Life with Acrophobia

       Life with Acrophobia

Suzanne Marsh

I have suffered from acrophobia since I was six years of age, the explanation is simple. My mom took me to the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building. The Statute of Liberty we went up into the crown, Mom explained that the arm and torch had been closed off. My six-year-old brain wasn’t phased. We took the elevator and began climbing a circular staircase into the crown. I was fine going up, but then something snapped in my mind, I was not going back down those steps. My mom attempted to convince me that it was perfectly safe, I screamed as we began our descent. Two days later Mom took me to the Empire State Building, which began my fear of heights. We took the elevator to the eighty-sixth-floor observation deck. It was a beautiful summer day, the sky seemed extra blue that day, no wonder we were1,050 feet in the air. I made the biggest mistake of my life, I looked down at the street below, people looked like little ants on the street. That did it for me, from that time on I have suffered from acrophobia.

Flying is not the best idea when you are plagued with acrophobia, my mom and I flew to New York City in a DC6, a prop plane if you will. The January thaw was presenting itself, as the DC6 took off. The plane; was expected to land at La Guardia Airport, unfortunately, it was fogged in. The pilot announced over the PA system that we would be attempting to land at Newark, New Jersey, but that wasn’t to be either, it was fogged in also. Then someone had the bright idea to land at Idlewild (now JFK International). They were fogged in also, we flew that triangle pattern for at least an hour, to me it seemed an eternity. Finally, the pilot came over the PA once again:

“Ladies and Gentlemen we will be landing at Idlewild Airport, now please fasten your

seat belts, we are almost out of fuel.”

That did it, oh boy did that do it for me. We touched down at ten o’clock, but mom and I still had to go to Brooklyn, at least I had ground under my feet, actually, I was ready to kiss the ground I was so happy to be on the ground. We got to my grandmother’s around midnight, and the following day we celebrated my Aunt’s twenty-fifth anniversary as a Sister of Saint Joseph. The following morning Mom was packed and ready to go, I decided I was not going on another plane, my mom pleaded, coaxed, and yelled to no avail. I was not leaving Grandma’s on another plane! Once again Mom had to put her foot down:

“You are getting on that plane, do you hear me? We are flying back on an Electra it is supposed

to be a smoother riding plane.”

I carried on for another good hour before I packed my suitcase. We flew out of LaGuardia back to Buffalo. My stomach is still in New York City somewhere! Once we arrived home I decided that there was no way I was ever flying anywhere again. I was twelve at the time of that particular trip.

For the next six years, my feet were on the ground where I preferred them to be. However in the grand scheme of things I found myself going to Hawaii alone. My mom gave me the once over; I was well dressed for the occasion but not before I found myself flying military standby on a flight out of Buffalo to Los Angeles then boarding Pan Am for the flight to Hawaii. That would have been fine except if God had intended for me to fly he would have given me wings! I had a layover in Chicago, and I never even got off the plane, my fingernails are doubt embedded in an armrest on all three planes. I made it to Hawaii successfully, however, while I was there I was out in the Hawaiian sun, and I burned. I had to get on the plane the next morning. The problem was what to wear, I certainly could not wear shorts on the plane! I put a dress on, no stockings, no hat, and no gloves. My parents met me at the airport and the first words out of my mom’s mouth:

“Why don’t you have your hat and gloves on?’

So much for flying into the wild blue yonder!

For my next adventure, my husband and I flew to Las Vegas. The Las Vegas part was fine, but flying wasn’t. My husband devious person that he is sometimes, told me if I did not get on the plane he would take our youngest daughter. I got on the plane, actually since I had a book to read; I did not look out the window I simply read an entire book. I had no problems and the flight was pleasant.

I can’t say that for my next adventure with height as my husband and his trainer found out the hard way. My husband was learning to drive a truck and after he finished the schooling required, he had to go out for four weeks with a trainer. The cab-over was thirteen feet six inches, and the only way to get in the truck was two steps that were far apart the top one was narrow. The big mistake came when his trainer asked if I would like to see where my husband would spend the next four weeks. I said yes, and we walked out to the big rig. My husband clambered into the truck, then it was my turn. I climbed up with no problem, it was the coming down part that was dicey. I clung to the outside of the truck like a monkey with suction cups. I had no intention of coming down any time soon. Finally, the trainer and my husband decided that if the trainer took my feet and placed them on the second step, my husband could hold onto me. I finally made it to flat ground. I eventually climbed in and out of the big rig but the cab-over was not my favorite.

Living with a fear of heights does have its moments at least for me. I don’t like to fly, I will do anything not to. I still get sick looking out a second-story window. I know it is irrational, my mind understands that but try telling me that to my queasy stomach!