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Friday, November 13, 2015

The Sky's The Limit

Bill and I after my first solo

About four months ago I met an amazing 92 year man. Since my days as Chief of Urology at the VA Hospital in Connecticut I always ask the same question to men of a certain age. "What did you do in the war?" Which war is always understood based on their age. He replied, "I flew B-17 bombers in the Battle of the Bulge." I excitedly told him that I was learning to fly to which he responded, "Are you a natural?" I said that I didn't know. Today I soloed for the first time. It was incredible and exhilarating. Learning to fly has also been the hardest thing that I have done this side of forty. I was not a natural. Learning to consistently land well took many hours of practice. The intellectual study, physical control and mental focus was immense. It's hard to learn to do something very difficult in your fifties. So often we're just coasting at this point. Yes, I can do difficult surgeries, but I developed those skills in my twenties and thirties. We can still learn new and difficult skills later in life, but you must pay the price and not give in to the momentary disappointments and self doubt. Today I celebrate the opportunity to fly and learn and see the world from a completely new point of view. We are only truly old when we stop learning.
I've always wanted to fly but never really considered it an option given all of the other responsibilities that took priority for my time. Then two years ago Barbie gave me a gift of an introductory flying lesson. I was immediately hooked. However, at that time, patients with heart transplants could not get a regular pilot's license. That has now changed but certain chemotherapy drugs also limit ones access to such a goal. Then for Valentine's day I got Barbie an introductory flight lesson. It was so fun to see her pre-flight the Cessna 172 and the take off with the instructor. Soon, to her delight, she was in control of the plane; banking and turning, as we flew over our house. This reignited my desire to fly. It turns out that to fly a light-sport plane a medical exam is not needed. All that is required is a valid driver's license.
I began my training in June with California Sport Aviation in Lodi, California, which is a 55 mile drive from Lincoln. My flight instructor is Bill Bardin. We spent many, many hours flying over the Sacramento valley, learning maneuvers and landing. He is a good instructor, but he wants perfection as he feels responsible for the ultimate safety of the pilot and the plane. Many times he would pull back on the throttle and say, "Your engine just quit, what are you going to do now?" And I would scan the earth for a suitable landing area and execute a low approach, (as if I were going to land). I often felt like a medical student again being grilled by the professor. I don't know if any pilot ever gets their instructor's voice out of their head. In a way, I hope not.
It seems that all of the really difficult things in life that we learn require a good (and patient) mentor. I was fortunate to find Bill. I was also very lucky in that we never cancelled a lesson for weather or equipment issues. I now feel confident to continue learning on my own. I spent a year during my fellowship with Dr Clayman learning how to do a laparoscopic nephrectomy. But it was only when, at Yale a year later, that I did my first case as the attending that I really felt like the surgeon. This is how I feel today.

You can do anything that you really put your mind to. The sky's the limit.

2 comments:

Poppy said...

Nice Blog !!!

Tracy Droege said...

Dear Kevin, I read this a while back and it makes me smile my big cheesy grin once again. One of my other favorite people, Mr. Shelley across the street, got his pilot license about your age. He decided to get an airplane mechanic's license after that. He flys, rebuilds and sells planes. I credit Mr. Shelley for teaching me to garden when I got home from Mayo after spending 6 weeks in their record winter. He grows peaches at his hanger (he says I will never be able to grow a fine Firestone peach here...too many birds). He let me know yesterday that I can blame the floods for good tomatoes and sad squash, cucumbers, bell peppers, peas and beans (I just knew I was doing something wrong but I am a Texas gardener and mother of 5 baby chickens, one old pug who chases deer, one cat that likes to stalk baby chickens, and two sweet, funny, as well as challenging children). Mr. Shelley informed me that he is going to be 80 soon; he still loves flying. I wish you peace with chemo, a life well lived on every good day, all the joys of being a dad/pah pah, and happy flying!