Dear Friends and Family,
Much of Nancy’s adult life has revolved around airplanes.
During Nancy’s thirty-three years as a flight attendant, she has flown on almost every type of commercial aircraft utilized in the United States. The exception would be the Concorde, though she did get to see one up close and personal at John F. Kennedy International Airport—better known as JFK. (She watched it take off and land.)
Until yesterday, Nancy’s most memorable air travel experience was a trip from Salt Lake City to Yellowstone National Park in a T33 “Shooting Star,” a World War II fighter jet restored and owned by a friend of mine, Dr. Bruce Huchinsen. Bruce used his jewel of an aircraft to commute between Utah and the Yellowstone National Park. The T33 is a two-seat airplane in which the pilot and passenger are beneath a glass bubble, sitting one behind the other. Nancy was strapped into the rear seat like a fighter copilot and had one of those black plastic devices that covered her mouth and nose and delivered oxygen during the flight. After the flight was completed, Bruce related to me the story of his new copilot Nancy breathing rapidly during the takeoff and the entire first part of the flight before adjusting to a normal breathing rate.
Nonetheless, as much as Nancy enjoyed her flight in a WWII vintage plane, there should be no doubt about how she would describe her all-time favorite flight if asked now. She would, without any hesitancy, talk about her experience yesterday.
Unlike most of our prior airplane trips, we were in no hurry to arrive at Heber Airport early. Departure time was “around 11 a.m.,” and we were armed with the knowledge that the plane would not leave until we were safely on board. Once we were checked through the private gate at the airstrip, we drove right up to and then parked beside a Cessna Citation Jet whose call letters on the tail matched the numbers Gil had emailed me. Chief pilot Ed Dusang and his copilot Jeff Hansen greeted us as we got out of our car. Jeff wouldn’t let me carry our bags, rather he grabbed them from our trunk and loaded them carefully into the plane’s underbelly, while Ed helped us into the cabin of the four-passenger aircraft that would transport Nancy and me to Seattle.
After making sure we were comfortable, Ed served us drinks, showed us the emergency exit in the rear of the plane, tested our seat belts, and confirmed that our seats were upright. Only then did he return to the cockpit, where Jeff had finished his preflight checks and started both engines. Nancy grabbed my hand as we slowly taxied down the runway. Once we had been cleared for takeoff, Ed turned and gave us a thumbs-up through the open cockpit door.
Our takeoff acceleration was so rapid it felt as if we had been shot out of a cannon. We were airborne in seconds and circled momentarily above Heber before we headed northwest. The plane windows were surprisingly large and the view was spectacular, especially since the aspens and scrub oak displayed outsized patches of dark red and bright yellow below us. Excitedly, Nancy pointed and said, “Look, Winnie.” I leaned toward her for a better view out the window on her side of the plane. I gazed as a familiar edifice, our home, disappeared below us as we rapidly winged our way toward our destination. In a minute or two, we were witnessing the exquisite beauty of Park City. Below us, the majesty of the peaks and ski slopes that make up the Deer Valley Resort slowly faded as we headed into the clouds and our ultimate cruising altitude of 36,000 feet.
In normal times, to experience a ride in a private jet is a thrill—in unusual times a godsend. The seats were large, covered in soft leather, and had controls for more adjustments than I knew what to do with without assistance. The cabin had room for all of our belongings, and the desk table could be utilized for eating, working, or playing games with other passengers. There were connections for all of our electronics, and the cockpit door remained open so we could watch as the pilots flipped switches, examined dials, and navigated the plane through the clouds. The box lunches Ed served us about a half hour into the flight had more food and snacks than we could eat and as much wine and soft drinks as we wanted to drink, responsibly. (We drank both.) And best of all, our pilots were gracious and kind, willing to answer all of our many questions about the aircraft. (They also were quick to point out any sights either of them deemed interesting.)
As I shared a moment ago, this isn’t a time of normalcy.
At some point shortly after takeoff, I was struck by the thought that this could be Nancy’s last trip. Ever. Consequently, I found myself preoccupied for much of the rest of our flight. My mind raced as it organized and reorganized the many topics I wanted to discuss with Dr. Appelbaum.
Nancy, on the other hand, soaked up every second of being far away from her medical nightmare. Her forehead lines were barely visible and her smile was relaxed and effortless. When I asked how she was feeling, she gazed out my window then looked me in the eye and responded, “I feel like I’m floating. I’ve been in the air so many times over the years, but it has never felt like this before. I feel as free as a bird. I don’t want to ever land.”
Nancy did sleep the last part of the trip, and I rubbed her hand that I had been holding the entire time. Only when Ed turned in the cockpit and said to me, “You might want to give her a nudge. Mt. Rainier is especially beautiful today,” did Nancy awake up just in time to see us fly close enough that we could almost reach out and touch the snowcap that quickly drifted by our window.
The smoothness of our landing was as impressive as the acceleration of our original takeoff. As we pulled to a stop at our “parking space” at Boeing Field, Seattle’s private airport, a black limousine appeared and parked directly next to the plane. As we exited, the driver loaded our bags.
In minutes, we were headed toward the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Center, where our next day’s appointment loomed ahead of us. Our hotel was directly across the street from the center. There had been no long lines, no waiting for the counter personnel, no baggage checks or long walks through a busy terminal, and no shoe or belt removal. No one had stared at Nancy’s semi-bald head wondering if it was a medical condition or a fashion statement. And most importantly, there were not many uninvited germs to test her impaired immunity.
Though Edgar and Polly were not with us on the plane to Seattle, we certainly felt their kindness and their love during the entire flight. Their feelings were reflected in Ed’s last words as we exited the limo in front of our hotel: “Good luck tomorrow. Give me a call to let me know which day you want to go home. Remember what the Sterns said: ‘No hurry.’”
Summary: Yesterday Nancy and I took a magical airplane ride to Seattle for our consultation. We are basking in the support of all of our friends and especially on this day, Edgar and Polly Stern.
With love,
Winnie