Mayday

Yikes... what a couple of weeks. A brief update:

• My grandmother is now in assisted living... and hates it, calls it the worst decision she's ever made, and all-but-screams her family talked her into it against her will. She is used to a two-story duplex; she's now in a studio apartment. I can understand her feelings, really... but she needed to move to a place that had help readily available, and DIDN'T have rickety stairs.

Sadly, the situation has also devolved into a classic Family vs. Family power play... with my aunt's husband attempting to assert control over the situation, most recently by flatly turning down a cash offer my grandmother had for her 1989 Cavalier, telling the interested buyer he was her "executor." Sigh.

• I'm still recovering from Sun 'N Fun. The single coolest part of the show came the Sunday morning before I returned home... when I was able to snag a demo flight of a Cirrus SR22 Generation 3 aircraft. Beautiful plane... beautiful flying characteristics... an absolute joy to fly. There's something about a 310-hp motor (over three times the giddyup of the SportStar's Rotax) powering a four-seat, leather-lined, glass-cockpit, parachute-equipped, composite-bodied uberplane. I loved it. I didn't want to let it go. I almost threw the keys into the Florida marshland after the 45-minute flight, loudly proclaiming "If I can't have it, no one can!!!!"

Now I just need to come up with $555,000 to buy it, and get a year's training. I want to be rich. I hear it's awesome.

• Speaking of the SportStar... I was supposed to go on my dual-and-solo-cross countries last weekend, the first time I was to be at the controls of 6EV since the week before Sun 'N Fun. Alas, what goes up, must come down... sometimes scrapping a wing in the process. Someone bent my plane last week, apparently over-compensating on a crosswind landing. I saw the damage Friday... scraped wingtip, bent aileron, and a few wrinkles in the wing skin. I'm waiting to hear on how bad the damage is... and how that may affect my plans to wrap up the license before I move back to ABQ.

• In better news, the Evektor folks tell me a flight school based at Double Eagle II now has a SportStar. Ironically enough, Bode bought the plane after their original high-wing LSA got bent in a hard landing. Weird.

• With the dawn of the new month, I need to start getting serious about moving -- pretty much the only time I'll have to do it will be early July, before Arlington and Oshkosh. I have yet to sign for an apartment... looking at two, one of which sounds REALLY nice. One bedroom loft, on ABQ's Westside, just up the road from a complex I lived in back in 1999-2000. It's cheap, too... barely more than what I'm spending here now.

• Last Friday, I went out with Shoe, Lee, and another former coworker Dennis to Lower Greenville... the first time I'd been back there in awhile. Did the Crow thing, then had dinner at a new jazz/seafood place that opened where another old haunt, Nero's, used to be. Not bad -- tried alligator cheesecake for the first time -- but horribly pricey: $17 for Fried Shrimp. (If you are gonna spend $17 for shrimp, though, I have to admit this place was a good joint to do it.)

Earlier in the evening, as I listened to Dave and Lee talking about logistics and trucking... my gaze wandered to the bar at The Old Crow. I probably stared at it for a full minute, at least.

"This place has so many memories," I later told Lee. And it does... so does Dallas. Hard to believe it's only been three years... and I admit, there are times I'm having a rough time leaving it behind.

Sun 'N Fun 'N Wind 'N Stress 'N Florida Drivers 'N...

I've had an enjoyable stay in Florida so far... and now, the time has come to pay for it. I arrived in Jacksonville Wednesday, and spent a few days at ANN HQ in Green Cove Springs. My boss found a beautiful house -- with hangar -- on a small airpark nearby. Friday afternoon, I sat on the front porch, posting stories on the website, while watching a Sonex homebuilt and what looked to me like a Siai Marchetti buzzing the field. Like I said, cool.

Saturday, after taking the boss to the airport and grabbing an oft-delayed Starbucks on the way back, I drove to St. Augustine to see the Atlantic. (If I could upload pics, I could show you some of the shots I took... sigh. I've now waded in the three largest bodies of water bordering the US... all that's missing is the Great Lakes. That isn't a goal of mine, per se... but it was my first time seeing the Atlantic Ocean, which was very cool.

After that, I decided to splurge and take a helicopter tour of St. Augustine. I'd never been on a helicopter before -- I view them as sins against nature, as any flying machine whose inherent nature is to spin itself to pieces should be considered -- and I figured the $65 price for a 20-minute ride over St. Aug was worth it. I was right. I now have a newfound respect for whirlybirds... but still not enough to consider getting a rotorcraft ticket.

Yesterday -- sigh -- I drove from GCS down to Winter Haven, to set up shop for ANN's annual Sun 'N Fun coverage. Heading out to the field later today to take a look at things, and to get credentialed. More staffers are arriving tonight, and the affair kicks off tomorrow.

After that, comes marathon trips to NM (house-hunting), Austin (skate-filming -- no, Monk, I haven't forgotten), Omaha (Grammie is moving into assisted living at the end of this month) and, if I can possibly manage, an oft-delayed trip to Vegas to celebrate my friend's 39th birthday (how delayed? He just turned 40.) Sigh.

Oh, and somewhere in there, wrapping up my sport pilot training and getting my license. Oh, and writing about it.

Busy times ahead...

Too... Much... Information...

A quick catch-up on recent events. This "posting only once a month" thing isn't working out... sadly, this isn't the only writing endeavour I've had difficulties in keeping up with. I haven't posted a "Return to Flight" article for ANN in over a month... I have enough material for at least three of them, just haven't had the time to write.

Anyway -- again -- a lot has gone on in the past month. The SportStar is back in the air at long last, and I've had the chance to solo it twice -- once in the pattern, once out in the practice area. That was the first time I've flown a plane away from an airport (all told, about 10 miles from GPM) in almost two years. It felt good.

Had an awesome talk with my friend Monk a few weekends back, after shooting more scenes for the skating vid. He nailed a new trick -- don't ask me what it was, some "flip the board around and end-over-end before landing on it again" deal -- and that positive energy flowed into a chat over coffee afterwards. We haven't had enough of those talks, just he and I. Sad we realize that three months before I head back to ABQ (at least there's email... and cheap Southwest fares.)

Last Friday, I drove down to Kerrville, TX to visit with the folks at Evektor America -- the American assembler and distributor of the SportStar. Got to chat with them on a variety of subjects, which was fun and informative, and I also got to sample what it's like to fly a fully-loaded EV55 (glass panel and all), as well as what it's like to land in a 14-knot crosswind. A fun, and instructional, trip. The drive down there was beautiful and hassle-free, with blue skies, sunshine and light traffic.  The drive home the next morning was the exact opposite -- complete with snow (!) near Waco.

Monday, I had my checkup with Dr. B. I'd already seen the results of the CT scan earlier, and another doc appointment to check on my progress after the lung infection in August. All was well -- all is well -- but Dr. B mentioned a possible problem area down the line: some of the lymph nodes in my belly are showing up more than they should. He revealed they also showed up on my scan in December. At the moment, they're all under one centimeter in diameter, which means they're not an immediate cause for concern. The fact they also haven't grown appreciably larger in four months is also an indicator they're probably -- PROBABLY -- nothing to worry about, at least on the cancer front. "Some radiologists don't even mention them unless they're over a centimeter," Dr. B told me.

But, being Dr. B, he still brought them up. "We'll keep an eye on them," he told me, which of course sent me into a near panic. He then proceeded to bump my scheduled visits from every month, to every two months -- in keeping with the suggested post-one-year observation schedule. That's a good sign in itself, as they're not worrisome enough to Dr. B to keep a closer eye on them. In fact, my next checkup, in June, will be a chest x-ray -- which doesn't scan the belly. The next CT is at the appointment in August, by which time I'll be back in ABQ.

I know I shouldn't worry. It's probably nothing -- and when my overly-cautious oncologist says that (which he did, after some prodding) that's probably something I can bank on. Still... I wish he wouldn't have said anything, then. That's just enough information for me to have, to be dangerous. After all... when TC spreads, the belly lymph nodes are typically the first place it goes.

But it hasn't done that in a year... and if it WAS TC spreading, they'd probably be bigger than they are... especially after four months...

But then why are they showing up at all?

Dammit...

What Have You Learned?

Wow. Over a month since I last posted. That's kinda scary... so here are some Cliff Notes for the past 32 days:

• I soloed the SportStar almost three weeks ago. I didn't write about it here, because I wrote about it here. It was a great time... it was also the last time I've flown the plane since, as it was grounded soon after that due to a service bulletin on the Rotax engine's fuel pump. Rotax is an Austrian company; a very persnickety one, that issues SBs pretty regularly. Any time something happens to one of their engines... regardless of the probability of the problem happening to another one of their engines... Rotax issues a bulletin. And then the planes are grounded, as the American distributor of parts for this Austrian (did I mention that?) engine frantically attempts to secure the needed parts for every single ultralight pilot in the country. From Austria.
• Yes, I know, fuel pumps are important, and not something you want to have conk out during a cross country flight (or just after takeoff)... but sheesh, it's been almost three weeks.
• Speaking of soloing, I've gotten some neat responses to the "Return To Flight" series I'm writing for ANN. A good mix of pilots and industry people, many of which have similar experiences with medical issues -- almost always cancer-related. There is no escaping the fact this disease affects everybody.
• Which brings me today's news that presidential candidate John Edwards' wife has had a recurrence of her breast cancer. It was all over the news today. I certainly feel for her, and for her family. The news has also served as an ever-present reminder of my own bout with cancer, which I could have done without. I know how trite that sounds, as I'm currently free-and-clear (so the docs say) and Mrs. Edwards has to deal with a diagnosis that by all reports will be a death sentence. A gradual one, but a death sentence; when cancer invades your bones, as hers has, it's incurable. The best they can hope for is an extended treatment cycle. God...
• I thought I had done a decent job of dealing with the news reports, the Google Alerts, and the commentators debating the impact this news has the Edwards campaign -- until I took a shower this afternoon, and turned on the radio to listen to ESPN radio. Dan Patrick was on, talking about... the Edwards cancer news. Not exactly sports-related. He then teased an upcoming interview with a baseball player, whose name I forget, "who has also fought back from cancer, and today is cancer-free. Well, we can't really say that... he has to go five years before you can say that."
• I'm cancer-free. I may have to return to the doctor at regular, tightly screened intervals for the next nine years to reconfirm that news, but I'm cancer-free. I have to keep telling myself that... some days more so than others. I know he meant well, but Dan Patrick can go to hell. 
• Sorry for the rhyme.
• My best friend and adopted brother celebrated his 40th birthday on the 19th. One week earlier, I accompanied him, his wife and their kids to a cabin on Lake Whitney, about an hour north of Waco. Spent a Saturday afternoon and Sunday morning canoeing on the lake, and reveling in the complete and total quiet, the kind I'd forgotten existed while living in the city. It was an idyllic, 24-hour escape from all worries in The Real World. I'm determined to return there at least once before I move.
• I've been trying to wrap my brain around this dream I had three weeks ago -- the night after I soloed, in fact. In the dream, an acquaintance of mine, one I haven't talked to in some time, suddenly appeared, wearing a red sweater. I remember that, because in real life I'd only seen her wear red once, and it had made an impression on me. Anyway, in this dream I had a conversation with this estranged friend... a very deep conversation. I wish I could remember details -- I know in this dream we talked at length -- but I forgot most of that conversation when I woke up. Shaking. And with "her" first question to me in the dream reverberating in my ears...
• "What have you learned?"

I wish I could understand what that is trying to tell me. But then again, dreams aren't supposed to have deeper meaning; they're just our minds wandering, unrestrained. Right?

Windblown

Still not much going on. The biggest news was yesterday, which was both my Grammie's (Mom's side) 84th birthday, and the one-year anniversary of my paternal Grandpa's passing. So, it was a mixed day, emotions-wise.

I was supposed to fly yesterday, too, but the winds whipping around DFW put a stop to that. A call to the field AWOS at Grand Prairie Municipal at 9 am said winds were blowing from 30 degrees off the runway, at a blustery 18 knots. What's more, the forecast called for them to pick up a lot in the coming hours. So I called Aviator, and begged off.

"Yeah, I was up at 6:30 this morning," Jay, my instructor, told me. "The winds were right down the centerline at nine, but at 2,000 feet they sheared to 200 at 52 knots. Our groundspeed was 30 knots heading south." For those who aren't aeronautically-minded... that's a huge jump. I can imagine the feeling in the cockpit as the light-as-a-feather SportStar hit that wind shear.

I already have some experience with winds in the Sport, albeit not to that extreme. My last lesson, the afternoon after I caught an early morning flight back from Albuquerque (we'll call that "Mistake Number One") while I wasn't feeling 100 percent up to snuff ("Mistake Number Two") was in winds blowing more-or-less straight down the runway, at around 20 knots. That's kinda high for a Cessna... never mind a light sport plane ("Mistake Number Three").

If you've ever seen "American Beauty"... you know that blowing-bag scene? "Sometimes there's so much beauty in the world, it overwhelms me" and all that claptrap? Well, that was us in the SportStar that day, without the accompanying angst-ridden narration. The takeoff went OK, until a powerful gust blew our right wing down at around 200 feet above the runway.

"SHEESH!" I exclaimed as I leveled the wings... before I realized my finger had grasped the push-to-talk switch while doing so. That meant my exclamation was broadcast to the tower, and whomever else was on frequency. Oddly, no one responded.

I've done strong winds before. You encounter a lot of updrafts flying over New Mexico in summer, as rising air comes off the high plains and hits the mountains. One of my first lessons was a dual-cross-country flight from Silver City, NM to Albuquerque, which required us to fly over the Pinos Altos mountains at 12,500 feet. We were doing OK, until we hit the leeward side.

Then.... weeee! Our altitude varied from 13,700 to 11,900... and I learned sometimes, no matter what you do, you're at the mercy of the wind.

That was in a 2,400-lbs Cessna 172 (ah, N12341... what a glorious piece of crap that plane was). While the 1,315-lbs SportStar has a smaller wing than the Skyhawk does, it has greater wing area relative to the fuselage... that means the plane's weight is spread out over a wider area, and each square foot of wing area supports less weight. It's called "wing loading." The lower the wing loading, the more responsive the plane is through the controls, especially in a banking turn. That also means the plane is more easily unsettled in rough air.

Jay and I spent just over 30 minutes in the air that day. We practiced steep turns and emergency procedures -- what to do if the engine fails, that sort of thing. I fought the plane through the entire flight... and more importantly, I was not enjoying it, which is a big deal for me when flying. Jay could sense it (maybe it was my repeated admonishments of "in the future, I wouldn't fly on a day like today") and we headed back early.

When we got back to the airport, the wind had become a crosswind. Feeling slightly nauseous (I've never gotten sick on a plane, big or small) I begged off and asked Jay to handle the landing. We could practice crosswind landings another day.

Next lesson is scheduled for Friday. Hopefully the winds settle down.

Crowing

Not much new to report... considering how this week started, I'm relieved to say the rest of it has passed more or less uneventfully. Work has been frantic -- thanks a lot, FAA, for your truly myopic stance on user fees -- but apart from that, it's pretty much been the same 'ol routine.

And yes, right now that's how I prefer it, thank you very much.

Later today I plan to meet my friend and former coworker Shoe down at The Old Crow, a bar (make that a "joint" -- "dive", while probably appropriate, sounds too harsh) many of the ABQ-ers used to frequent after we all relocated to Dallas. Shoe will forever be credited with finding it... but alas, over the past two years a lot of that gang has either moved on to other things, or moved back to Albuquerque. I'll soon be joining the latter group.

There are several things I'll miss about Dallas. At the top of that list are my friends... all of which, oddly, are friends I met back in New Mexico, who also moved with the job. All of those friendships have gotten stronger, though, in the years since. A guy who used to be 'just' a work acquaintance has become one of my coolest friends, along with his wife -- who I barely knew in ABQ. To say I'm going to miss our monthly dinners is a profound understatement; ditto our skating vid excursions.

Another friend -- hell, my brother -- I've known for close to 14 years. In our time in Dallas I've been Best Man at his wedding (reception -- they had a private ceremony) and I've seen him and his family move into their first new home. Moving away from them is going to hurt... especially come September, when football season starts.

And then there's Shoe... early 40s, a natural Ops guy and extremely well-read, who brings a zen-Parrothead calm to many stressful situations. In our time in Dallas, I've learned he's a fascinating character... so much so I've modeled a character in my book after him.

I expect these friendships to continue, of course... but of course it just won't be the same. By moving back 'home', I'll also be moving back to an area where I now know fewer people. 

There's a strange, cyclical quality to that.

Don't Believe Everything Your Mind Tells You

I was terrified today. More so than usual.

This morning was my unofficial, one-year-checkup with my oncologist. I say "unofficial" because of the damn scare back in August, that set the original one-year template askew... so my official one-year "anniversary" is now in March. But today's appointment with Dr. B was the 12th time I entered his office since January 2006.

As I walked in for my appointment this morning, I really thought -- I really KNEW -- that Something Was Wrong. I spent the entire weekend holed up in my apartment contemplating it. It feels different. Malformed. There's a hard spot that wasn't there before.

Oh my God, it's spread to The Other One.

Without getting too personal here... which is difficult, given this particular area of my anatomy... when a guy loses a testicle, the other one changes. It steps up to handle the increased workload. That means it gets bigger... and it goes through a series of spurts getting there.

There isn't a whole lot written on the subject; I didn't know it was going to happen, expect for Dr. B's assurances that I shouldn't freak out if I notice that Something Feels Different one day from the next.

Oh, and DON'T CHECK EVERYDAY. You'll drive yourself nuts doing that, he told me (OK, so he didn't go for the pun.)

I was expecting that early on. It didn't really happen, though, until about three months after the original surgery. As expected, it freaked me out -- and again later in the year. Both times, Dr. B sent me for ultrasounds to calm my mind. One I cancelled; the other I suffered through, while the whole "spot on your lung" scare was going on. Nothing amiss.

I freaked out today when the nurse found I'm running a slight temperature: 99.6. I calmed a bit when my blood pressure, surprisingly, read normally. I'd lost six pounds since my last visit; I'd wager most of that came this weekend, from worrying and not eating (quite an effective diet plan, really.)

The nurse led me to the examination room, to wait for Dr. B. I picked up a Time magazine and nervously thumbed through it. I didn't notice the cover story.

Dr. B walked in a short time later. He was smiling as he asked "how are you?" -- a response, I assumed, to the fact I'd managed to lose weight.

I nervously told him I thought something was wrong. "Which isn't new for me, I know," I said more bravely than I felt.

He thumbed through my chart. "I don't see your x-ray results here," he said, getting up. "Let me see if it's on my desk." As he walked out of the room, he pointed to the magazine cover:

Why We Worry About the Wrong Things

"See?" he asked me.

"You planted that, didn't you?" I replied.

The x-rays hadn't come back yet. He went through the normal exam -- feel for lymph node growths in my neck, armpits, and chest; listen to my breathing and heartbeat. All was normal.
Then came the dreaded Exam -- with the big "E". I've gotten used to the rather humiliating "grope and feel" that comes with each appointment. As I'd told him I had noticed some unusual things, Dr. B spent more time than usual on this particular portion of the exam.

Calm down, I told myself. It doesn't spread that way; if something was there, it would be a new cancer, not the old one... which hasn't come back in the year since the original diagnosis. 

Yes, it's possible something new could show up... but it's also highly unlikely. Something probably would have shown up on the blood test before you felt it, anyway.

Calm down, dammit!

"Feel anything?" I asked nervously.

"Nothing unusual," he replied.

"Really?"

"Really."

A pause. "You sure?"

"Yes."

I laughed nervously. "Well, you're the doc..."

I admit, I asked Dr. B once again if he was "sure" before the appointment was over. He looked at me with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Do you see me sending you for an ultrasound?" he asked.

"Point taken... thanks, Dr. B."

As I walked into the appointment this morning, I really thought -- I really KNEW -- that Something Was Wrong.

It wasn't.

Oh, and the chest x-rays came back fine, too.

Sometimes, you can't believe everything your mind tells you...