I had my first lesson on Friday, April 24, 2015. I was so nervous, excited, petrified, and overwhelmed. Studying beforehand gave me a little idea of what I was getting into, but also scared me to death.
When I was entering junior high school, I was so scared that I would never graduate high school. I didn't know how to write research papers, I didn't know calculus, and I certainly couldn't pass the ACT. And high schoolers all knew that stuff, so I'd have to fairly soon. What if I couldn't learn it? I couldn't see it as a learning process that would take six years, I only saw the end goal and it terrified me.
So I still have those tendencies. It's daunting. How can I possibly learn everything I need to know in such a short amount of time? Just studying won't cut it, I need fly time, but how nerve-wracking to be in command of an aircraft without knowing everything! I knew enough to be scared, though.
Before getting to the airplane, we spent about an hour discussing basic physics of flight, and how to control the airplane in light of the forces acting on it. Very interesting stuff, but I really wanted to get up and put the theories to the test.
Then it was time for actual flight. Which means pre-flight. I loved the exterior inspection, and even more so, the pre-flight checklist inside the plane. Checklists! I can't forget something because I have a list right in front of me! Way cool.
Then we started her up. I have no idea how Jeff has the nerves to allow new students to even touch his plane - I seriously thought I was going to drive her right off the taxiway. Two things were really hard to get used to - the brakes on top of the rudder pedals, and the 40-ft wingspan. I have to pay extra attention to where the wings are, and drive down the center. I kept trying to drive on the right.
Jeff taught me how to announce my intentions over the radio, and then we powered up and were off! Amazing! I love the feeling of liftoff in general, but I was doing it this time. We mainly followed roads, practicing turns, and climbs and descents. I think I did pretty well, for a first-timer. About 40 minutes into it, I suddenly felt sick. Jeff took over completely and brought us back to the airport. I was highly embarrassed, but he said it's normal and will go away eventually. I hope so, but I ordered motion sickness bands and barf bags when I got home.
All in all, a great first lesson in my mind. I can't wait to continue! I still feel completely overwhelmed, but I am confident that I will learn. I am also confident that Jeff will be extra careful with this plane.
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Thursday, April 23, 2015
My Journey Begins
My journey towards earning my private pilot license (PPL) began January 19, 2015. It was a beautiful winter day, and my husband, Monte, decided he was going to fit in a flight lesson. He'd been a student since April (about 20 hours in), but work kept him pretty busy through the fall and winter, and he didn't get up as often as he'd wanted. He had five days between traveling, and good weather, so a quick refresher flight was just what he needed.
We were also talking to Jeff about me starting lessons, to get over my fear of going up. I love airplanes, and I love flying as a passenger, but I was petrified to go with Monte and I was nervous about him taking the kids with him. He's a smart guy and conscientious, but even the best can make mistakes. I hadn't been in a small plane since 1999, just before JFK, Jr. died in his plane crash. I couldn't bear the thought of that happening to our family. But we agreed that a few lessons under my belt would help me be more comfortable with the whole process for Monte.
Just about the time that I expected him to call to say he was finished and was on his way home, I instead got a phone call from his instructor, Jeff. Well, a message, since I couldn't find the handset - "Hey, Kathleen, it's Jeff at the airport. Hey, Monte had a mishap in the airplane. I want you to know he's OK, we're going to Butterworth, he got a couple of cuts, but he's otherwise OK. So we are headed to Butterworth, and I'll try you again soon."
I called him back instantly, of course, but I was still under the impression that he was fine, just maybe in need of some stitches. When Jeff told me the ambulance was on its way, I started to get a little worried. When he told me he'd meet me at the hospital, I began to realize that the "mishap" was more serious.
I arrived at the hospital before Monte, not knowing what to expect. Jeff said he was walking and talking, so he was fine, but I didn't really know what that meant. Then the local TV sent a "Breaking News" alert to my phone, regarding a plane crash at the Lowell airport. With pictures of the plane. Then I started to worry that my worst fears were being realized.
I could very easily have become a widow that night. But I didn't. Everyone said Monte should have died, but he didn't. He should have lost limbs, but he didn't. He should have had internal injuries, but he didn't. Monte had a concussion, but no brain damage. He had a broken eye socket, but no loss of vision. He had a broken jaw, but no displacement or loss of teeth. He had pretty bad puncture wounds to his knee and hand, but stitches took care of those. He had a broken wrist, and a splint and later cast helped heal that. He needed surgery for his broken nose, and then also for his mid-foot fracture. The worst was the occipital condyle avulsion, in which the tendon connecting the spine to the skull pulled away, taking a bit of bone with it. He was in a neck brace for 12 weeks due to the unstable nature of the injury, which was a bit scary for the first 4 weeks, but then it was just a matter of healing. There's more to it, but that is his story to tell.
At time of writing, we are almost 15 weeks out from the accident, and Monte is back to work and well on the road to recovery. In the meantime, I've seen dozens of people in physical therapy and other doctor's offices with severe injury from car accidents, sports, simple falls, and I've heard of more who haven't survived. And I realized that none of us knows what will happen. I cannot guarantee my safety. And I refuse to let fear keep me from following my dreams.
That night, I could have decided never to step foot on a plane again. In fact, my first comment to Jeff was that I would hold off on that first lesson we'd discussed. But as time went on, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to go, even just on a ride-along. Around week 8, I knew it was time to deal with it somehow. So we went and looked at the plane, which was still in the hangar. I thought I would hate it, but it released a passion that I had forgotten I had. All I wanted to do was put it back together and make it fly again.
So here I am, embarking on my own journey toward my PPL. Sure, it's a little scary, but also exciting. Just like life :)
~Kathleen
We were also talking to Jeff about me starting lessons, to get over my fear of going up. I love airplanes, and I love flying as a passenger, but I was petrified to go with Monte and I was nervous about him taking the kids with him. He's a smart guy and conscientious, but even the best can make mistakes. I hadn't been in a small plane since 1999, just before JFK, Jr. died in his plane crash. I couldn't bear the thought of that happening to our family. But we agreed that a few lessons under my belt would help me be more comfortable with the whole process for Monte.
Just about the time that I expected him to call to say he was finished and was on his way home, I instead got a phone call from his instructor, Jeff. Well, a message, since I couldn't find the handset - "Hey, Kathleen, it's Jeff at the airport. Hey, Monte had a mishap in the airplane. I want you to know he's OK, we're going to Butterworth, he got a couple of cuts, but he's otherwise OK. So we are headed to Butterworth, and I'll try you again soon."
I called him back instantly, of course, but I was still under the impression that he was fine, just maybe in need of some stitches. When Jeff told me the ambulance was on its way, I started to get a little worried. When he told me he'd meet me at the hospital, I began to realize that the "mishap" was more serious.
I arrived at the hospital before Monte, not knowing what to expect. Jeff said he was walking and talking, so he was fine, but I didn't really know what that meant. Then the local TV sent a "Breaking News" alert to my phone, regarding a plane crash at the Lowell airport. With pictures of the plane. Then I started to worry that my worst fears were being realized.
I could very easily have become a widow that night. But I didn't. Everyone said Monte should have died, but he didn't. He should have lost limbs, but he didn't. He should have had internal injuries, but he didn't. Monte had a concussion, but no brain damage. He had a broken eye socket, but no loss of vision. He had a broken jaw, but no displacement or loss of teeth. He had pretty bad puncture wounds to his knee and hand, but stitches took care of those. He had a broken wrist, and a splint and later cast helped heal that. He needed surgery for his broken nose, and then also for his mid-foot fracture. The worst was the occipital condyle avulsion, in which the tendon connecting the spine to the skull pulled away, taking a bit of bone with it. He was in a neck brace for 12 weeks due to the unstable nature of the injury, which was a bit scary for the first 4 weeks, but then it was just a matter of healing. There's more to it, but that is his story to tell.
At time of writing, we are almost 15 weeks out from the accident, and Monte is back to work and well on the road to recovery. In the meantime, I've seen dozens of people in physical therapy and other doctor's offices with severe injury from car accidents, sports, simple falls, and I've heard of more who haven't survived. And I realized that none of us knows what will happen. I cannot guarantee my safety. And I refuse to let fear keep me from following my dreams.
That night, I could have decided never to step foot on a plane again. In fact, my first comment to Jeff was that I would hold off on that first lesson we'd discussed. But as time went on, I couldn't shake the feeling that I needed to go, even just on a ride-along. Around week 8, I knew it was time to deal with it somehow. So we went and looked at the plane, which was still in the hangar. I thought I would hate it, but it released a passion that I had forgotten I had. All I wanted to do was put it back together and make it fly again.
So here I am, embarking on my own journey toward my PPL. Sure, it's a little scary, but also exciting. Just like life :)
~Kathleen
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