Momma said there'd be days like this.

Most of the time, my job is rather dull and routine, sprinkled lightly with minor annoyances...... pretty much like every other job out there. However, last week I had a day that left me wondering which of the fates I had inadvertently angered. Did I step on a butterfly? Kick a puppy? Bitch-slap a cripple? I don't know. While I've cut down on the drinking, I've been taking melatonin at night, so there's really no telling what I do. As the monkeys of life kept lobbing one sticky handful of shit in my face after another, I thought of the reviews for Les Miz (the stage performance.... not the movie). It's true. I laughed. I cried. It was still better than Cats.

The day I left for work to begin two consecutive 2-day trips (a Friday), my boyfriend (after near continuous nagging from yours truly) went to a doctor to see about the increasing frequency and magnitude of chest pain and episodes where he just feels..... weird.... for months. MONTHS! Of course, the doctor sent him directly to the emergency room. This was a Friday, and the kind of test Don needed to determine what, if any, blockage is present couldn't be performed until Monday. The good and bad of it was that while my worries were heightened, in an odd way I felt more at ease than when I usually leave - knowing that he was being cared for and help, should he need it, was just outside his door.


I flew an uneventful Friday and Saturday, then reported Sunday with a new crew to fly the second two-day trip. The first day consisted of only one leg: Cleveland to Philadelphia. It was a sunny, beautiful, smooth, just downright gorgeous day to fly! A friend of mine was deadheading in the back. He was taking the plane back to Cleveland after we arrived in Philly - and it was going to be his first flight as a captain! Because we had a kickin' tailwind, we arrived 20 minutes early, leaving him plenty of time to get set up. I slapped him on the back, wished him good luck, and the 3 of us went to the hotel. I chuckled to myself and thought, that was awesome. We're probably gonna pay for this tomorrow.

All I meant by that thought was that we were scheduled for 5 legs the next day, with tight turn-arounds all day, in weather that was going to involve snow, ice pellets, freezing rain, and low ceilings. But it didn't matter.... I was going home!

Our easy day took a turn for the worse several hours later at the hotel. I was watching tv in bed and all of a sudden the power went out. And stayed out. My room cooled off quickly. I gave it about 30 minutes, then called the front desk. They don't know why the power went out or how long it will be, but someone's working on it. At the hour mark, I go downstairs and find out that a neighborhood close by just got their power back, so I was hopeful. I toyed with the idea of calling work and refusing the hotel, but I figured the power would be back on soon and I didn't want to bother the crew with gathering their shit in the dark and switching hotels, only to have the power come back on.

It didn't come back on. I drifted off to sleep, shivering under the covers until I heard my phone ring. Scheduling calling! They have a new hotel for us! The FO had the good sense to get us a different hotel.

Early morning comes.  I realize I've left my aviation headset at the old hotel. They're not answering the phone. GREAT. Donnie has his cardiac catheterization test today (the test that will determine blood flow/blockage in the chambers of the heart), the results of which determine how long his current hospital stay is, and what happens to him in the future. So, I know I'm going to be a little distracted and forgetful.

The first leg, Philly to Cleveland is uneventful until the taxi in. The ramp is a solid sheet of ice. I taxi at what I thought was a snail's pace. When I moved the tiller to the left to make a left turn, my heart leaped into my throat as the aircraft kept going straight. I applied the brakes.... no good. SHIT! I got the result I wanted with differential thrust reverser. I figured it would be better to suck unwanted debris into the engine than to plow into the terminal building or any of the vehicles between us and it.

We board up and depart again, headed for Washington DC, where the freezing rain and ice pellets are reported to have ended, with good ole rain to take its place. It is my first time to fly a complicated arrival procedure into the DC area. It requires diligent planning and attention, so that you make all the crossing restrictions (altitudes and airspeeds). There is always a tailwind that adds to the challenge. I laugh to myself at the irony that the most restrictive arrival known to man is named the FREEDOM 1 arrival. We shoot the approach into DC..... We hear the aircraft ahead of us go around. I go through the go-around process mentally...... when we reach the point where we make the decision to land or fly, I look up and see ZILCH. I execute a go-around and missed approach. We begin to receive vectors for another attempt. I note the fuel with a frown. We could either 1) shoot the approach again and land or 2) go to our alternate airport of Baltimore.

But not both. The freight dawg in me implored me to try it again. The guy behind us made it!! The guy behind him made it!! It's go-home day!! The FO kindly and passive-aggressively also noted the fuel aloud. I sighed and said to the FO, "tell ATC we need vectors to Baltimore."

We get on the ground. Supposed to be a gas-n-go operation. Grab the paperwork, gas it up, pull the jetbridge, drop the brake, thank the ground crew, ask for clearance to push back...... GROUND STOP in DC. Update in an hour. Turns out, aircraft are holding and no one is getting in. I feel better about my decision to divert. I give the people the bad news and kick everyone off the plane where they will feel more comfortable so our flight attendant doesn't have to babysit them.

Hours go by. The flight cancels. Wait for more paperwork. In the meantime, I talk to Don. Bad news, significant blockage in not just 3 main arteries, but lots of little blockages that make him a bad candidate for stents. He's being treated with nitroglycerin and has to stay another night in the hospital. His cardiologist is going to try medicine first, but thinks ultimately he'll need a triple bypass. He has a case of bronchitis that makes the heart surgeon wary of operating anyway. I stay strong on the phone and tell him to get some rest and I'll see him tonight. I hang up as a few tears escape down my cheeks and see our paperwork has finally arrived. Dammit.... I have to keep my head. No time to freak out emotionally. Swallow the fear, doubt, the emotional panic welling up. I want to scream. I want to cry. I want to get on the first plane home.

Instead, I put on my sunglasses and get back into the cockpit. I tell the FO I'm going through some shit at home and to please help me not to F--k up.

We fly empty back to Cleveland to pick up the rest of our trip. I run to get the paperwork and find the ops guy shouting a string of obscenities at the computer and cursing CHQ's system. It takes 20 minutes to print up the paperwork and I sprint athletically down the jetbridge to a plane full of disgruntled passengers. The jetbridge is slippery because of the melted snow. I slide ass-over-elbows and hit the ground so hard I see stars. Shake it off, jump in the plane, apologize to the passengers for our tardiness, and get to the process of leaving.

On pushback, the damned #2 engine won't start. We try it 3 times. No igniters, no fuel flow. We return to the gate, I again apologize to the passengers and call maintenance. They jiggle some wires, pull some circuit breakers, we're good to go. Round trip to Charlotte, while significantly delayed now, experiences no further problems.

Once safely back in Cleveland, go-home leg competed, the last passenger gets off. The crew and I sigh in relief that our day is over. Just then, some strange man with an ID boards the plane, sticks his head in the cockpit and says, "I'm looking for Captain Willes for her random drug test." I throw the checklist at the guy and say, "Are you ffffffffff----reaking kidding me?!?!?? Do you know the day I've just had?" I tell the flight attendant I'm being drug tested and the plane practically shakes itself apart from our laughter.

The walk to the restroom took a turn for the awkward when I smile and ask the man for a funnel, seeing as how I'm a female. He turned the loveliest shade of red when he handed me the cup and said, "just do the best you can."

An hour later, I sit in the gate area, waiting for the flight I will attempt to take home. The gate agent tells me there are several mis-connects, and that I will certainly get a seat in the back. Finally some good news! As I sit and wait for the boarding process to begin, I prop my feet on my bag, lay my head back, and feel all the energy leave my body. The simple act of breathing seems to require more energy than my body has to give. Only 6 more hours until I get home. Ugh.

We board. I force a smile and turn on what little charm I have left to kindly ask the pilots for a ride home. The most beautiful sound - the aircraft door closing on my commute  home - is music to my ears. We taxi out....... we.... TURN AROUND?~!?~? We return to the gate.

I'm screaming the "F-word" so loud in my head, I almost believe the people around me can hear it. Why God, WHY?

Turns out, a woman was having an anxiety attack. She needed medical attention. Because of our return to the gate, all of the poor passengers who had missed this flight suddenly get a second chance to make their flight. GOOD FOR THEM. One of these passengers comes up to me and says, "You're in my seat." Of course I am. I see myself getting kicked off the plane and drowning myself in liquor at the crash pad while my Donnie spends another lonely night in the hospital. Fortunately..... there was one seat left in the front of the plane. Thank you, Baby Jesus, I am going home!!!!

Uneventful 2 hour drive home. I stop briefly at the house to check on the cat and get changed. I drive as fast as my 5L engine will take me to the hospital. I tried to sneak in without waking him, but he's such a light sleeper. When he sits up and hugs me, all the frustrations and cares of the day immediately dissolve. All that matters is that I made it to his arms.

22 hours after my day began, I'm holding his hand. He tells me to go home and get some sleep, but the only place I want to be is in the chair next to him. At that quiet hour, in the darkness, I say a prayer of thanksgiving. I let everything that happened during the day stay in the past, and fall asleep to the beautiful sound of his breathing. He is discharged from the hospital the next day. We go home and sleep for about 6 hours.

Currently, he is still being treated with nitroglycerin. He attends cardio rehab 3 times a week. His chest pain is better. He'll have a follow-up appointment at the end of the month to see how well the meds are working and how long he can put off bypass surgery. He is making an effort to cut way back on salt, fat, and calories. I am so proud of him!

I would have never made it through this day without the emotional support of all my friends and family, especially the stellar crew I was working with!! Thanks for letting me vent, and for laughing with me when life proved that you should never ask, "how can it get any worse?"