As a pilot, I am away from home more than 200 days a year. I feel blessed to be able to do what I love for a living, but it comes at a price. As time goes on, that price seems to be increasing. This was never more apparent to me than the night of September 4, 2011. I was in the small (understatement) town of Dillon, Montana on an overnight resting for an early departure to New York the next morning. We had borrowed the crew car from the airport and drove ourselves to the luxurious Best Western in town. The car was actually a van. An early 90's Dodge Caravan that had seen better days, but was fine for the short trip into town. It would come back to haunt me later.
After finding a quick dinner across the street, it was time for sleep. I checked in with home and Andrea described her contractions, saying that they didn't really hurt. Braxton-Hix maybe. Her mother was spending the night with her. We knew it could be any day, but we didn't think it would be tonight. I prayed that it wasn't, as I was due to be home in just a few days.
The next call was around midnight eastern time, 10pm in Dillon. Mimi (Andrea's Mom) and Andrea had decided to go to the hospital just to be safe. I said call me when you have time and let me know what's up. I couldn't sleep as I laid there helpless, hoping all was OK. It wasn't.
A few hours later, the phone rang and things were starting to happen. The heartbeat was "non reassuring" and the conversation about a C section began. The thought was he would probably do better out than in. I called work, at 4am, to tell them that I needed to start making my way home. Did I mention that it was Sunday of Labor Day weekend.....In Dillon, Montana!?
Needless to say, there weren't many options for getting to Cincinnati quickly that morning. The best choice was going to be for me to take the trip to New York in the early morning and then flying our plane empty to Cincy. I agreed and tried to get a wink of sleep before getting ready. Then the phone rang, again.
The C section was underway. At this point, both Andrea and my parents were there and all were looking forward to meeting Paul. Then the phone rang, again. Paul was not breathing on his own and the doctors were working on him. Andrea was recovering. I was burning a path in the cheap carpet of my room as I paced back and forth. I was panicking. I don't panic.
I was eventually able to speak with Andrea and she was the first person say to me that he was not doing OK. He was in really bad shape and they were going to take him to Childrens Hospital, in an ambulance. I broke down in a dark room by myself in Dillon, Montana. I cried and prayed. All I could think about was my wife going through this without me. I called my work and told them that I was not able to fly any longer. I was too upset. I had to get home. Now.
My only option was to take a flight out of Bozeman, 1hr+ away. No rental cars to be found. I called every number in the book. There were 2. I sent the other crewmember a message explaining the situation. He offered to help in any way he could. A few minutes later, he called back and said he would be willing to drive the crew car to Bozeman and drop me off. Awesome. We called the airport to tell them what we were going to do with their car. They laughed and said, "That van may not make it all the way there, and if it does, it definitely won't make it back!" Great. I tried one last call to the rental car company in desperation. If I didn't leave in the next 30 minutes, I wasn't going to make the flight. Then the first of many small miracles happened.
The owner/sole employee of the rental company called me back! She said she saw the number a few times figured it may be important! It was. She was on her way to motorcycle parade with her boyfriend, but she would be willing to rent us her personal car as long as we brought it back:) Deal.
She delivered the car to the hotel within minutes and we were gone. World record time Dillon-Bozeman.
While scanning for moose crossing the highway as we traveled 80+ mph, the phone rang again. It was my Dad who had traveled with Paul in the ambulance to Childrens Hospital. Andrea had requested a Baptism be performed, and it was about to start. I'll never forget listening to the priest over the phone while trying to keep my composure in that car. I didn't do so good.
I made my flight by 10 minutes and I was off. I had to connect in Minneapolis. It was all a blur. Next thingI know, my sister in law was picking me up at the airport to take me straight to the hospital. It was sometime after 7pm. A hug and solemn look confirmed what I was afraid of . This was going to be tough.
As I walked into the hospital, I was taking off my uniform. I dragged my bags all the way to Paul's bedside. I saw my mom, dad and sister, Megan. Then I saw my boy for the first time.
I knew in an instant that he was going to make it. I could feel his presence. He was there.
I spent some time talking to the nurses and doctors. I couldn't hold him. He was in an induced sleep and would be closely monitored for the night. As long as the day had been to get to him, I had to leave. I hadn't seen my wife. I brought some pictures of us together and headed for her hospital. Though the last 24hrs were very different for the two of us, we were both exhausted. The next day we insisted that it was time for her to go see her boy. We wheeled her to my car and took the first of way too many trips to be with Paul, together.
