TRAGEDY IN THE AIR

Transporting military families to and from Germany was routine for my airline. Many of our flights ended at the Rhein-Main Air Base in Frankfurt. The base was closed in 2005, but at the time we were flying it was the most active military terminal in Europe. On one of our flights back to the United States, army families crowded the plane with children, baby bags, and colorful toys.

After serving beverages and meals, I joined Greta on the front jump seat. Although she was the senior flight attendant and essentially my boss, we were good friends and often skied and visited together during our days off.

About two-thirds of the way across the Atlantic the call button chimed, illuminating the panel above a seat in the back of the cabin. Rike, Kathy, and Heidi, the three rear flight attendants, were alerted. A passenger needed assistance. In the forward galley I entertained a couple of children with card tricks while the aft crew handled the call.

“Is there a doctor on board?” Rike asked over the PA system.

No one came forward. With a plane full of military passengers, it was unusual not to have a doctor, nurse, or medic on board. Without a medical person, the flight attendants took over.

“Watch the cockpit and galley,” Greta said as she walked toward the rear of the plane.

She found a father supporting his two-year old son while the mother stood close by. The frantic parents said they couldn’t wake their son. He had cold hands and feet, yet he was hot with fever. Standing in the dimly lit galley with Rike holding a flashlight, Kathy checked the boy’s mouth for any obstructions. The boy was not breathing.

Heidi placed a blanket on the floor near the aft door, and Kathy gently rested the toddler on top. She tilted his head back, lifted his chin, and closed his nostrils. While Kathy knelt and started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, Rike pushed down on his chest. Crammed into the small space by the rear exit, the two counted.

“One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, breathe. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, breathe.”

Greta notified Captain Rogers. He planned to dump fuel and make an emergency landing as soon as the plane reached the mainland, more than an hour away.

In the meantime, Kathy and Rike kept performing CPR and Heidi relieved them whenever one became overly tired. Greta suspended the beverage service and asked the parents, Mr. and Mrs. Southwick, about the child and his health.

“Brian has been sick for the past two weeks,” Mr. Southwick said. “We took him to an ER a few days ago. The doctor suggested we wait before traveling home.”

Since it was only a suggestion and Brian seemed to be better, they decided to go ahead with the flight.

Captain Rogers arrived at the rear galley and listened to the parents’ concerns. He told them about his arrangements with the local hospital.

“We’ll be making an emergency landing just as soon as we reach the airfield,” he said. “Your son will be transported by ambulance to the nearest hospital.”

The three flight attendants steadily performed CPR on Brian. Five minutes had passed since the father had first carried him to the rear. Kathy, Heidi, and Rike continued with the process for another thirty minutes.

Soon, they were exhausted. Their knees and backs ached. They paused and rocked back on their heels.

“Please don’t stop,” the mother wailed.

“I’m so sorry,” Kathy sympathized. “He hasn’t moved or responded since we started. He still is not breathing.”

“I’ll tell the captain,” said Heidi and walked toward the cockpit.

Kathy wrapped the boy in a blanket. Rike moved passengers from the last row and let Mrs. Southwick sit by the window, hugging the covered child to her chest. Her husband seated himself next to her, and they cried and held each other for the remainder of the flight.

As soon as we landed and taxied to the terminal, a waiting ambulance pulled up to the rear exit. A medic boarded and took the blanketed child in his arms. Sitting in the front, Greta and I could hear the mother’s cries. It sounded so heart wrenching…sobs of pure grief.

“Please don’t take him!” The mother was hysterical and wouldn’t release her grip on the child.

Mr. Southwick gently pulled his wife from the medic. The couple followed him down the rear staircase and climbed into the ambulance. It raced away from the plane to the U.S. customs building and then on to the local hospital.

Feeling shaken by the sad outcome, none of us were in the mood to work the rest of the flight. But work we did. We tried to smile and be pleasant as we attended to the needs of the passengers.

Six hours later we arrived at our base in Oakland. The dispatcher told Kathy, Rike, and Heidi that they were grounded for two weeks. The child had died from spinal meningitis. Our airline wanted them at home in case they developed any symptoms from performing CPR on the sick child.

With prayers from friends, family, and crew, the three flight attendants completed their two weeks with no negative effects. Our airline released them, and they soon joined Greta and me working on another flight to Europe.

Дата добавления: 2015-08-27