determined. We were ready. We were so excited.
We got to the airport, tickets in hand, and made our way through security. It was no small feat, but we managed it - our excitement buoyed us through the long, winding lines. We were a little early for our flight so we decided to grab a bite to eat at a nearby eatery. But I was too excited to eat. It was finally time. I was so excited. He finished his meal just as I thought I heard the first call to board over the loud speakers. We rushed to pay, grabbed our bags, and headed to the gate.
There were people everywhere. Apparently, everyone our age had decided to take this trip too. Every visible seat in the waiting area was occupied. Laptops and cell phones were charging in all electrical outlets. Man, this must be a popular destination! The flight was sold out. Oversold, in fact. And our names were ringing through the speaker. (I've never been called to the ticketing counter over the loud speaker before.) Alarmed that something could possibly be wrong, we hurried to the counter to get things figured out before we boarded.
"Overbooked," she said. "Bumped to the stand-by list," she informed us.
"How long will we have to wait?" we inquired.
"Hard to say," was the only answer we received.
Hopeful to be rebooked on the afternoon flight, we settled comfortably into a pair of chairs a short distance from our gate. We plugged in our electronics and did our best to make the best of the situation. Undeterred by the delay, we excitedly talked about what we'd do as soon as we landed and made dinner plans. The second call for boarding sounded, and we watched as another large group of people handed over boarding passes and pulled their carry-on bags aboard. Third and final call yielded a small handful of stragglers.
"An overbooked flight?" I thought to myself as I watched the late arrivals board the plane, "I would be a bit more attentive if I were them." And I nestled my head in his shoulder for the rest of the afternoon. I figured if we stayed nearby, we'd be a sure bet to be on the next flight.
The waiting area had completely emptied. We were the only passengers who had not made the flight. I couldn't help but feel a tiny bit sorry for ourselves. How is it that we were the ones that got bumped, that wouldn't make it to the destination on time? How is it that, of all of the other passengers - including those slacking, late arrivals - we had been delayed?
"Oh well," I sighed, "At least there's another flight."
Before too long, the waiting area began filling up with other couples, most of whom were looking as excited as we were. The seats filled, the outlets plugged, the line began to form. We walked to the counter, proactively this time, to ensure that we would indeed be on this flight. I watched the woman behind the counter scan the screen for our names...... scanning.... scanning.... "I'm sorry; you're not on this flight. You'll have to wait overnight. We may be able to offer you a voucher."
Defeated, we staggered away from the counter to consider our options. Should we just go home and try again another time? Should we keep waiting on the chance that our names might be on the next list called? What should we do?
We opted to stay and wait.
So, stay and wait we did. And we watched as each successive group of people boarded the plane and left - a plane we were supposed to be on to a destination we were supposed to visit for a trip we had been planning forever to take. Instead, we were merely spectators. We were spectators watching flights fill with excited passengers and take off, watching flights deplane as people returned, some travel-weary, some bright-eyed from the thrill of the adventure - all having had the same experience. We even watched a young girl - who didn't even have a ticket - walk up to the counter and straight onto the plane. No questions asked.
It was time to consider our options. It was beginning to feel as though we may never be placed on a flight. Should we find a bus? Maybe there was a train that could take us? Is there any other route we could take to get to our desired destination?
I felt a trickle of grief set in. Sure, we could take another form of transportation, but it would take so.much.longer. It wouldn't be the same, would it? It seemed simple enough: just hop on a plane and go. Literally everyone else was able to do it. Why couldn't we? Why did we have to be relegated to bus travel, roadtripping, and the like? We had been responsible - we had bought our tickets early, we had arrived to the gate on time. Why were we the ones who didn't make the flight?
In his wisdom he said, "It doesn't matter how we get there, as long as we get there eventually, right?" I tried to agree; I tried to believe him. But, deep down, I longed to take the trip, be a part of the club that everyone else belonged to. Suddenly, in the middle of a bustling airport terminal, I felt so very alone.
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This, my friends, is infertility.
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