Air Line Pilot, October 2000, page 30
By Capt. Brad Jones (Northwest)

This is one of those "yeah but" stories for you to think about as you thumb through this magazine and otherwise live your life.

On April Fool’s Day, 1991, paramedics hustled into the pilot crew room where I lay on the couch, eyes closed, sweating in spite of the cool room temperature, feeling intense chest pain, and thinking: "Damn, this is not really what I wanted to do today." As these young guys with dangling stethoscopes hovered over my 43-year-old "prime-of-life" body, they began to interrogate me about the sensations I was feeling and asking other questions that I really did not want to answer. As a needle went into my arm, one paramedic inquired if I had ever had a heart attack. As I said no, I was only half-focused on his query. My thoughts were racing; then in a flash, as vivid as a movie, I thought of my family and the events of the last 24 hours.

What had happened, what had I been doing? I had commuted to base the night before with the usual anxiety about all the things that can happen on a 5-day trip, but the coming days had the prospect of being pleasant with good overnights. While my spouse had driven me to the airport, we had talked about the typical home and family matters that accompany launching a brand-new "second" marriage, integrating a blended family, and settling into new housing arrangements. While our future held the promise of some stress, my new bride and I were both optimistic, and I felt good as I dropped off to sleep that night.

The hotel wake-up call the next day began my normal work routine. I noticed that my first cup of coffee in the airport hotel room created an unusually warm sensation in my chest as it traveled down to my stomach, but it nevertheless tasted good. I left the room at about 7 a.m. with plenty of time for breakfast. As I walked toward the security checkpoint, I noticed that I was breathing hard and sweating. I mentally dismissed my discomfort, attributing it to the weight of my bags, and continued toward the check-in area. When I got up to the security checkpoint I was feeling very uncomfortable, and I thought I would do well to eat before checking in.

After breakfast, I began to feel more like myself, and I again headed for the check-in area to report for my flight. As I lifted my bag onto the X-ray machine, I could not believe how difficult that seemingly simple task was for me, and I vowed to get more exercise.

Heading down the concourse, I found my bag getting harder to wheel, and I could feel my temperature rising. I took my hat off and wiped my forehead, saying to myself that the building custodians had better turn down the temperature on the air conditioning.

After about 50 yards or so in the concourse, I finally admitted to myself that something was definitely wrong. I was physically weak and decided to sit for a minute before checking in. My strength seemed to return after a couple minutes. However, this time I traveled only 20 feet before deciding that my revised objective was merely to get to the check-in counter to let them know that they should call out a reserve. Soon afterward, I was on the couch in the care of the paramedics, who wasted little time getting me into an ambulance.

In the ambulance, a paramedic gave me a nitroglycerin pill and asked me if I had a headache; I told him no. A few minutes later, that sequence was repeated. The paramedic’s next words were not what I wanted to hear. "You’re having a heart attack. Do you have a doctor or hospital you want to go to?"

As incredible as this may seem, after being told I was in the middle of a medical emergency that was potentially the "ultimate show-stopper," all I could think about was the inconvenience that I was causing! Consequently, I tried to pick a hospital that would be convenient for me to get back to the airport when I recovered! I said a prayer and told the paramedics the name of a hospital.

After 6 days and "just" a double bypass, I was on the way home feeling much better. I remember thinking that in 6 months I would be eligible to apply for a medical evaluation.

Subsequently, I changed some things in my diet and exercised, and in 7 months, I had completed my simulator and line checks. Shortly thereafter I was back in the saddle again. For the next 10 years, I was flying and playing with no restrictions.

Now we "fast forward" to the present. I commuted in to base for a 4-day trip the next day. I was staying in a motor home in the airport employee parking lot and was busy doing some minor maintenance to my humble home away from home, when I felt the pang of indigestion. This prompted me to have a bowl of oatmeal, which somewhat alleviated the discomfort. I felt good the morning of the flight and was looking forward to more fun in the clouds.

As I passed through the same security checkpoint that was so memorable almost 10 years before, I recalled the heart attack episode, and I resolved never again to push myself so hard. I got to check-in and busied myself with the day’s flight preparations. Then I boarded the airplane for an early afternoon flight to end that evening in Omaha.

As I entered the aircraft, I greeted the crew and introduced myself to the first officer, a former career Air Force pilot with lots of heavy time who was well on his way to completing the preflight duties. Then I began my preflight checks; however, shortly afterward at some point in the overhead check I felt a pang of indigestion again, requested a diet drink, and continued the checklist. On climb out, I felt another indigestion pang and wondered what the heck was going on with my body? Suddenly I was tired, but I still had a full day ahead. At cruise, I made small talk with the first officer, and we started to review the Dallas arrival, landing, and taxi routes. Abruptly in quick succession, I felt a minute’s worth of chest tightness, and then I was fine again.

As we pulled into the gate in Dallas, I thought maybe a yogurt would help, and I powered down a cup. I still believed that my problem was stomach-related, so with ground time to kill, I wolfed down a couple of burritos before returning to the airplane. Once more while going through the overhead checklist, I experienced chest tightness. The feeling of discomfort was flickering in my chest like an intermittent light. But just as suddenly, I felt good again and decided that all was well. The first officer did a really nice job of flying; however, as we pulled into the gate at Minneapolis, I was once more aware of the chest tightness. After 2 minutes, I was back to normal and thinking to myself: "I hate this intermittent stuff."

We changed airplanes for the ride to Omaha. As I walked across the terminal, I was thinking about this intermittent tightness in my chest, and how it could be very inconvenient to take some time off and be replaced. Then I rationalized, I really did not feel that bad and these sensations were just weird little tightness feelings that came and went.

As we rolled out after the landing in Omaha, I again felt the tightness, and I thought that these sensations might actually be significant, but I was puzzled by their intermittent nature. My denial continued the rest of the night and through the next morning because I had no reoccurrence of pain.

Then later in the morning it began again; the chest tightness came back and it lasted for about two minutes. By now the denial was fading as I actively considered whether to continue the trip. As I prepared to leave the room for the lobby, the tightness returned with a vengeance, stronger and deeper.

I said to myself that this was getting to be something I needed to make a decision about. Specifically, I quickly had to decide when and where to get off the trip. The van ride to the airport was short, and now the pain was constant. As I arrived at the gate, I used my cell phone to start calling about getting a replacement. After several unsuccessful attempts, I finally contacted crew scheduling. I informed the scheduler that I would like to be replaced and that in about an hour and a half we would be going through Minneapolis, where we would have 2 hours before we were scheduled to fly the next leg. She asked for the nature of the illness, and before I could think of what else to say, I blurted out: "Chest pain." She was helpful, and we discussed the options. I chose the one that would get me home and back with familiar doctors and surroundings as quickly as possible.

As I sat down in the seat, I told the first officer that I was not feeling well, that I was having chest pain, and that I would help with the activities of the flight. Further, I told him that he should be aware of my condition and that I would be replaced in Minneapolis. He did an exceptional job of flying to Minneapolis, and we said our good-byes after landing, with me headed home and the rest of the crew off on the next leg.

As the result of my experience, I have become very interested in the subject of surviving a heart attack. Recently I came across some advice that I’d like to share with those reading my tale, in the unfortunate event that one day you find yourself in a motel room alone with intense chest pain—see the sidebar above.

Hello, God…. Yes, we can talk. You want me to tell my story of denial so that others may learn, and you are not done with me yet. "SAY AGAIN?"