AOPA Turbine Pilot Magazine - September 2020 - 20

PROFICIENT PILOT

Dodging a bullet

BY BARRY SCHIFF

Reflections on an unneeded medical scare
THIS BEGAN ON A RECENT SUNDAY with what felt like
a mild urinary tract infection. No big deal, I thought. I
can wait until the next day to call my doctor.
I awoke the next morning, however, with a lowgrade fever. It was natural these days to wonder if I
had contracted the coronavirus. I drove to a nearby
urgent care facility for a COVID-19 test. I would not
have the results, however, until at least the next day.
In the meantime, I inexplicably ignored the infection.
While speaking on the landline that evening with
friend and fellow pilot, Steve Maiman, I suddenly
began feeling confused. I was having difficulty forming sentences and stringing words together. I could not
convey my thoughts and began feeling delirious. I was
really scared and ended the call abruptly. (Steve confirmed days later that I sounded as if I were in serious

Was this the end of my 68-year flying career?
Had I made my last flight without knowing
it was my last?

BARRY SCHIFF

began his
fourteenth
logbook and has
every intention of
filling it.

mental distress.) I then discovered I could not remember how to hang up the phone. My wife, Dorie, had
just entered the room, so I asked her for help. She gave
me an odd look and told me to push the red button. I
instead kept pressing some other button and finally
gave up in frustration. "What do I do with this thing?"
I asked while holding out the handset. "Put it in its
receptacle," she replied patiently. I could not comprehend what she meant, so I just laid it on a table, the dial
tone continuing to blare from the handset.
I then realized I did not know who or where I was.
This was terrifying.
The next thing I remember is speeding somewhere
in the back of Dorie's car. She was talking on her cellphone to my son, Brian, and the only words I could
understand were those asking him to meet us at the Las
Robles Hospital in nearby Thousand Oaks, California.
I knew I was in real trouble but could not communicate my fear. I leaned back in my seat, dreading
what lay ahead. Looking through the sunroof I saw a
familiar image: a Cessna single silhouetted against the
dusk sky. It seemed to be heading in the same direction, toward the hospital, a friendly pathfinder leading
the way. Then the little airplane turned away. I soon

20 | AOPA PILOT September 2020

began to comprehend that I might never fly again, that
I might never again cavort about the sky. Was this the
end of my 68-year flying career? Had I made my last
flight without knowing it was my last? What is wrong
with me!?
The next thing I remember is commotion. Men
in white lifted me onto a gurney and began rolling
me somewhere. Lots of insistent voices. Bright lights.
Noises. Needles stuck in my arm. Probes positioned
everywhere. The only words I heard loud and clear were
"possible stroke." Oh, my God. It's true. My flying days
are over. I will never again experience the freedom and
joy of flight that has sustained me throughout my life.
After a night of more needles, poking, medications,
examinations, and virtually no sleep, a doctor arrived
at my bedside with the diagnosis. He said my urinary
tract infection (UTI) as well as dehydration had led
to a systemic and almost fatal infection called sepsis.
In addition to a variety of other potentially unpleasant symptoms, patients often exhibit "altered mental
status" and "expressive aphasia," a horrifying loss of
one's ability to produce written or spoken language.
(There probably are some who would prefer to experience me this way.)
The doctor continued by telling me that the antibiotics would take care of me and that my brain MRI
and other tests confirm I did not have a stroke. "Other
than feeling weak for a while-your body took quite a
beating-you should return to normal with no residual or ill effects." He then handed me a prescription to
be filled after I was discharged. After the doctor left, a
nurse told me how lucky I was. "UTIs kill more older
people than almost any other condition." She also told
me that I owe my wife a trip to the jewelry store for
getting me to the hospital in the nick of time.
Brian drove me home two days later. I told him we
needed to stop to fill some prescriptions. "Sure thing,"
he said. I retrieved the paper from my pocket. It specified a long-term antibiotic and said in bold print,
"Drink more water. You could have saved yourself a
lot of misery."
I reclined my seat, began to relax, and looked
through Brian's sunroof. There was another Cessna;
it seemed to be inviting me back to the sky.
And it turned out the COVID-19 test was negative. Life is good.
AOPA
barryschiff.com

http://www.barryschiff.com

AOPA Turbine Pilot Magazine - September 2020

Table of Contents for the Digital Edition of AOPA Turbine Pilot Magazine - September 2020