posted by Conor on Jan 28
Travel Date: February 12, 2007
Origin: Albuquerque, NM (ABQ)
Destination: Los Angeles (LAX)
Airline: Southwest
Flight: Southwest 1259
The Story:
I had been skiing all weekend in Taos, New Mexico, which at the base of the mountain has an altitude of roughly 10,000 feet. Of course, with the cold weather, I had developed a bit of a sniffle and my nose was not in the best shape by the end of the weekend.
After a two hour drive from the mountain back down to Albuquerque at 5,000 ft, I got aboard the Southwest flight for what I was hoping would be a quick, relaxing trip back to LA. The gods of the air were again not so nice.
On takeoff my nose started bleeding violently. I rarely get nosebleeds and this shocked me as much as the passenger besides me. Of course, the timing was about as poor as it could possibly be. We literally were barely lifting our wheels off the ground when the bleeding began.
Being in no position to get up and run to the toilet, I searched desperately for napkins or anything to stuff in there to stop the bleeding. In the end, my brother, sitting across the aisle, found one tissue that I went through in about 5 seconds, and I had to resort to the glossy pages of the Southwest Airlines magazine. To say this paper absorbed a single drop would be an overstatement.
Takeoff usually takes at least 10-15 minutes. I sat there, bleeding on myself for at least 8 of them before I was able to get up and run to the bathroom. This was still prior to the seat-belt sign coming off and the flight attendant almost told me to go back to my seat until she saw my hands, face, and shirt.
Twenty minutes later I emerged from the bathroom without a drop of blood of me. Of course my shirt was soaked from the cleaning I just gave it in the dirtiest of all bathrooms.
The rest of the flight went fine and although I was scared to death about the landing, I was prepared to battle any attacks caused by the altitude change with a 4-inch stack of cocktail napkins.
The worst part about this disaster story is that there is almost nothing that can be learned from this situation. The only thing I can think of is to maybe always carry a tissue. And perhaps to not always be so abiding by that little seat-belt light that holds me so firmly in place.
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