Recently, I ran into a good friend and fellow captain, Kristin, in the crew room during a multi-hour sit between flights at the airport. Somehow, we got on the subject of bars and bar conversation. She asked what my cover was. I didn't know what she was talking about.
"Well, what do you tell people you do for a living when they ask?" She asked.
"Um.... the truth?" I said.
"Nooooo..." she said, shaking her head. "Let's face it: what we do is fascinating to people outside of our profession. You tell them the truth, and you'll be stuck talking to them for a long time, faced with the same questions you get all day, when all you want to do is enjoy your evening. 'Wow! A pilot! What do you fly? What airline do you fly for? Were you in the military? Do you have a specific route? How long are you in town? Why do I have to turn off my iPad? How fast/high/far do you fly? How long did it take you to become a pilot?' Blah blah blah blah blah!"
She was right. The list goes on and on and on. Not that I mind questions; even the same questions over and over. I love talking about what I do, because I love what I do. I enjoy educating people and explaining the "why's" of things. However, I don't want to draw attention to the fact that I am a pilot, or that we are a flight crew, when out at a bar. It's not that we get wild (though, on the long overnights - with certain people whose names have been changed to protect the crazy, sometimes that happens!); it's just that I hate facing an endless barrage of questions, when all we want to do is unwind. Plus, the obvious - pilot reputations are bad enough and I just don't want to add to the stereotype. Also, there are some people out there who might want to make something out of nothing... people who would call up the powers that be and make trouble - even though we're following the rules regarding alcohol and time between "bottle to throttle."
"Well, what would you suggest?" I asked.
Kristin's eyes brightened, her voice got hushed, she leaned forward, and I could tell I was about to receive some sage advice. "Well, when I go out with the crew, I pick something boring. Usually, I'm Maria, the paralegal. Sometimes, I'm Maria, the accountant. I used to get the whole crew to say that we were underwater welders.... but then we actually met some underwater welders!"
"No one would believe me." I said. "I don't know the first thing about any of those jobs. I don't think I could make up anything believable should they ask. "
"It doesn't matter. When you pick something insanely boring, it's a total conversation killer. They never ask any follow up questions! Try it!"
She was right again. My father is a C.P.A. I have no idea what the man does during the period of time that is not between January 1 and April 15 - and I've known him for 36 years. I'm sure his job is fascinating to other people who love numbers and taxes, but I doubt anyone at the bar would listen with baited breath to any wild tax stories.
A week later, opportunity knocked.
It was a Saturday night in Albany, NY. As I set the brake after the last flight of the day, I was already thinking about how good the taste of Scotch was going to be on my lips. I wanted a nice, quiet evening, and so did the crew. The Flight Attendant didn't drink, so she ran off to Walgreens in search of food that wasn't tuna. Austin (my First Officer) and I waded through an elevator and lobby full of noisy teenagers and found ourselves in the tiny, quiet sanctuary of the hotel bar. We had our choice of barstools, and the tv was playing an old movie on the Family Channel.
The bartender-ess walked over and I asked, "What the hell is 'Dirty Dancing' doing on the Family Channel?" She answered my question with a question.
"What'll it be?"
"Glenlivet. Neat. And a water." Austin had Maker's Mark and coke. We clinked our glasses and sat in silence. The night was off to a perfect start! She gave us menus and we ordered some food that was awful for us. Bartender-ess left us alone, and I looked up and admired the view of Patrick Swayze dancing with his shirt off.
Then, like a lightning bolt from the clear blue sky..... they come in. I don't remember their names; we'll call them Mickey and Sylvia, since Patrick Swayze and Jennifer Gray were lip syncing to "Love is Strange" when these two people sidled up to the bar. They were a married couple, probably in their 50's. Sylvia with long black hair, and Mickey with short brown hair and a mustache. I wanted to ask him if he was growing it for No-shave Movember, like my buddy Austin next to me, or if his face always looked like that..... but I decided I didn't want to insult him and I didn't really care anyway.
The bartender became friendly. "You again!" she cried. They made small talk, and something Mickey said made Austin and I laugh. We were pretty sure this wasn't Mickey's first drink of the night. Our laughter caught his attention. "Heeeeeyyy!!! What's goin' on, you two? What brings you in town?"
I heard Kristin's words echo in my mind. I had to think fast. We're tourists? No. It's cold, rainy, and gross here. It's November, for God's sake. Who tours ALBANY after the leaves change? Visiting friends? No, because we'd certainly be with our friends at this hour on a Saturday night. "Oh, just business," said Austin.
"What kind of business you in?"
Austin didn't answer. I'm a blimp folder for the US Army, I thought. "I'm a CPA," I heard myself say. It was almost a question. God, I'm a bad liar!
"Oh." Pause. You could see the wheels in Mickey's head trying to come up with something else to say or ask that would further the conversation. The best he could do was, "Number cruncher, eh?"
"Yep. That's me. I love numbers." I shrugged. "It's boring, but...."
"But somebody's gotta do it, right?" from his wife, Sylvia, so kind and supportive of a complete stranger. I felt a little guilty. There was another long pause. I nodded and sipped my Scotch. More silence. Haha! It worked! Kristin, you are awesome! Thanks!!
He glanced at my wedding ring. "So, what about your husband over there?" I guess they couldn't possibly fathom what my being a CPA had to do with a business trip to New York State. Oh, he's retired. He's at home with our cat...
"I'm an industrial welder," from Austin. Oh... right.... THAT husband! Austin and I are married now! To each other! Not quite the underwater welder, but at least this is believable. This was getting fun. Unfortunately, next to my choice of careers, Austin became the most interesting person in the world to Mickey and Sylvia.
"Hey! You don't say! Where are you working?"
Austin looked a little perplexed. No one had asked follow up questions before. "Oh. Just, ah... downtown."
"We're locals. I'm downtown all the time. Maybe I've seen you! What street? What company? How long will you be in town?"
I had to take another sip of Scotch to hide the smile I just couldn't keep off my face. My lie was better than Austin's lie, I thought smugly. Patting myself on the back, I started to giggle a little and tried to act like I was coughing. "Um.... Sweetie...." Austin turned to me, his eyes wide in a can you believe this shit? expression, "do you remember the name of the street?"
I was going to say something like "Main street," but I was too busy trying to hide my giggles. I choked! Austin whipped out his phone to desperately search the streets of downtown Albany - without bothering to even try hiding what he was doing from these two very nice people. "Pearl Street!! I work on Pearl Street." Satisfied that he had provided a believable answer, he finished the rest of his drink.
"I'd like to buy you two your next drink!!" Well hell.... who were we to deny someone the pleasure of buying us booze? Austin felt just as bad for lying to these nice people as I did, and neither of us would have him pay for something as expensive as what we had been drinking. We each ordered a Sam Adams on draft, and thanked him. Unfortunately, that meant we were stuck talking to them a little while longer.
I tried to change the subject. After all, people love talking about themselves! "What about you two? What do you do, locally, here in Albany?"
Mickey was retired. Sylvia was a special ed teacher. A special ed teacher! Finally, a background I can talk about! I called upon my short experience in the classroom when I was a high school band director and was ready to talk shop with Sylvia. I tried asking her about her job, but Mickey wouldn't have it.
"So... Austin.... where did you go to school to learn the art of welding?"
Shit. By this time, the bartender decided we were interesting, too. We must have been hilarious to watch. "Akron, OH" He said, uncomfortably.
"Oh!!! I have a buddy in that area!!" Of course you do, I thought. Is this really happening? "What's the name of the school?"
Austin stammered. He cleared his throat. He looked at me for help, but I was useless. I've never been to Akron, and the only part of Ohio I'm familiar with is the Cleveland airport. He picked up his phone.
"Gee. You'd think you'd remember the name of the college you graduated from," said Sylvia with a wry grin, totally busting our lie wide open.
"Well.... we've actually had a lot to drink tonight," I said, never sounding more sober in my life. She didn't buy it. "We started drinking in our room before we came down," as if that explained everything.
Google to the rescue again. "Akron Testing Laboratory and Welding School!" Austin exclaimed triumphantly. "Sorry... it's just been a long day, and like my wife said, we've had a lot to drink."
The subject turned to kids. They didn't believe us when we said we had a four-year-old. I wonder why? Austin showed them the sweetest little picture of them playing dress-up on Halloween. His son dressed up as a pilot, complete with hat and mustache, and Austin was wearing his pilot uniform. The picture is absolutely adorable. "Wow, GREAT costume man! How did you find matching pilot costumes? Yours looks so real!"
The questions kept coming. "How long have you been married?"
I felt bad that Austin had to keep answering the questions, so I chimed in, "Six years."
"Where did you meet?"
Jesus Christ, what the hell is with these people?? "On the internet," I said before Austin could answer. The lies were coming easier now. I wondered how hard it would be to remember all of our lies if I kept drinking. I had caught a good buzz by now, and I asked the bartender for another beer. I was ready to tell them that we'd met in a sex chat room, hooked up, and fell in love after he knocked me up. Alas, I didn't get the chance.
Their food came, thank GOD. The bartender showed us pictures of her kids. We asked for our checks. Just when I thought I was getting away unscathed, she mentioned that her husband was also a CPA!! He was working on his doctorate so he could teach at the local university, and create more CPAs.
I got nervous. My head was foggy from the booze. I tried to add in the tip and heard myself say, "What's 8 plus 6?"
From Sylvia..... "You'd think a number cruncher would be an expert at simple math." SHIT!
Then Mickey started saying things like, "it's all a lie. He's really an undercover cop. Or CIA. Don't shoot me Mr. Uncercover cop!! Hahaha!"
Sylvia did her best to shut him up, as Austin and I practically sprinted out of there!! That's us, the married couple. Each holding our own hotel room key and paying separate checks with our own credit cards.
We laughed so hard in the elevator on the way up to our rooms!!!
I suppose we got what we deserved. Austin says, "They were nice people. I hate lying to nice people." I guess we both need to work on our cover stories a little more. The questions about flying were so much easier to answer!!
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Saturday, October 19, 2013
Facebook hiatus
Recently, I made an observation. I woke up early one morning at the crash pad, pleased that I had practically a whole day to get things done before having to report to work just after 4 pm. I made a giant pot of coffee and sat down to Facebook to see what all my friends and family were up to, and to play a few rounds of Bejeweled Blitz.
I've tried Candy Crush, but you have to be pretty clever for that game. You also have to involve your friends at some point in order to unlock further levels, which pisses off your friends. It's like a horrible pyramid scheme. Oh, and once your turns are over, you have to wait to feed your habit again; and I hate waiting! I want mindless entertainment NOW!! I flew with a friend of mine who was able to trick Candy Crush into thinking more time had passed than actually had by manually changing the time and date on his phone. It backfired, and now he has to wait something like 500 million hours to play again!!
I sat down with my first cup of coffee at 8 am. Before I knew it, I was out of coffee, I was more jittery than a Parkinson's patient, and it was 11:30. THREE AND A HALF HOURS?!?! WTF!?!?! I usually have to be in a drunken blackout to lose that kind of time! I got to wondering how much time I had actually wasted on Facebook and silly computer games. How much could I accomplish if I stopped for just one week? I warned all of Facebook land that I wouldn't be around to "like" or comment on their status, post funny pictures, or make observations. After all, with the sudden stoppage, I didn't want anyone thinking I'd died. I knew it was going to be tough, so in an effort to cope with stopping my addiction cold turkey, I kept a running journal in the form of a rough draft here on Blogger. The following are my observations:
Day 1:
1) I studied an hour and a half of Italian using Rosetta Stone.
2) I worked out.
3) I had enough time to put on makeup before work so I felt pretty and confident.
4) Interesting crap happened today, and I couldn't share it with the world!! We aborted a takeoff, for God's sake! Facebook land needs to know!!
5) My phone still had 70% of its battery life at the end of a long day, despite multiple calls to maintenance and dispatch. And weather checking. And waking it up to almost open up FB, then putting it to sleep again with a deep sigh, realizing I still had 6 days to go.
6) I am replying to personal emails instead of just clicking "like."
Day 2:
1) Another hour and a half of Rosetta Stone.
2) Answered a call from our assistant chief pilot about not filing a report regarding the aborted takeoff. Evidently, the FAA was on his ass, so he was on mine.
3) Filed a report for the aborted takeoff.
4) Immense boredom while in the airport waiting on my commute. Magazines not fixing the problem.
5) I'm wondering what I'm missing, and what sort of hilarious things my friends James, Hal, and Kevin are posting. I make a mental note to go through each of their pages at length when I return.
6) Much safer driving habits on the drive from STL airport to my home.
7) My friends are out to get me. They keep "tagging" me in their posts so Facebook sends me emails! Not fair! Probably because they are all gambling on how long I will actually last.
Day 3: I'm home today!
1) Helped Sweet Cheeks run a water line from downstairs to the new fridge upstairs and trouble-shot why it isn't working properly.
2) Dropped off the dry cleaning
3) Got a flu shot
4) Grocery shopped
5) Went out for breakfast and dinner (supper, for you folks who call it that name)
6) Did laundry
7) Watched the Cardinals game
8) Played X-Box with Sweet Cheeks
Day 4:
1) Put chili fixin's in the crock pot
2) More quality time with Cheeks, and more productivity I don't have time to list here.
3) I really don't need this coping journal anymore, as I now have too much real live shit to do. Later, Bitches!!!
Day 7:
1) I've had more personal correspondence with my family than ever before, because I'm writing personal emails and making phone calls instead of just clicking "like." - GOOD!!!!
2) I have no creative outlet for the snarky comments and witty observations that randomly pop into my head and must be shared or else my brain will explode. BAD!!!!!
3) My commute home is delayed (of course it is.... it's Trans States Airlines!), and I only have 3 hours to go to make it an entire week Facebook free. Also, I really miss my friends, their comments, witty observations, baby/puppy/cat pictures, and the ease of keeping in touch without having to pick up the phone. SCREW IT! I'm logging back in to Facebook!!!
A friend of mine said I would look back on my week and see nothing but productivity. He was right. The first few days were much more difficult than I thought they'd be!! I found myself thinking about Facebook at the oddest times! Sometimes when I'd close my eyes, I'd even see the familiar "Facebook Blue" trim. The sheer muscle memory of opening up my phone and touching the FB app without thinking, then rushing to close it because I'm not supposed to be doing that now, was crazy. I do believe social media affects the same part of your brain as any other addiction. It was an interesting experiment. I recommend trying it!
Returning to Facebook was much like walking into a bar again after giving up drinking for 29 days. It was warm, familiar, inviting. It's like a part of my soul returned. And yet, the tiny little part of me who prospered and grew during my Facebook Hiatus was sad.
I got so much done while away from Facebook, but I could never give it up completely. While I'm sure I could create a cure for cancer, learn 5 languages, and build the body of a Brazilian Sun Goddess in the amount of time I waste online, what good would all of that be if I couldn't tell the world about it on Facebook? I have a deep, primal need to know when one of my friends' kids does something funny. Or their favorite athletic team does well. Or they screwed up their bid for the next month. Or they made a funny observation, announcement, had a good workout, decided to be lazy, heard a life changing piece of music, or post a picture of their food. Or they're being harassed by passengers/scheduling/other crew members/canceled flights/crazy weather/etc etc etc. Or anything else newsworthy. Plus, I laugh all the time at some of the hilarious stuff all of you say!! I need that kind of outlet. Finally, I am able to fulfill my own narcissistic need to be adored through all of your "likes" and comments on the funny, sad, or sometimes brilliant crap that comes out of my brain!
Oh, and in an interesting bit of post-experiment reflection upon my return to Facebook, I made the following observations:
1) I haven't studied a bit of Italian.
2) I can't remember the last time I worked out.
3) I end each week with the highest score on the Bejeweled Blitz scoreboard.
4) I can barely squeeze my ass into my work pants.
5) My mind is at peace because all of my friends and family are just a click away.
Perhaps I should try this awesome thing that seems to work with my drinking. I think it's called "moderation."
Which reminds me.... I've spent a long time on this blog entry..... Time to check Facebook again!!
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
"I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob."
I'm currently wrapping up my second vacation of the year. It's a little difficult to top the last one (during which we got married), so we didn't even try. Actually, we didn't do much of anything this time around. It's more like "time off" instead of "Vacation." Which is a good thing, since for the longest time I've been in a pattern in which after commuting home, I've barely had time to unpack, do laundry, repack, and hit the road again for another trip. I used my week of being paroled from work to drive my jeep home from Cleveland (which I'm using as a crashpad car) and get it inspected and re-tagged. I also got caught up on my logbook, and updated my resume and airline applications. I was at last able to find the time to visit the doctor about a nagging wrist issue I've been dealing with for a few months (probably due to that boat-anchor for Carnival Cruise lines I carry around at work disguised as my Rollaboard bag). My ears are still ringing from the MRI I had done on it! They found a couple of cysts and used a few big words I can't pronounce and won't even attempt to spell. Dealing with it sounds incredibly unpleasant, so I'll just employ my usual strategy I like to call "ignore the problem; surely it will go away." Be sure to look for my future blog post about what happens when my usual strategy turns out like it usually does.
I know, I'm such a wild child!! More than one person has already called my vacation LAME. What can I say? I'm old.
Finally, I was actually able to attend two family cookouts with my in-laws! I usually work weekends, so this was a special treat. I spent the rest of my vacation eating whatever I want, NOT working out, drinking lots of wine, cooking lots of delicious things, playing x-box, and watching movies with Sweet Cheeks. It was perhaps the most stress-free vacation ever!
At one such cookout, I found myself in an interesting conversation with my.... um.... I'm not sure what her relationship is to me. Technically, she's the mother-in-law to my stepson. So... sister-in-law? I giggle every time I refer to Sweet Cheeks' son as my stepson, because he's older than I am. Can you believe it - I didn't get anything for Mother's Day; I was so disappointed! LOL!! Anyway, I digress. Her name is Mary. I was talking to Mary while my daughter-in-law (also older than I am.... ) was cleaning up and the men were in another room fiddling with the computer. Mary is probably in her late 60's, been a farm gal all her life, never tasted liquor, goes to church every week, and certainly doesn't use any foul language. I know, my polar opposite. She told me she was musing on how many different words and phrases there were for.... um..... the act of pooping. She started to list all the ones she came up with: "There's poop, bowel movement, that 's-word' that I don't say, taking a dump...."
I was laughing so hard, I was gasping for air. My daughter-in-law desperately tried to change the subject to something less disgusting, but Mary wouldn't have it.
"The scoots, the trots, the runs, diarrhea....hmmm..... what else?"
"Crap," I added helpfully, wiping the tears from my eyes. I winked at my daughter-in-law and received an eye roll in exchange. Then, Mary asked me, so innocently I could almost see the halo glowing above her head, "Can you think of anything else that we do that has so many different names?"
I was paralyzed by such an inner turmoil, I almost exploded. The angel on my right shoulder pleaded desperately for me to say no. The devil on my left shoulder practically screamed "Sex. SEX!!!!!!! SEX SEX SEX SEX!!!!" I felt like Roger Rabbit when Christopher Lloyd kept knocking around his hiding place, singing, "Shave and a haircut...." I usually yield to the devil, sacrificing myself upon the alter of comedy, even if it means certain doom and the only one laughing is me. I got a warning glance from my daughter-in-law who knew what I was thinking and I chickened out. "Nope," I said. I think the entire kitchen breathed a sigh of relief.
Alas, vacations end, and this one is coming to a close. I'm prepping my lunch bag for another 6 days of work, and gearing up for a return to the workout wagon. I'm comforted by the thought that at least I don't have to rely on Trans States to give me a ride to work this week, since I'll be making the 11 hour trek in my jeep. This period of doing absolutely nothing at home has left me refreshed and ready to return to the insanity that comes with my awesome job, and couldn't have come at a better time!
Well.... look at the clock..... there's still time to nurse that last bottle of wine! Cheers!
I know, I'm such a wild child!! More than one person has already called my vacation LAME. What can I say? I'm old.
Finally, I was actually able to attend two family cookouts with my in-laws! I usually work weekends, so this was a special treat. I spent the rest of my vacation eating whatever I want, NOT working out, drinking lots of wine, cooking lots of delicious things, playing x-box, and watching movies with Sweet Cheeks. It was perhaps the most stress-free vacation ever!
At one such cookout, I found myself in an interesting conversation with my.... um.... I'm not sure what her relationship is to me. Technically, she's the mother-in-law to my stepson. So... sister-in-law? I giggle every time I refer to Sweet Cheeks' son as my stepson, because he's older than I am. Can you believe it - I didn't get anything for Mother's Day; I was so disappointed! LOL!! Anyway, I digress. Her name is Mary. I was talking to Mary while my daughter-in-law (also older than I am.... ) was cleaning up and the men were in another room fiddling with the computer. Mary is probably in her late 60's, been a farm gal all her life, never tasted liquor, goes to church every week, and certainly doesn't use any foul language. I know, my polar opposite. She told me she was musing on how many different words and phrases there were for.... um..... the act of pooping. She started to list all the ones she came up with: "There's poop, bowel movement, that 's-word' that I don't say, taking a dump...."
I was laughing so hard, I was gasping for air. My daughter-in-law desperately tried to change the subject to something less disgusting, but Mary wouldn't have it.
"The scoots, the trots, the runs, diarrhea....hmmm..... what else?"
"Crap," I added helpfully, wiping the tears from my eyes. I winked at my daughter-in-law and received an eye roll in exchange. Then, Mary asked me, so innocently I could almost see the halo glowing above her head, "Can you think of anything else that we do that has so many different names?"
I was paralyzed by such an inner turmoil, I almost exploded. The angel on my right shoulder pleaded desperately for me to say no. The devil on my left shoulder practically screamed "Sex. SEX!!!!!!! SEX SEX SEX SEX!!!!" I felt like Roger Rabbit when Christopher Lloyd kept knocking around his hiding place, singing, "Shave and a haircut...." I usually yield to the devil, sacrificing myself upon the alter of comedy, even if it means certain doom and the only one laughing is me. I got a warning glance from my daughter-in-law who knew what I was thinking and I chickened out. "Nope," I said. I think the entire kitchen breathed a sigh of relief.
Alas, vacations end, and this one is coming to a close. I'm prepping my lunch bag for another 6 days of work, and gearing up for a return to the workout wagon. I'm comforted by the thought that at least I don't have to rely on Trans States to give me a ride to work this week, since I'll be making the 11 hour trek in my jeep. This period of doing absolutely nothing at home has left me refreshed and ready to return to the insanity that comes with my awesome job, and couldn't have come at a better time!
Well.... look at the clock..... there's still time to nurse that last bottle of wine! Cheers!
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Coo coo kachoo, Mrs. Jacobson.....
Ok, so it's been a VERY long time since I've paid any attention to my blog. My already small audience has probably given up on me. I'm not any busier than I was before, I've just been hit with a little bit of writer's block.
When we last left the saga that is Delia's life, Sweet Cheeks had just undergone the most challenging experience of his life. So had I, for that matter. I am happy to report that he is recovering from his heart troubles quite nicely! He is attending Cardiac Rehab 3 days a week. It's kind of like a gym with nurses. They hook up a bunch of wires to him so they can closely monitor his heart rate and blood pressure while he walks on the treadmill, then rides the exercise bike. Also, he has just begun experimenting with the elliptical trainer.
His blood pressure lately has been elevated. We don't know why. He's had a few blood pressure troubles since his surgery, and the doctor has had to change his meds a few times. Hopefully, we will get that under control for good. Other than that, he's healthier than I've ever seen him!
After watching him go through all that, I decided to take better care of myself, too. I don't want any of my loved ones to suffer through the helplessness that I felt as they watch me flirt with death! My drinking was reaching levels where even my drinking friends would give me a concerned look and suggest.... "Gee Delia, when was the last time you went running? Maybe you should cut back....." I lasted an entire 29 days. When I tried drinking again (unfortunately with the intensity that I had previously enjoyed), I got very, very sick. So..... lesson learned. Actually, it took getting very, very sick a couple of times before the lesson was learned, but I'm hard-headed. I now get tipsy after one drink. At 3 drinks, I'd better have the trash can ready! I'm a cheap date now!!
Not that I'll be dating anyone, because - SWEET CHEEKS AND I GOT MARRIED!!!
It was not the sweep-you-off-your-feet-movie-style-will-you-marry-me-applause-applause proposal that every girl dreams of. I've already had one of those, and I'm happy for the memory of it. It didn't work out.
Nope, this one came about during one of Don's scary nights at home post-surgery. His chest was really bothering him, and he was contemplating going back to the hospital. We talked about lots of things, and eventually he brought up marriage. I said, "you're not suggesting this because you think you're going to die, are you? 'T'ill death do us part' isn't so bad if it's only a few months. What if you live another 20 years? Would you still want to be married to me?" He said, "that would make me so happy!" So..... later that evening, I asked if he was serious. He was.
We'd already had a week's vacation planned in Florida in early April. He and I have many things in common - procrastination is one of them. I knew that if we didn't set a date, we'd never get married! And, part of me was afraid he'd change his mind! Also, I've always loved the idea of a beach wedding. So, since we were going to be in FL anyway, I looked up inexpensive ways to get hitched on the beach. I found weddingsonawhim.com, and those folks took care of everything! They were wonderful. They tailored the ceremony to fit us. The guest list was small - just my mom and dad. Everyone was invited to come, but it was on such short notice, it was on a Tuesday, and it was in Clearwater, Florida. I didn't expect everyone to drop their lives and jet down to Florida for a 10 minute ceremony.
The weather was perfect. The beach was breathtaking. Before we got started, I looked at Don and said, "are you nervous?" He said he was. I said, "I am, too. We shouldn't be. I don't know about you, but I'm about to marry my best friend." It was a short, but beautiful ceremony. There were some laughs and tears. When the officiate said, "you may kiss the bride," there was much applause from other beach-goers! It truly was the happiest day of my life.
Seriously.... if anyone out there is considering getting married on the beach in Florida..... I highly recommend weddingsonawhim!!
So, I guess that's the biggest piece of news since my previous entry. As far as my professional life goes, I've updated my resume and sent out a few apps, hoping for a mainline gig.... my phone still isn't ringing. The competition is pretty stiff, so I imagine it will be a while. But, I'm not in a bad place now. I'm enjoying a bit of seniority, and I'm using my time to get fit and become a healthier person. I'm flying with a lot of new people, both FO's and Flight Attendants. It's easy to make them laugh, because they haven't heard my jokes before! They are fun to fly with because they haven't been sodomized by the company yet and are still enthusiastic about being here. Watching my friends upgrade into the left seat is pretty exciting, too.
In short, life is good!
When we last left the saga that is Delia's life, Sweet Cheeks had just undergone the most challenging experience of his life. So had I, for that matter. I am happy to report that he is recovering from his heart troubles quite nicely! He is attending Cardiac Rehab 3 days a week. It's kind of like a gym with nurses. They hook up a bunch of wires to him so they can closely monitor his heart rate and blood pressure while he walks on the treadmill, then rides the exercise bike. Also, he has just begun experimenting with the elliptical trainer.
His blood pressure lately has been elevated. We don't know why. He's had a few blood pressure troubles since his surgery, and the doctor has had to change his meds a few times. Hopefully, we will get that under control for good. Other than that, he's healthier than I've ever seen him!
After watching him go through all that, I decided to take better care of myself, too. I don't want any of my loved ones to suffer through the helplessness that I felt as they watch me flirt with death! My drinking was reaching levels where even my drinking friends would give me a concerned look and suggest.... "Gee Delia, when was the last time you went running? Maybe you should cut back....." I lasted an entire 29 days. When I tried drinking again (unfortunately with the intensity that I had previously enjoyed), I got very, very sick. So..... lesson learned. Actually, it took getting very, very sick a couple of times before the lesson was learned, but I'm hard-headed. I now get tipsy after one drink. At 3 drinks, I'd better have the trash can ready! I'm a cheap date now!!
Not that I'll be dating anyone, because - SWEET CHEEKS AND I GOT MARRIED!!!
It was not the sweep-you-off-your-feet-movie-style-will-you-marry-me-applause-applause proposal that every girl dreams of. I've already had one of those, and I'm happy for the memory of it. It didn't work out.
Nope, this one came about during one of Don's scary nights at home post-surgery. His chest was really bothering him, and he was contemplating going back to the hospital. We talked about lots of things, and eventually he brought up marriage. I said, "you're not suggesting this because you think you're going to die, are you? 'T'ill death do us part' isn't so bad if it's only a few months. What if you live another 20 years? Would you still want to be married to me?" He said, "that would make me so happy!" So..... later that evening, I asked if he was serious. He was.
We'd already had a week's vacation planned in Florida in early April. He and I have many things in common - procrastination is one of them. I knew that if we didn't set a date, we'd never get married! And, part of me was afraid he'd change his mind! Also, I've always loved the idea of a beach wedding. So, since we were going to be in FL anyway, I looked up inexpensive ways to get hitched on the beach. I found weddingsonawhim.com, and those folks took care of everything! They were wonderful. They tailored the ceremony to fit us. The guest list was small - just my mom and dad. Everyone was invited to come, but it was on such short notice, it was on a Tuesday, and it was in Clearwater, Florida. I didn't expect everyone to drop their lives and jet down to Florida for a 10 minute ceremony.
The weather was perfect. The beach was breathtaking. Before we got started, I looked at Don and said, "are you nervous?" He said he was. I said, "I am, too. We shouldn't be. I don't know about you, but I'm about to marry my best friend." It was a short, but beautiful ceremony. There were some laughs and tears. When the officiate said, "you may kiss the bride," there was much applause from other beach-goers! It truly was the happiest day of my life.
Seriously.... if anyone out there is considering getting married on the beach in Florida..... I highly recommend weddingsonawhim!!
So, I guess that's the biggest piece of news since my previous entry. As far as my professional life goes, I've updated my resume and sent out a few apps, hoping for a mainline gig.... my phone still isn't ringing. The competition is pretty stiff, so I imagine it will be a while. But, I'm not in a bad place now. I'm enjoying a bit of seniority, and I'm using my time to get fit and become a healthier person. I'm flying with a lot of new people, both FO's and Flight Attendants. It's easy to make them laugh, because they haven't heard my jokes before! They are fun to fly with because they haven't been sodomized by the company yet and are still enthusiastic about being here. Watching my friends upgrade into the left seat is pretty exciting, too.
In short, life is good!
Sunday, February 24, 2013
Broken Hearts and Bedside Vigils
I need to write about this, if for no other reason than to get it out of my system. Don's hospital stay has by far been the most excruciating experience of my existence. I have never prayed so much, cried so much, hurt so much, or experienced so many emotions in such a short span of time.
It started Monday, February 11th. I was texting Don about my commute home, and that I should be home by 6 pm. He calls me as they begin boarding and tells me that he's in the hospital as of midnight the previous night. He will have his triple bypass surgery on Tuesday morning. A wave of nausea washes over me as an invisible fist punches me in the gut. I ask if he's in any pain, he says "not now." I tell him to get some rest, ask if he needs me to bring him anything, and that I'll see him tonight. I fire off a desperate email to the LOA office at work, and by the time I get to St. Louis, I'm granted the time I need.
Meanwhile, I spent the whole flight to St. Louis wiping the tears from my eyes and trying not to fall apart. I managed to make it to my car and let loose with loud, uncontrollable sobbing. It was a wonderful, much-needed release! There. That should get me through tomorrow, I thought.
I spent the night before his surgery next to his bedside, as the staff interrupted every few hours to scrub him (three times), give him medication, take his vital signs, take his blood, etc. The morning of his surgery, his son Aaron and daughter-in-law Roberta came to the hospital. We met the nurse who would be taking care of him post-op, and a few other people. Everyone who came into Don's room (with the exception of family and myself) seemed really excited for him to have his surgery, like it was a trip to an amusement park or something. His spirits were nervous, but optimistic.
The time came for him to be taken downstairs. Aaron and I left our stuff with Roberta and accompanied him in the holding room, where he would sign the consent forms and be prepped for surgery. The nurse gave him something to relax him and out came the electric clippers. I looked at his beautiful, flawless chest as they shaved his chest hair and legs. I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
The nurse liaison kicked us out and handed Aaron and I each a pack of Kleenex and her personal phone number. She said she'd come out during each phase of the 5 hour surgery and give us updates. Aaron's Pastor and a couple of his friends were waiting for us outside in the waiting room. We all held hands and prayed.
True to her word, the nurse liaison came out. "Surgery has begun." My nervous pacing began. An hour later, "He's on bypass" (where the heart is stopped and he's connected to the heart/lung machine that keeps him alive while the surgeon attaches the veins to the heart).
I was going through Kleenexes at a steady rate, but still holding up better than I thought I would. I looked at the pastor, the friends, Aaron and Roberta - very kind, Christian folks who don't drink, don't swear, and don't make tasteless jokes about farts and body parts. I was so glad to have the company and support, but it was a challenge to keep my company manners and not make an ass of myself while being under emotional stress for such an extended period of time. WHY THE HELL DOESN'T THIS PLACE HAVE A FREAKIN' BAR?!? A sweet friend's amazing mother came by and delivered home-made chocolate fudge to me in the nick of time!
"He's off bypass. He separated from the heart/lung machine very well!" My baby's heart is beating again!!! I felt a wave of relief. I thought the worst was over! "Surgery is complete. Expect to see him in the Intensive Care Unit in about an hour. The doctor will see you in 30 minutes." Everything went well. It was "as cherry of a case as they come." Still angry at having to face this day sober but in better spirits, I busied myself between the time we're told the surgery is complete until we're allowed to see him by concentrating on the idea that if this flying thing doesn't work out for me, I'm going to open a bar at the hospital. I'd make a killing. What shall I call it? I came up with a few names:
The Waiting Room
Stitches
Sutres
SutreSelf (I'm so clever!)
Scrubs and Suds
The Morphine Drip
The Medicine Cabinet
The nurse liaison interrupted my brainstorm, and let Aaron and I walk into ICU to see him. It was tough to see all those tubes in and around him, but conversations with friends who also had loved ones go through this surgery had prepared me for that. I found his face in what otherwise looked like a science fair project. He was sleeping, but I put my finger in his hand and said, "hi sweet baby."
Eventually, the ventilator tube came out, he was in and out of consciousness, and he was able to talk to us a little. When I was confident that the worst was over, I told him I was leaving for the night and that the staff would take excellent care of him. I kissed him and said, "I love you." He croaked out, "I love you, too."
This was big. In the 7 and a half years we've been together, not once has he told me he loved me. Before you get upset, just know that even though he doesn't tell me, he shows me. He just has a hard time saying the words, and so that I don't make him uncomfortable, I don't say them either. I know that I am loved, and he knows that he is loved. We just don't say it. It works for us.
I go to the grocery store, pick up a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine, with the intention of pigging out and getting drunk, because that is how I handle stress. No sooner had I put the pizza in the oven when Aaron calls me..... Don's blood pressure dropped significantly, his heart rate slowed to a crawl...... there's a team of people helping him....... I pull the pizza out of the oven, slam a glass of wine, and head back to the hospital.
My Donnie had "coded." I was in shock and denial. But, his surgery went well! He had surgery to prevent this from happening! How can it happen now?!? He has the best surgeon in the region!! Later, we would find out that it's because one of the bypasses failed. Luckily, he didn't have to go back into the operating room. They reintubated him with the ventilator, and inserted what's called an Intra-aortic balloon pump through his leg all the way up to where it rests against his heart - basically it's a balloon that inflates during a certain part of every heart beat to 1) help the heart rest and 2) help it deal with the cocktail of medications coarsing through his system. There is a nurse assigned to watch him and only him the rest of the night.
His surgeon, who had also gone home because everything was a-ok, came out to the waiting room to talk to Aaron and me. He asked and answered the questions we were thinking, because neither of us was capable of intelligent conversation ourselves:
"Was it a heart attack? We're pretty sure it was.
Why did it happen? We don't know.
How much did it damage his heart? We won't know until this is all over. Perhaps months.
Is there the possibility that he won't make it? Yes, a very real one."
Later, when we were allowed to see Don again, I walked into his room by myself. I looked at all the machines, displaying all kinds of numbers and waves, and heard the rhythmic clicking of the balloon pump. It was night time. As long as he was sleeping, he wasn't hurting. I gently closed my hand around his foot and softly told him that Aaron and I are just around the corner. "You're not alone, sweet baby. Just rest and get better." Over the speakers in the room, I heard the sweetest, saddest, most beautiful music..... classical.... strings.... is that? Brahms' Lullaby!? Giant tears flooded my eyes and streamed down my cheeks as I held my breath. I looked at his face.... all those machines keeping him alive..... him sleeping peacefully... and that music... that fucking music! The music was what set me over the edge. It was so sweet and so beautiful and so cruel. I quickly walked out of there and into the waiting room. My legs were unsteady, so I rested against a pillar. I squeezed my eyes shut and my mouth gaped open in a silent scream. Why God, WHY?!??!? I finally breathed again and managed to make it to the ladies' room before having a complete emotional breakdown.
I screamed at the walls, I screamed at God, I screamed at Don. Don, my world, my everything! The one I want to share every beautiful thing that life has to offer..... and there's a chance he won't be coming home!?? I left the restroom feeling no better, just beaten, exhausted, and utterly heartbroken.
Aaron and I spent the night in the cold waiting room of the ICU. Neither of us got any sleep. The following day, not much changed. He remained on the balloon pump and the ventilator. He was awake enough to let us know how much he hated the breathing tube. Aaron and I left the hospital long enough to shower and get a meal, only to return to the hospital again. We spent another night in the ICU waiting room. In between cries, we'd get coffee or hot chocolate.
The next day was Valentine's Day. I bought a small sequined heart to hang in his room. I showed it to him, and through all the tubes, he smiled. They gradually weaned him off the balloon pump. When he handled that well, they weaned him off the ventilator. They fed him ice chips. He no longer needs a nurse with him 24/7. It was a good day.
Followed by a bad night, of course. His heart went into Atrial Fibrillation, or Afib - or irregular heart beat. He has a history of it, and I hear that it's "normal" after heart surgery. His pulse was racing - 150+ beats per minute. Especially terrible because we were trying to rest his heart! I'm allowed to "sleep" in the recliner next to his bed, which makes him feel better. After several nights of this, I determine that there's no way that anyone gets any rest in the hospital. The endless parade of professionals begins around 4:30 - 5:00am and doesn't end until midnight. Once people start coming in to his room, you can kiss any sleep goodbye. Thank God the coffee was complimentary.
By day 7, doctors determine that he's well enough to get out of ICU and into a private room. Days are good, nights are full of anxiety. Finally, a week and a half after he entered the hospital, he was discharged!
I asked a nurse why I heard Brahms' lullaby. Evidently, they play it every time a baby is born. Isn't that sweet? They said that it's broadcast throughout the whole hospital, and that they'll often have elderly ladies (on lots of drugs) walk down the hallway as it's being played, convinced they're dying and headed into the light. I guess I'm not the only one who was touched by that music.
It is so good to have my Sweet Cheeks back home. I am forcing him to eat my healthy cooking. He even likes some of it! I am acting wife, mother, nurse, chef, cheerleader, and personal trainer. I am exhausted! But, I am ever so humbly thankful that he's back home with me. There will be doctor appointments to find out what his heart attack means to him - how much of the muscle was damaged, see if he can get a stent for the failed bypass, etc. The nights are still full of anxiety for him, and at times I feel so useless because I can't help him. He's not convinced he's going to recover sometimes. But, we know the recovery process is a slow one, and I do my best to remind him of how far he's come already. Every day, I see an improvement in him. Baby steps add up to great strides.
One thing I will never forget - how many of my friends and family prayed for us, sent us "good vibes," and otherwise gave their emotional support and encouragement. I am truly touched at how many of you helped me when I had trouble keeping it together emotionally.
Thank you. Please take care of yourselves.
It started Monday, February 11th. I was texting Don about my commute home, and that I should be home by 6 pm. He calls me as they begin boarding and tells me that he's in the hospital as of midnight the previous night. He will have his triple bypass surgery on Tuesday morning. A wave of nausea washes over me as an invisible fist punches me in the gut. I ask if he's in any pain, he says "not now." I tell him to get some rest, ask if he needs me to bring him anything, and that I'll see him tonight. I fire off a desperate email to the LOA office at work, and by the time I get to St. Louis, I'm granted the time I need.
Meanwhile, I spent the whole flight to St. Louis wiping the tears from my eyes and trying not to fall apart. I managed to make it to my car and let loose with loud, uncontrollable sobbing. It was a wonderful, much-needed release! There. That should get me through tomorrow, I thought.
I spent the night before his surgery next to his bedside, as the staff interrupted every few hours to scrub him (three times), give him medication, take his vital signs, take his blood, etc. The morning of his surgery, his son Aaron and daughter-in-law Roberta came to the hospital. We met the nurse who would be taking care of him post-op, and a few other people. Everyone who came into Don's room (with the exception of family and myself) seemed really excited for him to have his surgery, like it was a trip to an amusement park or something. His spirits were nervous, but optimistic.
The time came for him to be taken downstairs. Aaron and I left our stuff with Roberta and accompanied him in the holding room, where he would sign the consent forms and be prepped for surgery. The nurse gave him something to relax him and out came the electric clippers. I looked at his beautiful, flawless chest as they shaved his chest hair and legs. I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.
The nurse liaison kicked us out and handed Aaron and I each a pack of Kleenex and her personal phone number. She said she'd come out during each phase of the 5 hour surgery and give us updates. Aaron's Pastor and a couple of his friends were waiting for us outside in the waiting room. We all held hands and prayed.
True to her word, the nurse liaison came out. "Surgery has begun." My nervous pacing began. An hour later, "He's on bypass" (where the heart is stopped and he's connected to the heart/lung machine that keeps him alive while the surgeon attaches the veins to the heart).
I was going through Kleenexes at a steady rate, but still holding up better than I thought I would. I looked at the pastor, the friends, Aaron and Roberta - very kind, Christian folks who don't drink, don't swear, and don't make tasteless jokes about farts and body parts. I was so glad to have the company and support, but it was a challenge to keep my company manners and not make an ass of myself while being under emotional stress for such an extended period of time. WHY THE HELL DOESN'T THIS PLACE HAVE A FREAKIN' BAR?!? A sweet friend's amazing mother came by and delivered home-made chocolate fudge to me in the nick of time!
"He's off bypass. He separated from the heart/lung machine very well!" My baby's heart is beating again!!! I felt a wave of relief. I thought the worst was over! "Surgery is complete. Expect to see him in the Intensive Care Unit in about an hour. The doctor will see you in 30 minutes." Everything went well. It was "as cherry of a case as they come." Still angry at having to face this day sober but in better spirits, I busied myself between the time we're told the surgery is complete until we're allowed to see him by concentrating on the idea that if this flying thing doesn't work out for me, I'm going to open a bar at the hospital. I'd make a killing. What shall I call it? I came up with a few names:
The Waiting Room
Stitches
Sutres
SutreSelf (I'm so clever!)
Scrubs and Suds
The Morphine Drip
The Medicine Cabinet
The nurse liaison interrupted my brainstorm, and let Aaron and I walk into ICU to see him. It was tough to see all those tubes in and around him, but conversations with friends who also had loved ones go through this surgery had prepared me for that. I found his face in what otherwise looked like a science fair project. He was sleeping, but I put my finger in his hand and said, "hi sweet baby."
Eventually, the ventilator tube came out, he was in and out of consciousness, and he was able to talk to us a little. When I was confident that the worst was over, I told him I was leaving for the night and that the staff would take excellent care of him. I kissed him and said, "I love you." He croaked out, "I love you, too."
This was big. In the 7 and a half years we've been together, not once has he told me he loved me. Before you get upset, just know that even though he doesn't tell me, he shows me. He just has a hard time saying the words, and so that I don't make him uncomfortable, I don't say them either. I know that I am loved, and he knows that he is loved. We just don't say it. It works for us.
I go to the grocery store, pick up a frozen pizza and a bottle of wine, with the intention of pigging out and getting drunk, because that is how I handle stress. No sooner had I put the pizza in the oven when Aaron calls me..... Don's blood pressure dropped significantly, his heart rate slowed to a crawl...... there's a team of people helping him....... I pull the pizza out of the oven, slam a glass of wine, and head back to the hospital.
My Donnie had "coded." I was in shock and denial. But, his surgery went well! He had surgery to prevent this from happening! How can it happen now?!? He has the best surgeon in the region!! Later, we would find out that it's because one of the bypasses failed. Luckily, he didn't have to go back into the operating room. They reintubated him with the ventilator, and inserted what's called an Intra-aortic balloon pump through his leg all the way up to where it rests against his heart - basically it's a balloon that inflates during a certain part of every heart beat to 1) help the heart rest and 2) help it deal with the cocktail of medications coarsing through his system. There is a nurse assigned to watch him and only him the rest of the night.
His surgeon, who had also gone home because everything was a-ok, came out to the waiting room to talk to Aaron and me. He asked and answered the questions we were thinking, because neither of us was capable of intelligent conversation ourselves:
"Was it a heart attack? We're pretty sure it was.
Why did it happen? We don't know.
How much did it damage his heart? We won't know until this is all over. Perhaps months.
Is there the possibility that he won't make it? Yes, a very real one."
Later, when we were allowed to see Don again, I walked into his room by myself. I looked at all the machines, displaying all kinds of numbers and waves, and heard the rhythmic clicking of the balloon pump. It was night time. As long as he was sleeping, he wasn't hurting. I gently closed my hand around his foot and softly told him that Aaron and I are just around the corner. "You're not alone, sweet baby. Just rest and get better." Over the speakers in the room, I heard the sweetest, saddest, most beautiful music..... classical.... strings.... is that? Brahms' Lullaby!? Giant tears flooded my eyes and streamed down my cheeks as I held my breath. I looked at his face.... all those machines keeping him alive..... him sleeping peacefully... and that music... that fucking music! The music was what set me over the edge. It was so sweet and so beautiful and so cruel. I quickly walked out of there and into the waiting room. My legs were unsteady, so I rested against a pillar. I squeezed my eyes shut and my mouth gaped open in a silent scream. Why God, WHY?!??!? I finally breathed again and managed to make it to the ladies' room before having a complete emotional breakdown.
I screamed at the walls, I screamed at God, I screamed at Don. Don, my world, my everything! The one I want to share every beautiful thing that life has to offer..... and there's a chance he won't be coming home!?? I left the restroom feeling no better, just beaten, exhausted, and utterly heartbroken.
Aaron and I spent the night in the cold waiting room of the ICU. Neither of us got any sleep. The following day, not much changed. He remained on the balloon pump and the ventilator. He was awake enough to let us know how much he hated the breathing tube. Aaron and I left the hospital long enough to shower and get a meal, only to return to the hospital again. We spent another night in the ICU waiting room. In between cries, we'd get coffee or hot chocolate.
The next day was Valentine's Day. I bought a small sequined heart to hang in his room. I showed it to him, and through all the tubes, he smiled. They gradually weaned him off the balloon pump. When he handled that well, they weaned him off the ventilator. They fed him ice chips. He no longer needs a nurse with him 24/7. It was a good day.
Followed by a bad night, of course. His heart went into Atrial Fibrillation, or Afib - or irregular heart beat. He has a history of it, and I hear that it's "normal" after heart surgery. His pulse was racing - 150+ beats per minute. Especially terrible because we were trying to rest his heart! I'm allowed to "sleep" in the recliner next to his bed, which makes him feel better. After several nights of this, I determine that there's no way that anyone gets any rest in the hospital. The endless parade of professionals begins around 4:30 - 5:00am and doesn't end until midnight. Once people start coming in to his room, you can kiss any sleep goodbye. Thank God the coffee was complimentary.
By day 7, doctors determine that he's well enough to get out of ICU and into a private room. Days are good, nights are full of anxiety. Finally, a week and a half after he entered the hospital, he was discharged!
I asked a nurse why I heard Brahms' lullaby. Evidently, they play it every time a baby is born. Isn't that sweet? They said that it's broadcast throughout the whole hospital, and that they'll often have elderly ladies (on lots of drugs) walk down the hallway as it's being played, convinced they're dying and headed into the light. I guess I'm not the only one who was touched by that music.
It is so good to have my Sweet Cheeks back home. I am forcing him to eat my healthy cooking. He even likes some of it! I am acting wife, mother, nurse, chef, cheerleader, and personal trainer. I am exhausted! But, I am ever so humbly thankful that he's back home with me. There will be doctor appointments to find out what his heart attack means to him - how much of the muscle was damaged, see if he can get a stent for the failed bypass, etc. The nights are still full of anxiety for him, and at times I feel so useless because I can't help him. He's not convinced he's going to recover sometimes. But, we know the recovery process is a slow one, and I do my best to remind him of how far he's come already. Every day, I see an improvement in him. Baby steps add up to great strides.
One thing I will never forget - how many of my friends and family prayed for us, sent us "good vibes," and otherwise gave their emotional support and encouragement. I am truly touched at how many of you helped me when I had trouble keeping it together emotionally.
Thank you. Please take care of yourselves.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
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?"
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?"
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