Facing fears and tears

In today’s world, we have numerous sources of information, from traditional news and social media to podcasts and text messages from friends. This wealth of information gives me a much better sense of the world than the limited options of the past, like just three TV stations and a newspaper—a setup I rarely engaged with, as I seldom watched TV or read the paper. Now, with the constant stream of news, often focusing on the negative, I find my anxiety rising as I age.

I was very fortunate to grow up with a father who was a pilot for TWA, which meant travel was a frequent part of my life, and I loved it. We often flew first class when seats were available. My father would talk about and sometimes predict turbulence, especially when landing at challenging airports, making it feel like an exciting ride. However, everything changed after I got married. Our first son was soon to be born, and during a flight, I experienced sudden turbulence. The unexpected jolt caused me to flinch and emit a mild yelp, something that did not align with my image as a masculine man in his thirties. It was the first time I felt out of control, my life in someone else’s hands, and I longed to be piloting the plane myself.

Throughout the early years of my children’s lives, I traveled extensively and worked hard to manage the anxiety that came with it, whether during a risky taxi ride in Mumbai or a flight landing in Hong Kong. My father’s advice helped me manage: “Watch the flight attendants. If they look scared, then you can start worrying.”

However, there were many times over the years when I was sure I was overprotective and overreactive, like when the kids climbed trees or went flying across the yard on a zip line. I could feel the sense of a bad elevator ride in my stomach and tried very hard to be the cool dad, though I often failed. As they grew up and kept surviving, it became easier. Football games with concussions, drone launches with stitches, and high-speed impacts with furniture that led to emergency room visits all kept my internal vigilance slightly alarmed and overly concerned.

An amazing trip to Alaska with two of my oldest boys, other fathers and their sons, and a very old amphibious plane flying below the weather, is an experience to remember for a lifetime. Although I snapped pictures of my boys looking out of the window of this ancient but cool tin can of a plane, I had a hard time imagining how my wife was going to carry on with our two other kids if we were lost in the mountains. The trip was amazing, and my boys still talk about the fishing, the bears, and that plane as a very fond memory. When I shared with a well-traveled friend who arranged the trip about my anxiety about that plane flight, he informed me that the plane and that pilot had been involved in an accident and were no longer with us, validating my feelings of anxiety and judgment. Obviously, you cannot go through life without taking measured risks, but I think everyone has burdens, and this is one of mine.

After our kids’ accident, we got the very good news, thanks to a good friend, that helped us get approvals for sending Lauren to Craig Hospital in Colorado. We were ecstatic that she was going to get great care and give her the best opportunity to recover and begin her journey back to health. The day she was transported in a medical evacuation jet, with a small crew, my daughter, and one adult—my wife who got to accompany her—was unforgettable. Things were moving very fast after the hours on the clock seemed to pass at a very slow speed, and minutes turned into hours and days. Suddenly, Lauren was being dismissed and heading to Colorado, and as the ambulance crew from Bend was there to transport her, the path to the elevators and hallway was full of nurses and staff all wishing her well. I could barely hold my composure as I walked out with my daughter on the gurney. I was both overwhelmed with the love and caring from the staff at St. Charles and agonized over the small jet transport to Denver.

As they loaded up the ambulance to take them to the airport, I suddenly was not tied to the hospital and was ready to head home to my son, who was recovering at home and had his saint-like girlfriend there with him around the clock. I sat in the car and watched them drive away and just completely lost it. I had to pull over in a parking spot. I lost control and cried like I have never cried before. It seemed more intense than the previous weeks as we learned about the accident and the agonizing tick of the second hand as each new milestone became the next waiting game.

I gathered my composure and used the tail information of the plane to track its flight to Denver, waiting for my wife to call me with the update. I was irrationally worried. The ‘what ifs’ overwhelmed me and kept me from relaxing until I heard from my wife. I had no control, I could do nothing about it, and I worked very hard to keep the worst-case scenarios from my mind. It felt like torture.

Of course, as soon as I heard from Jennifer, she allayed my fears but also said, “Wow, that was a very old plane, and it was very bumpy!” I was just very thankful for their safe flight but also felt validated with at least a sliver of my “irrational” fears.

I had put this out of my mind for some time, and then the recent news about the medevac jet with a crash brought it all streaming back. I have been praying for the survivors and those lost in that accident, seemingly compounding the tragedies of those families. Reading about this, of course, brings all these feelings back to the surface. I am so thankful for all the care my kids have received, but with everything going on in the world, I just feel even luckier than ever before. So many chances for this to have been a much worse outcome, and so thankful for all the prayers and support and actions from first responders to the ambulance transport to the pilot of the jet that got my girls to Denver safely.