As many of you know I grew up in the Wild Bush of Alaska, about as far away from any civilization as can be possible in the U.S. All of my immediate family still lives in Alaska, including my parents and my sister Tara who live on floating houses adjacent to one another. My sister is an accomplished author whose been published in numerous magazines and publications. She recently sent me this detailed account of an emergency Medevac experience with my mother (who thankfully is just fine at the time of this posting :) It's a little long story, but my sister is such a talented author the story draws you into the experience almost as if you were there! I wanted to share this with all my reader's and give you a little taste of what it's REALLY like living in the Alaskan Bush, never a dull moment!!
Here is her re-telling of the incident:
"Sterling and Ian left to have Christmas with Sterling's dad in Meyers Chuck on December 24th. That evening my dad called me at around 9 pm and told me my mom was having problems breathing. I went over to their house and did what I could, but even the inhaler didn't seem to help. She had pain in her lungs, indicating possible pneumonia and her breathing difficulties became so severe that she had a panic attack and almost quit breathing entirely. "I can't do this, I can't do this!" she sobbed.
I had my dad call the hospital in Ketchikan (the nearest city) but they handed us off to Sitka, which is over 360 miles away. Sitka in turn called the State Troopers because we were so isolated the hospital didn't know how to reach us. The State Troopers in turn handed us off to the Coast Guard in Juneau (even further away!). My dad is hard of hearing so he handed the phone to me when the Troopers were talking. I ended up repeating everything several times over while trying to keep my mom calm and breathing at the same time.
The Coast Guard Surgeon gave me some helpful tips and told me that from her symptoms and behavior he was "concerned" and that a Coast Guard rescue helicopter and crew were being scrambled from Sitka and would reach us as soon as possible, although at first they had a hard time pinpointing our location. I gave them our longitude and latitude, but they requested that when I heard the chopper I shine a spotlight to help them find us. (There's an awful lot of wilderness and water around us). This was at 1 am. They got to us at 3:30 am. When I heard the chopper I left off rubbing my mom's back (to keep her calm) and while my dad rigged the spotlight to a battery I stood outside pointing it skyward. "I feel like the Statue of Liberty", I said and my mom, who was thoroughly exhausted by this time, managed a weak chuckle. The helicopter found us, but circled a while to scout out the area, tree height and other hazards, before stopping above us.
Their SAR (Search and Rescue) helicopter was a Blackhawk which produces sustained winds of 150 mph from the ground wash of their blades. Our houses were floating when they hovered overhead and we were instantly in the middle of a ferocious, extremely localized hurricane. Everything not tied down (and even some things tied down!) went flying. There was as much saltwater in the air as rain making it hard to see despite their brilliant halogen spotlight. My parents' house was jerking and shuddering and straining on its mooring lines. When we opened the front door everything in the house took off-plants, pictures, books, etc. - and crashed onto the floor. I held my mom with my back to the buffering wind and spray/rain at the open door, trying to protect her. We though the basket would be lowered and we'd get her in it and they'd be off (hopefully before our roof's came off), but that wasn't their plan. They lowered a rescue swimmer onto my parents' tongue of a dock and he was nearly blown off by the incredible winds. He got to the house and had us shut the door and have my mom sit down and rest while he got everything arranged.
He took off his visored helmet and introduced himself as Jonathan, U.S.C.G. Rescue Swimmer. He looked about 19, dark hair, dark, level eyes, Hollywood handsome, was extremely calm, kind, listened attentively (despite the deafening roar of helicopter, wind and things being blown away and crashing around outside). "How are you doing?" he asked my mom (and me, with a slight glance in my direction to let me know he understood that I might have been having a rough time, too.) My mom nodded, unable to speak, and I said, "Well, it's a little bit out of our usual routine." He smiled and was very gently and reassuring with my mom as he attached the portable oxygen tank to her while at the same time communicating with the helicopter pilot, requesting that they gain some altitude since we were suffering some pretty scary wind damage and, as he informed them, he'd barely been able to stand up outside and he had to get the patient out there. The helicopter didn't respond and it didn't gain altitude. He looked at his waterproof handheld, but didn't repeat himself. Instead he turned to me and explained what needed to be done. He might have been standing in his bathroom shaving for all the excitement he displayed with the house jerking and shaking and things falling and crashing around him. He went to my mom and allowed that things might "seem" a bit exciting, but she should keep calm since that would be best for her breathing. She nodded, her eyes clinging to his, and I could tell she was reassured despite the scary things happening to her house. Talk about the right guy in the right place at the right time. I'd defy anyone to have a fit of hysteria with him in the same room.
He went back outside (my dad was outside this whole time-he had to hang onto the door from outside to keep it shut!) to direct the landing of the rescue basket about two yards or so from the door, to make it as short a journey for my mom as possible. I rounded up a warm blanket (per his instructions) and a bag for my mom, including her current medications he'd said they'd need to look at on board the helicopter. When I saw that the rescue basket was down I gave my mom another puff from the inhaler (also per his instructions ) and got her on her feet. My dad opened the door and things started flying again. We got her outside (me carrying the blanket, her bag and the portable oxygen tank) and were instantly blinded, deafened and breathless. Rain and spray slashed our faces and the wind was incredible, like nothing I've ever experienced and I've been in a few high wind storms over a hundred miles per hour.
The rescue swimmer met me and led my mom to the huge steel basket. My dad held onto me and the door to keep me from blowing away (Beside me a 40 gallon steel propane tank, almost as tall as me, took off and landed in the water.)
I had to step away from my dad's support to get the oxygen tank (still attached to my mom by a hose) to the rescue swimmer. He was tenderly helping her into the basked and tucked the blanket around her. I had to grab his shoulder to keep from being knocked over board and he looked up, thinking I needed to tell him something, but he realized what the problem was and got the bag and oxygen off me as quickly as possible. However, with their weight gone I was even more vulnerable to the power of the wind and had to drop onto my knees next to him and hold onto the basket to keep from being tossed aside like so much debris.
"Get in the house!" he yelled to me. I didn't have a chance to say anything to my mom or try to reassure her, but I figured he was up to the job. I had to crawl on my hands and knees back to my dad. He opened the door and threw me inside and remained outside, holding the door shut. I tried to watch, to make sure my mom made it up to the helicopter all right, but my eyes started burning and I began choking and retching. When I turned around to see what the problem was all I saw was a solid wall of white. The helicopter was directly overhead and its rotor wash was slamming the smoke down my parents' chimney and forcing it in a flood out the wood stove's door. I staggered blindly to the back door and cracked it enough to breathe. I had to hold onto it with both hands to keep it from being ripped loose in the wind.
The worst part was I couldn't see what was going on with my mom. My dad told me later that she was hoisted straight up without any problems (My mom said it was like a surreal nightmare. Freezing cold despite the blanket and how warmly I'd bundled her up in clothes, coat, hat and scarf, the basket swinging one way and then spinning the other, and the too-bright, artificial light in the wilderness lighting up her house below her.) The basket was lowered for the rescue swimmer who grounded it (to discharge the static charge it would pick up in the air) by slamming it against my parents' steel barbecue that was bolted to their dock. He climbed in and motioned for the helicopter to hoist him up. My dad said they weren't as careful with him as they'd been with my mom and clipped the edge of their house with the basket-he had to kick himself away from it. They then dragged him into the trees before they finally pulled him clear. When he was aboard they headed straight for Ketchikan.
I called my bother Robin to have him meet her. He told us later that when the helicopter landed the Coast Guard cordoned off 500 feet of street because the ground wash could flip over a car! After standing out in that wind I believe it. We spent the rest of the night-morning, rather-picking up everything and trying to fix what wind damage we could.
My mom said that everyone aboard the helicopter was extremely kind and that the rescue swimmer never left her side, holding her hand and squeezing it when it was time to put her in the ambulance. I think she fell in love with that guy, but could hardly blame her. My dad called the Coast Guard headquarters to recommend that he be commended.
As it turned out the lower part of my mom's lungs had "pancaked," collapsed, and with the addition of a virus she'd picked up her lungs hadn't been able to handle it. The hospital was able to fix all that, though, and she was out of the hospital the next day and back home with us."
~Tara Neilson
~The Point, Meyers Chuck, Alaska
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