Norwegian Nightmares (September 1985/July 1986)
Although I returned from Austria with the need to recuperate from a painful injury there was little doubt in my mind that my knee would recover because it had before.  On the other hand the panic and anxiety that I experienced had spawned very real concerns about my ability to cope with any new experiences.  All my dreams of adventures overseas seemed doomed.

However I respond to challenges and determination gradually replaced disillusionment.  There was a whole world out there that I wanted to explore.  At the time I was unaware of the possibility of professional psychological help.  I could only fall back on my own resources and try to approach the problem from a different direction.  Norway, where English is a second language, seemed like a less alien option.

Naively I decided that flying might avoid the anxiety provoking tiredness that could result from a sea crossing.  In hindsight I should have read the writing on the wall with regard to anything different after Austria and the activities.  Sure I felt a little anxious en route to the airport.  However my extreme reaction to an apparently innocuous hour on a BAC 111 completely floored me.  Once inside the terminal blind panic consumed me.

"I feel like I'm committing suicide".  I sobbed uncontrollably as my parents frog marched me to departures.  The gibbering wreck I had become understandably aroused the suspicion of a female security officer who executed a full search.  I have no recollection of reaching my seat.  For the duration of the flight I remained rigid and bolt upright. White knuckled hands clung to the armrests in a conscious attempt to hold this ridiculously heavy, yet fragile contraption aloft.

Vigilant at all times the slightest change in engine tone provoked a further wave of terror.  I spent the first part of the trip recovering and the remainder of the holiday anticipating an equally terrifying journey home.  I ran through Newcastle airport customs, threw my bags at my parents' feet and declared "Never again!"  But somewhere in between those two bouts of abject in-flight terror, on a day trip entitled Norway in a Nutshell, I fell in love with the spectacular fjord scenery and gentle unassuming people.

Still struggling with generalised anxiety reactive to difficult personal circumstances I identified lack of control born out of the need to trust my life to others as a primary factor in my fear of flying.  My indifference to for example the rocky precipices encountered on an airy train ride through the Norwegian mountains highlighted the irrational nature of my fears.  Travelling almost any other way than flying I believed I had some chance to influence my fate in the event of a disaster.