When I think back to the day when I thought I was about to die, it’s almost like it happened last week. That sort of thing stays with you doesn’t it?

If I think too much about some of the finer details of that day, my heart starts beating, my breath quickens and I can feel my palms getting sweaty. I mentioned this to a friend and she suggested that I write about my experience.

“Get it off your chest!” she told me. “I’m sure it would make you feel better.” I made all the right noises at the time, but in my head I just wasn’t ready to revisit the feelings I’d had when I thought I was minutes from certain death. Except now, having put off writing this post for years, I think it’s finally time I face up to what happened.

Apart from my kids’ birthdays and my wedding day, there are two dates that are etched on my brain – the day I was told I had cancer (27^th February 2019) and the day I boarded a flight travelling from Bodrum in Turkey to Gatwick – 18^th May 2015.

The backstory

I’ve never been afraid of flying; from when I was about 10 or 11 years, we used to be regular travellers to Turkey; every summer we’d hop on a plane to spend lazy days by the beach with family and I have many happy memories from that time.

As I got into my teens and early 20s, I loved going on holiday, never for a moment being scared or worried about travelling. And then, shortly after I finished uni, my first ‘proper’ job was in travel. I worked for a year and saved enough money (£5,000) to go on a round-the-world backpacking trip. I spent 15 months travelling and I loved every minute of it.

Years later, when I decided that it was time to start carving out a career for myself, I knew I wanted to work in travel. It seemed like the most logical step and it would give me the opportunity to visit lots of different destinations.

I managed to get a job on a travel trade publication (it helped that I was ballsy and told the boss that I wanted to be sitting in his chair within five years) – and set out what I intended, climbing the corporate ladder to take the helm as editor, although it took me double the time. I loved my job, the responsibility and the people, plus it gave me the opportunity to see some beautiful destinations – too many to mention, but my most memorable being Qatar, Egypt, Las Vegas and Malaysia. I worked hard, often at the weekends and in the evening and took pride in my work ethic and creativity.

At least a few times a year I’d travel to wonderful destinations – either on press trips or to attend conferences held by organisations or industry bodies (such as ABTA). Funnily enough, it used to annoy me that I’d spend the whole weekend sitting in a conference hall when I could be out exploring the destination. I’d protest to people who claimed I had such a glamorous job, but despite the long hours and weekends away from the family, I had to admit it was exciting to visit new destinations, which I’d try to explore in any free time I had.

The morning of 18th May

And it was on one of these weekends away in May that I was one of the unlucky few passengers involved in a plane incident.

The night before, delegates at the 2015 Advantage conference partied until the wee hours. It was the norm at these sorts of events – on the last night of the conference everyone would stay up until crazy o’clock. When I was in my early 30s I would pull all-nighters and it would amuse me to see young girls (usually travel agents) doing the ‘walk of shame’ in the morning back to their hotel room.

The final session of the conference was always particularly telling – half the room was missing, and I used to feel sorry for the speakers who were given the last day’s speaker slot. As a journalist reporting on the conference, there was never any ‘down time’ as such; I’d have to rock up to every session – with or without a hangover.

On this particular day, I was booked onto an early morning return flight, so the night before had been a bit tame (from an alcohol viewpoint anyway), but I had stayed up late nevertheless. All the delegates were going home that day, but we were booked onto different flights at varying times. I was happy to be on the super early one as it meant I got more of the day with the family when I got home. When I boarded the bus to the airport that morning, I was pleased to see that my good friend Andy was on the same flight.

Let me briefly fill you in about Andy. We met at college when we were 17 and about to embark on studying for our A Levels. We hit it off straight away as we both had a similar sense of humour, finding it hilarious to try and make each other laugh in Geography lessons and what not. In fact, a funny story that I share with Andy is that on the very last day of college, we went to tell the librarian exactly what we thought of her. She had scolded us for the last two years if we had so much as shuffled some papers in ‘her library’, and now that our exams were over, we egged each other one to give her what for!

“You’ve been as useless as a chocolate teapot!” I boldly told her.

“Yeah,” said Andy… “And about as useful as an ashtray on a motorbike!”

We marched out of the library, dissolving into a fit of laughter once outside and experienced a huge high – the sort of high you could only get from standing up to authority and feeling like you’ve won. That was, until we received a letter informing us that our A Level results were being withheld unless ‘Mrs Librarian’ received written apologies from us. She, it seemed, had the last laugh.

Anyway, both Andy and I had miraculously ended up working in the same industry and we’d often catch up at the conferences as well as every few months outside of work with our families – and continue to do so. I was always pleased when I saw Andy at a conference; I often felt like an imposter at these events, but with Andy it was refreshing that I didn’t have to make small talk and could just be myself.

Andy and I checked in our luggage and went straight through to the boarding area and sat with a few others overlooking the concourse. We were bleary-eyed from the night before and in desperate need of sleep. We figured out that the flight would only be half full and we’d probably have the luxury of having a row of seats to ourselves on which we could stretch out and sleep. I was looking forward to going home and being with my family.

And then, in the moments before we boarded, Andy said something that I’ll never forget.

“Bloody hell” he exclaimed, nodding towards the aircraft that we overlooked right in front of us.

“That thing looks like it’s run on Weetabix.”

At the time, I didn’t know if he meant this as a good thing or not; I mean, I always told my kids to eat Weetabix so they grew up big and strong. But as soon as he followed up with “I hope not,” I knew what he meant. Having a good old peer at it, my internal monologue confirmed that it looked like it had been around the block a few times and hadn’t taken kindly to it. But I told Andy off at the time, muttering something about jinxing the flight. If only I’d known how close I was to the truth.

Pegasus Flight PC5121

We were right about the flight – it was only half full. This was the icing on the cake to the end of a good conference; it meant we’d be able to spread out and get some decent hours’ kip.

No sooner had the plane taken off and levelled out when most of us had fallen asleep, myself included. I was about six rows back from the front of the plane, on the right-hand side and had all three seats to myself. And I made good use of them; being 5ft 1 sometimes has its advantages – and this was one of those times. You could say that I almost had my own lie-flat bed.

I think I had just nodded off when I was being rudely awoken by one of the air stewards shaking my feet violently. It annoyed me straight away; I mean, who gets woken up by a stranger shaking their feet?!

He quickly leant down towards me, almost whispering in my ear.

“Get your seat belt on and brace.” I looked at him in shock, then I thought I must be dreaming. But no sooner had he told me, that he literally sprinted to the front of the plane, strapped himself in and got into the brace position.

As soon as I watched him do this, the plane suddenly nosedived and an automatic announcement came over the cabin’s tannoy system.

“Emergency descent. Brace” (silence for 5 seconds)

“Emergency descent. Brace” (silence)

“Brace….”

It was a robotic recording and perhaps the most haunting I’ve ever heard – and will ever hear. It seemed to go on and on. Then I heard the captain’s voice announcing that people should buckle up and adopt the brace position for our own safety. His voice seemed calm and measured, but this did little to reassure me.

As the plane continued to descend (and you can see from the graph that Flight PC5121 dropped 30,000 feet in just a matter of minutes), I experienced such a dramatic range of emotions and thoughts; something that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. It felt like time had stood still as I tried to process in slow motion what was happening.

My ‘final’ thoughts

The first thing I was aware of was my heartbeat. I could hear and feel it like I’ve never felt it before. It was so loud that it could have been beating in my ears, but I really felt it pumping in my chest. It must have been a huge surge of adrenaline looking back, but at the time I thought that if I survived this imminent plane crash, then I’d die of a heart attack instead.

I also remember glancing down the aisle and being astonished to be looking down at the cockpit door; the plane seemed almost vertical, but when I looked out of the window, I couldn’t see anything. I could only feel a sensation that the plane was plummeting.

I then became aware that I had put on my seatbelt but I couldn’t remember doing it. Looking around I could see that everyone had adopted the brace position. I remembered VIP telling me years ago that the reason people braced was so that they were less likely to be decapitated and their bodies could therefore be identified by their dental records.

And as I lowered my head against the seat in front not quite knowing what to think or feel – and desperately wishing this was all a dream, I spotted my trainers on the floor and the strangest thought came into my mind.

I wondered whether or not I should be wearing my trainers when they found my body. I questioned whether wearing them meant that I could be identified sooner. And as soon as this crossed my mind, I thought that this was such a strange thing to think. I mean, I was about to die – why would I be thinking about how I looked when they found my body?

 

 

Deep in thought, I suddenly realised that the whole plane was eerily silent. There were no screams or shouts like you see in the films. Just a horrible silence, knowing that everyone else was thinking the same thing – about their loved ones and families.

I looked around and suddenly saw a familiar face turning to look for me. It was Andy. I can’t tell you the absolute relief I felt when he caught sight of me. He looked absolutely petrified and I’ve never seen a look on his face like that before, but then he probably thought the same about me. Despite this, it was the most comforting thing to have happened in what I thought were my final minutes; to know that the last face I saw was my friend’s. We held each other’s gazes and I felt like I could start sobbing with relief at having seen him, but still I was numb.

I then thought of my kids. They were 10 and 8 years old at the time. I knew that if I were to die, my kids would be well looked after, that wasn’t what bothered me. What I couldn’t bear was the thought of not seeing them grow up. Little did I know then that just four years later, those same thoughts would return when I was diagnosed with a serious illness. Apart from the guilt, the one thought that saddened me the most was the thought that I might not see them go through life.

I was aware of a woman in the row of seats behind me, I think I felt her hand on my shoulder. I turned to her and she was staring at me like she’d seen a ghost.

“My kids…” I said to her as if seeking some sort of validation why it shouldn’t be my kids to lose their mum. She didn’t respond; she was literally frozen with fear.

But in that moment, when I thought about them, something inside me told me I could survive this. And as I looked around and saw people still in the brace position, I couldn’t bring myself to copy them. I felt like if I did, I was admitting defeat and accepting my fate, and I didn’t want to die. I decided then that I would get through this.

I looked out of the window and saw that we were above land. That was a good sign I decided; if I was going to survive this crash then it meant we wouldn’t have to wait long until the emergency services arrived; that’s what I told myself anyway. I then started to look for the nearest exit and I decided that I was going to put my trainers on – not to be easily identified, but to give me a better chance of running when I’d need to.

It must have been just a few seconds later that I became aware of a change in the sound of the plane’s engines and it suddenly began to level out. I didn’t even need to hear the sighs of relief – I could sense it in the air; we WERE going to survive this – all of us.

And that was when the woman behind me started to get hysterical; it was evident that she had just processed what had happened and was having some sort of delayed reaction. She leant forward and put her face in between my seat and the one next to it.

“My kids, I’ve got kids. I can’t leave my babies….” She was sobbing and her voice was getting louder, with tears were streaming down her face. And still, I couldn’t cry. Looking back, I realise I was in shock and unable to process anything. It was almost as if I had just observed everything that had happened and I had emotionally disconnected from it all.

She then decided it was time to up the ante and it crossed my mind that she might really lose the plot by unbuckling herself and lunging for the emergency exit, sucking us all out with her. I gestured for the steward to come and help her; I thought that if someone could sit with her and hold her hand, she would calm down. But I also knew that person couldn’t be me, not this time.

We coasted for what seemed like forever at 11,000 feet, although it felt like we were so much closer to the ground and I was genuinely concerned that we would crash into a mountain. For all I knew, we had a suicide pilot at the helm. But still I felt immense relief; the plane was finally under control and this was just one awful ordeal I’d have to overcome – a heck of a lot better than lying at the bottom of the Aegean Sea.

After what seemed like ages – and having been given no explanation for the terrifying event we’d just endured, the captain announced that we were going to divert and land at Izmir airport. The plane remained silent and people tried to come to terms with what had just happened.

When we landed, just before we were ushered off the plane into some sort of holding area, we were told that the plane’s altitude had been taken down due to cabin pressure. We were just baffled; how could they not have told us? But none of us questioned the crew at the time – we were still in shock – evident by the way we exited the plane like zombies.

Andy and I found each other in the holding area and, with the sudden realisation about what had just happened to us, we both broke down in tears. In fact, I don’t think there was a dry eye in the room. We were all hugging one another and trying to reach loved ones to tell them of our ‘near-death’ experience.

I called my mum; in between my sobs she managed to work out what had just happened. It was wonderful to hear her voice – and I can’t describe the relief I felt when I eventually got home and held my kids and VIP. As you can imagine, not one of us slept on the reserve flight they put us on – and a few people quit work after the ordeal, vowing never to step on a plane again. Andy didn’t and neither did I, but it did have a huge effect on me in the months that followed.

The aftermath

And for weeks the whole industry talked about ‘the plane incident’, wondering what really went on. Theories ranged from weapons being fired from neighbouring Syria and a hijack, to engine failure and that something – a bird perhaps – had struck us. It was a shame that the airline (Pegasus) were so reluctant to give us a sound explanation at the time. They did many things wrong that day.

I was affected for weeks afterwards, jumping at every loud sound, walking around not knowing what to do with myself and being unable to concentrate. I’d also burst into tears for no apparent reason and had trouble sleeping. I knew I had PTSD and I tried to work through it the best I could. And I was saddened when no one from my office called to check if I was okay. When I took the Monday off work to ‘recover’, it didn’t prompt them, nor the following week or the week after that. It somehow felt like it was being brushed under the carpet. A paranoid mind might have suspected a conspiracy theory going on, but in the end it made me realise that no one actually gave a toss. A week later I received an email from Advantage themselves; the president of the organisation had emailed me directly to apologise for what I had been through after attending their conference – no fault of her own of course, but it was nice that someone had shown compassion.

We all waited for a formal report to be filed (all plane incidents and crashes have to undergo investigation) – and eventually it was. On that fateful day; the plane had experienced a sudden drop in cabin pressure and the captain and crew had no choice but to rapidly take the plane down so that we could all breathe! On hearing this, there were all sorts of conspiracy theories flying around, mostly because the oxygen masks never fell from the ceiling. Even air stewards put in their two pennies worth, saying that what happened wasn’t protocol when it came to cabin pressure – and more importantly, we should have been told what was happening at the time.

The incident was reported online across various media and was also logged by AeroInside – an organisation that reports on airplane crashes and incidents.

This is what it said: A Pegasus Airlines Boeing 737-800, registration TC-IZD performing flight PC-5121 from Bodrum (Turkey) to London Gatwick, EN (UK) with 49 passengers, was enroute at FL400 about 30nm north of Thessaloniki (Greece) when the crew initiated an emergency descent to FL110 (average rate of descent 3600fpm) due to the loss of cabin pressure, the passenger oxygen masks were not released. The aircraft subsequently turned around and diverted to Izmir (Turkey) for a safe landing about 65 minutes after leaving FL400.

A replacement Boeing 737-800 registration TC-IZI departed Izmir about one hour after landing and reached London with a delay of 3 hours.

But it didn’t matter so much why it happened; the fact that we were kept in the dark about it at the time was the biggest mistake of all. Having people believe they were plummeting to their death was just plain cruel. It’s the sort of thing that never leaves you. And it hasn’t really. I learned that many people had therapy in the months that followed – probably because most of them knew they’d eventually have to get on a plane again.

And me? Well, in the months following the incident I couldn’t get on a plane for work, passing up many opportunities for press trips and making any old excuse as to why I couldn’t go on the next work conference.

I did however manage to travel to Mallorca for a family holiday shortly afterwards. Had it been up to me, I would have preferred to cruise there, but I did it for the kids as they were excited about going on a plane. I had to wear sunglasses on that first flight – I didn’t want the kids to see the fear (or the tears) in my eyes. I have boarded a few planes since and I’ve hated every single minute of it. But I do my best to distract myself with a ‘fear of flying’ podcast, a movie and a book.

But there’s one thing that I still haven’t been able to do since that fateful day and that’s go to sleep whilst inflight. The raw memories of having my feet shaken to awaken me to a living nightmare prevent that from happening.

But I have, however, taken my trainers off. I keep them in plain sight though, just in case.

*A big thanks to my mate Andy for sharing his photos from the day. I must have deleted any I'd taken - perhaps in the hope I'd delete it from my memory too?!