One Angel Didn’t Fly That Day
Was Bob just a guy from Kansas…or was he on assignment, sent from above?
The afternoon was unusually warm and breezy for early March in central Ohio. Working from home, I finished a two hour long conference call that lasted until just after lunch. A plan had been formulating in my mind for most of the week, and it looked like it could become a reality. Several of my friends in the Ohio Flyers hang gliding club had suggested that the conditions at the Richmond Dale ridge would be perfect late that afternoon for soaring. I spent a bit more time cleaning up some email, called a colleague at work to announce my plans to take the rest of the day off, and began loading my glider and equipment into the car.
After a beautiful drive through southeast Ohio, I arrived at the top of the ridge at about 3:45 PM. Four other pilots had already set up their wings and were waiting for the gusty winds to lighten up before foot-launching off the steep clearing on the top of the hill.
One other fellow who had just moved to Ohio from Kansas was also there to watch. Bob said he was a paraglider pilot, and he wanted to meet some of us and check out the ridge. After some quick hellos I began setting up my glider.
Soon one veteran pilot announced that the winds had dropped a bit and he was suiting up to go. The others put on their harnesses and positioned their gliders in line. I stopped assembling my wing and ran to the launch point to watch and assist when necessary.
The first pilot maneuvered his glider to the crest of the hill, steadied it in the stiff breeze, and with just two steps he lifted off the ground and immediately gained 50 feet of altitude. I watched for a minute or so as he continued to climb then ran back to resume setting up. This was going to be good!
As the blustery conditions permitted the other pilots took to the sky. Bob helped each one of them, and I would stop my set up to lend a hand if necessary.
I began to worry that the wind might become too light before I could get my glider and equipment ready. But after about ten more minutes I was all set to go. Bob helped me move my wing to the top of the launch area. After some last minute adjustments I was ready. Bob assisted to steady my glider in the gusts by holding on to the flying wires. When the winds lulled sufficiently I yelled “Clear!” and had a very smooth launch.
Within seconds my glider and I were 100 feet above the top of the hill and climbing.
I turned south where I suspected the lift would be strongest and, soon, my variometer was beeping faster and at higher pitches indicating that I was climbing very quickly. Before long I was 300 feet over launch (700 feet over the valley floor below), and I began to explore various areas along the ridge to maintain altitude. It was fun trading places as the high man with the two pilots who were still crisscrossing the skies above the ridge. The others sank out and had to land after only a short time.
About ten minutes into my flight a hawk joined us in our play. I turned to follow him because these majestic birds are great at finding the best lift. After a while the hawk had enough of us and bugged out to the south.
It was then that I noticed my arms felt extremely achy. The air above the ridge was very turbulent, but I was still surprised by how tired I was becoming. My harness was also getting uncomfortable, which was very unusual. Even though I was enjoying the ride, I remember thinking “If this was my first flight, I’d seriously wonder if the exhilaration was worth the discomfort.” Nevertheless, I continued flying and watched as another pilot lost altitude and set up to land.
Instead of getting better, the soreness in my arms intensified and the chest pressure in my harness increased. A glance at my watch indicated I was about 25 minutes into the flight. I decided I’d bear it out for five minutes more to hit the 30 minute mark, and then I’d go out over the valley to land. But from that point things quickly deteriorated.
The realization hit that I was having a heart attack.
I pulled in on the control bar and headed for the landing zone. Only one other pilot was still flying. I decided to avoid landing near the other gliders in case I lost control. Pain level = 5/10.
The ride down was frustratingly difficult. For the first time in my flying “career” I found myself cursing the numerous areas of strong lift I encountered as verified by the squawking of the variometer. I had to make a large S-turn to burn off altitude and set up an approach within a reasonable distance of the other pilots. I didn’t want to land so far away that I could not walk or crawl to them to indicate I needed help.
Prior to driving to the top of the hill earlier that afternoon, I had stopped in the landing zone to tie a wind-indicating streamer to a lonely pole sticking up from the fence row near the trees where I later decided to land. It seemed important for me to do at the time, and I believe God had given me that premonition. The wind was strong on the ground and I did not want to complicate an already difficult situation by landing crosswind and losing control of my glider. I circled around, still pulling in hard on the control bar and set up for a landing into the gusty breeze. I pulled my legs out of the harness at 50 feet or so of altitude and let them dangle as a sort of air brake. It was effective. I leveled off just above the ground and, in spite of the pain, managed a safe landing. Even so, I was unable to hold on to the uprights and the kite settled firmly to the ground.
After landing in strong conditions, it is important to keep the wings level while turning the glider 180 degrees so the tail can be put down into the wind. I picked up the glider, which seemed to weigh 300 pounds, and began turning it around. The wind caught under the tail and abruptly put the nose into the dirt. “Great” I thought. “I’m going to go into cardiac arrest as the glider and I tumble across the field.” I grabbed the rear flying wires and pulled as hard as I could to try to drop the tail. It was not budging. So I decided to unhook from the glider while trying to hold it down so I could jump up, grab the keel (tail), and force it to the ground. This strategy worked, but now I was really hurting. Pain level = 7/10.
I stripped off my helmet, my harness, and my sweatshirt because I was feeling extremely hot. Making sure everything was secure, I trudged around the trees and got the attention of the others. Providentially Bob had driven from the top of the ridge down to the landing area. He was standing near his truck, and when he turned to look at me I said “I need to go to the hospital.”
He chuckled, and one of the others said “Yeah, it was really rough up there.”
“No” I said. “I’m having a heart attack.”
Immediately they went into action discussing who would take care of what. Obviously Bob would drive me to the hospital, but he was completely unfamiliar with the area. I sat on the ground and told Bob I knew where to go, but understandably this did not provide him any consolation. As one of my friends gave him directions, the others lifted me into the truck.
Bob sped down the highways at extreme speeds. On the way he called 9–1–1 on his cell phone. They directed Bob to go to a fire station in a nearby town and, while giving him directions, another 9–1–1 administrator called the fire station so they’d be ready. They notified the hospital as well. All this time I was writhing in agony which by now was 8/10 on my pain scale.
Bob ran red lights and sped around cars like they were standing still.
I recall arriving at the fire station and being lifted out of the car and onto a gurney which was promptly shoved into an ambulance. We were off again.
Sirens…hospital…emergency room…lights…shouting. “How tall are you? How much do you weigh?” Someone cut off all my clothes. “What is your name? When were you born?” If I didn’t answer they told me to open my mouth and talk. I yelled out my wife’s name and her cell phone number. I saw Bob (who evidently followed the ambulance to the hospital) and said “Welcome to the Ohio Flyers” as I was being wheeled down a hallway. Pain = 10/10.
I was lifted onto a hard skinny table. My arms kept falling off to the side. “What is your name? How tall are you?” I yelled out the answers and told them my weight and height before they asked. I thought that was clever. The entire time all of this was happening I kept moaning “Oh God. Help me! My chest and hands hurt so bad.” I pretended I was being tortured, and if I moaned it was like denying my faith in God. I must be a weak believer because I could NOT keep quiet.
I felt sharp pain in my right groin where they were making the incision to perform a heart catheterization. I howled — that put the accumulated pain level to 11/10. Turning to the technician on my left I groaned “I’ve had surgery before. Somewhere in here you are supposed to say ‘Mark, I’m giving you a little something in your IV to relax you.’ Well, where is it?”
She said “Hold on; here it comes. Soon you…should…be…feeling…bet…” Everything went black.
Voices in a tunnel…bright lights…I wake, open my eyes, and I’m still in the cath lab.
Many times during the previous hour I had wondered if this was the end of my life.
I had prayed about it, telling God that it was OK with me if it was OK with him. I just wanted my wife and family members to be fine without me.
I could see that the doctor was still working on a few things, but I got the sense that the procedure was nearly finished. “How long have I been here?” I managed to ask. I really don’t recall what he said, but it wasn’t more than 30 minutes. Then I realized that I was absolutely pain free. And my attitude was bordering on euphoria.
“Someone must have been watching out for you,” the doctor explained. He showed me images on a screen that indicated the almost complete blockage he removed was in the left anterior descending artery…ominously known as “the widow maker.”
“You made it here just in time. We had just finished another emergency catheterization or our team would have already left for the day. If your arrival had been delayed even five more minutes, you would have been a goner.”
I wanted to thank Bob, but I never saw him again.
As far as I know, neither did any of my Ohio Flyer friends. I can’t say for sure whether Bob was an angel or not, but he was certainly sent by God to help me that day. And he didn’t even get to fly!