Some memories never fade; they linger in the quiet spaces of our minds, surfacing when we least expect them. This is one of those memories—an incident from 2010, when my wife and I were flying back from Mumbai, India. It was a journey that changed everything.
We had attended a wedding before spending a blissful week in Goa. But beneath the joy of that trip, there was an undercurrent of concern. My wife was already at the onset of health issues that would go on to test us all, especially our family. We left for the airport, exhausted but ready to head home to the UK. However, traveling on staff tickets comes with its own set of uncertainties, and we soon found ourselves offloaded from our flight. The next available flight wouldn’t depart until 10 p.m., leaving us stranded at the airport at 11 a.m., weary and frustrated.
With over fourteen hours of wakefulness behind us, exhaustion was creeping in—more so for my wife, whose health was fragile. Fortunately, one of her cousins had an apartment in Mumbai, and we decided to spend the waiting hours there. While I could sense the mounting tension, I did my best to hold it together for her sake. She managed to sleep for a couple of hours, and by evening, we made our way back to the airport.
Finally, some good news—business class seats. It was a welcome comfort after an already taxing day. My wife, now in a wheelchair, was visibly drained. I, too, was beyond tired, but there was a sense of relief as we boarded. The flight took off on time, and as we settled into our seats, I allowed myself to drift into sleep.
Then, barely two hours into the journey, I was jolted awake by a stewardess. My wife had suffered an epileptic fit and had lost consciousness. A call for medical assistance was made, and by sheer luck, three doctors were on board. One of them examined her and determined that her blood pressure and glucose levels were dangerously high. The co-pilot took me aside and informed me that we would have to divert to Dubai—the nearest airport.
The moment the plane touched down, an ambulance was waiting. As my wife was rushed to the medical center, the reality of the situation hit me like a storm. The flight took off without us, leaving me alone in a foreign airport, my mind spiraling with worst-case scenarios. A hundred thoughts ran through my head, none of them comforting. But amidst the fear, there was a single hope—that she would wake up.
And then, she did.
As she opened her eyes in the stark white hospital room, she turned to me, confusion flickering in her gaze.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Am I dead?”
For a moment, I was taken aback. Then I realized—the pristine white walls, the nurses, the doctors in white coats—she thought she was in heaven. I almost laughed, despite everything.
She was later transferred to a local hospital, where a thorough check-up, including a CT scan, revealed the truth—two lesions on her front temporal lobe. One from a mini-stroke she had suffered in 2005, the other from untreated epilepsy. It was a revelation that deepened the weight of what she had been silently battling.
Throughout this ordeal, one unexpected presence stood by our side—the British Airways Area Manager. She remained with us, offering support beyond what duty required. In those dark hours, her kindness was a beacon.
We eventually made it home, safe but forever changed. This experience left me questioning what unseen forces were at play that night, and what higher power might have been watching over us. Because, looking back, I know—it could have been much worse.
I write this now because I dreamt of it. The memory surfaced, vivid and unshakable, taking me back to those uncertain hours. And with it came the reminder of my wife—her strength, her resilience, and the life we shared. She passed away in 2019, but moments like these keep her alive in my heart.
Some memories never fade. Some stories demand to be told.
ShoutYourHeadOff 