Sometimes, It's About Life and Death

"Here's the load sheet.  Can I pull the jetbridge?" the gate agent asked us after we had finished boarding the flight.  It was a cool December morning in Oklahoma City but not nearly as brutal as the single digits that we had just left behind in Chicago.

"Uh, not yet," I answered while dutifully plugging the bag count and passenger distribution into the computer.  "This should only take a second." As the server crunched the numbers somewhere in St Louis, I made small talk with the Captain.  "Forty people and 82 bags seems a bit high."

The Captain returned from his blank stare. "It's the holidays.  People are bringing all of Santa's gifts back from Grandma's house.  We're just lucky we aren't completely full.  I doubt we could take all 50 with as many bags as they brought."

A few squeaks and squawks from our computer let me know the weight and balance data was being received.  When it popped up on our screen, I reviewed the information and turned back to the Flight Attendant.  "Okay, we're good to close."

The bell on the mobile bridge rang out across the ramp as it creeped slowly away from the door allowing the brisk air to make one last attempt of filling the cabin.  Somewhere deep inside the airplane, a hydraulic accumulator released pressure to raise the airstair door.  With a loud thud followed by the sound of metal pins scraping against metal anchors, the door was firmly secured.  

"Alright, I'll see you guys in Houston.  You're buying me lunch, right John?" the flight attendant teased for the tenth time in as many legs as she closed the door. 

"Before Start Checklist," John commanded.  Once I finished reading through the checklist and we both verified the airplane was secured and ready for departure, he let the ground crew know that we were ready for them to push us away from the gate. "Start number two."

I reached up to initiate the start sequence.  "I'm beginning to think she isn't joking," I mused while carefully monitoring the engine instruments for any sign of an abnormality.  

"Man, you have no idea.  She hit me up for $50 while you were in the terminal getting coffee.  When I told her no, she accused me of being racist.  I wasn't sure how to react," he confessed sounding almost defeated.  

Electrical relays clicked and clacked loudly behind us.  "Start complete," I announced then turning to John laughed, "No way! She has to be joking. There's no way she's being serious!"  

"Set your brakes," the tug driver said in our ears then weighed-in on the discussion. "Normally I ask if you want to trade places.  Not today guys.  Good luck."

It was a short taxi to the runway.  While John taxied, I checked to ensure the airplane was ready for take-off and reached up and pushed the button to call the flight attendant to ensure everything was secure in the back. Ding-dong. The chimes rang loudly in the cabin; loud enough for us to normally hear them with headsets on and air rushing at the window at 350 mph.  Once she confirmed that everything was secured in the back, we took the runway.

It was my turn to fly.  I advanced the throttles and the jet engines roared to life.  "Set thrust," I commanded.

"Thrust set," John replied. I stared straight ahead as the runway began to accelerate below us.  "Eighty knots."  The end of the runway was now clearly visible ahead.  We raced toward the end at 130 MPH, playing chicken with the red lights that were warning us we were running out of room.  "V1.  Rotate."
  

I pulled back on the controls and the nose lifted off the ground followed quickly by the rest of us.  We were airborne.  In seconds, we were engulfed by clouds and just as quickly, we were spit out the top now flying at nearly five miles per minute.  No more than four minutes after defying gravity, we were passing through 10,000 feet.  Ding-dong.   This time John reached up to call the flight attendant and released her to begin her service.  "Okay, you are released and it looks like we have about an hour left." 

"Yo Chris, buy me lunch.  John won't do it.  It's because I'm black," she replied.

I laughed a little and made up an excuse, "You know I would but I'm broke.  I only have like $200 to my name."

That didn't stop the onslaught.  "Sounds good.  I'll take $175 then."  She was clearly joking.  Wasn't she?

That was the last exchange as she hung up the phone and began her service.  John and I began to make small talk.  I told a story about the baffling exchange at the coffee shop/restaurant/bar.  Ten minutes passed with us telling meaningless stories and jokes.  Then in our ears unexpectedly rang the chimes. Ding-Dong.  I looked up at the overhead panel and confirmed that it was the flight attendant calling again.  I looked and John and smiled, "It's all you man.  I'm flying."

"Yes?" John asked in an almost singsong tone.  

She barked into our ears.  "I have a passenger back here having a seizure.  I have to go."  The line went dead.

I paused, coffee mug to my lips and sat in silence for a second.  Still trying to process what I'd just heard, I looked over at John who was also sitting there frozen in time.  I broke the deafening silence  "Did she just say someone was having a seizure?  Was she joking?" In my mind, a person was sitting in their chair seizing, foaming at the mouth.  Jesus Christ.  

"Yeah, I think she did," John confirmed.  I leapt into action.  Pulling my route binder onto my lap, I looked for the page of the nearest frequency to a network that would allow us to talk to what is called Medlink, an on-call doctor that could help us with a medical emergency.  "What are you looking for?" John asked. 

"The ARINC frequency.  We are right on the border.  I just wanted to check to see if we were in the Midwest or South sector," I explained.  

John sat in silence for a second thinking.  "Okay, we have a passenger who is supposedly having a seizure."  Looking at the digital map and our current altitude, he made a decision.  "No, I think we just turn around and go back to OKC.  What do you think?"

I followed his logic.  We were passing through 23,000 feet and climbing at a rate of nearly one mile every three minutes.  There was still at least 45 minutes before we got to Houston.  If he was willing to just turn around and land, now would be a good time.  "Yeah, I'm on board.  Let's go back to Ok City."  

"Center, Waterski 33-45.  We need to immediately return to Oklahoma City.  We have a passenger on board having a seizure," John announced on the radio.

"Waterski 33-45, turn right now heading 360.  Descend and maintain 1-6 thousand feet, Standby for your clearance" Air Traffic Control instructed.  

Now, it was time to do some quick mental math.  By the time we got cleared to turn around and descend, we were over 27,000 feet.  I cranked the heading to north, pulled the throttles to idle and turned my 2000 feet per minute climb into a 2000 feet per minute descent.  

"Waterski 33-44.  Cleared to Oklahoma City via direct Oklahoma City.  Descend and Maintain 1-0 thousand feet," we were instructed by the Center.

I quickly reprogrammed the flight computer and saw that we were only 60 miles from the airport.  As a rule of thumb, at 50 miles, you'd want to be around 15,000 feet.  We had just passed through 27,000 feet.  Idle throttles alone wouldn't do it.  I opened the speed brakes and a low frequency rumble reverberated through our seats as the small "flaps" opened on top of our wings to add drag.  With the strong tailwind, we were eating up a mile every 7 seconds. I increased the rate of descent to one mile a minute.  At 450 mph forward and 60 mph hour down, we were as close to falling out of the sky as I ever cared to get. 

It was mostly silent except for the shuffling of papers as each of us went about our duties to prepare the aircraft to land.  John spoke up.  " Boy do I hope he wasn't just asleep."  

I replied, "I just hope he's still alive.  I wonder what's going on back there."  As I finished my thought, she called us. Ding-Dong.

John answered again, this time all business. "Okay, what's going on back there?"

"Here's the situation.  I was doing my beverage service and when I was about 3 rows from him, he let out a loud yell, lurched back in his seat and his eyes rolled into his head," she detailed.  That answered John's question.  "I'm back here with him now.  He has a pulse but he's completely unresponsive."

It was the Captain's turn to speak. "Okay, we are headed back to Oklahoma City and should be there in about 15 minutes.  Does he appear to be stable?"

"Yeah.  His eyes are open but he isn't responding to anything I say.  Like I said, he has a pulse but he's just staring straight ahead.  I'm going to sit back here with him for landing.  He's in 21C"

As we raced toward the airport, we were handed off from controller to controller.  Once on approach, the man on the other end asked, "will you be needing any assistance on the ground?" 

"Affirmative.  We'll need medical personnel to meet the aircraft.  He has a pulse but is not responsive," John answered.  

"Roger," then went on to an airplane landing ahead of us. "Cessna 57T, I may have to break you off this approach.  We have an Embraer inbound with an emergency.  Be prepared to go-around."  

It felt like an hour before we were finally in a position to land.  Through my mind raced dozens of possibilities.  Then, the emotions and memories nearly two decades old came flooding back into my consciousness.

***

As a Freshman in high school, I had worked and clawed my way to the Varsity baseball team.  It was an incredible feat, at least in my own mind.  All the hard work and effort that I had put in over the years was finally coming to fruition.  In the 5th inning, beating our rival Perry High School by ten runs and merely 6 outs from being a part of a school record number of wins, the head coach walked up to me.  He put a hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye and said, "Chris.  Great job today.  I'm taking you out and putting Greg in right field.  He's a senior and I think deserves to be part of this win."

Then, in an instant, the man fell backwards against a wooden shelf and collapsed onto the ground.  He let out a snort and his eyes rolled into the back of his head.  I stood there, hopelessly, frozen in time as my mentor, the man I'd grown to respect, lay on the ground dying.  I wanted to help but couldn't move.  What could I do even if I could?

 We were corralled to the outfield but not far enough away to hear a parent and nurse relentlessly giving CPR.  The rhythmic counting of chest compressions echoed across the completely silent crowd.  The screams of despair as one parent yelled to no one in particular, "Why is it taking so long for the paramedics to get here?"

The other team joined us in the outfield and together we prayed and I cried.  Was it me that pushed him?  Did I make him die?  Why couldn't I do anything to help? The paramedics eventually showed up to the field, put him on a stretcher and took him to the hospital.  He was pronounced dead on arrival.

****

I pushed the old memories to the back of my mind. "Gear Down," I commanded.  At this point, even with the thought of a man in the back that may or may not be in serious trouble, I had to concentrate on landing the 42,000 lb airplane. For once, there was something I could do.  I was not helpless. 

Once on the ground, the Captain took over the airplane and I went back to handling the radios.  We were instructed to taxi to the gate and once we were clear of the runway, I called operations on a back frequency.  "We are on the ground.  The passenger is in 21C."

"Okay, the ramp personnel are waiting for you at gate 12.  EMS will meet the airplane there."

I turned on the PA.  "Ladies and Gentlemen, from the flight deck.  We have a passenger on board who is in distress.  Paramedics will be meeting the aircraft to attend to the individual.  Once we park, please stay seated and allow them to get to him."

With the airplane parked, I leaped up to open the door.  The paramedics came on board and spent about 5 minutes in the back of the airplane.  The man was able to walk off under his own will.  As he passed the flight deck door, his eyes were glazed over as he stumbled forward and off the airplane.

For us, though, it was again business as usual.  The Captain was on the phone with dispatch and I began to reprogram the airplane for our second attempt to get to Houston.  It is easy to get distracted by the repetitive nature of airline flying.  You forget that sometimes, the job is about life and death.  When you read articles about bad decisions leading to worse outcomes, you can't help but think, "if I was in that situation, would that have been me?"

This isn't the time for reflection.  There'll be plenty of time for that drinking coffee and watching the sunset.  Now we have a job to do.  The gate agent peeked her head in the door and said, "Here's your loadsheet.  Can I pull the jetbridge?"

"Uh, not yet.  This should only take a second..."