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I POSTED THIS ABOUT EIGHTEEN MONTHS AGO ON THE ORIGONAL THREAD.
I will take a break from further tales , of which there are many more to come , to indulge in a little reality.
Three years ago.....
I lay on the couch at the Flight Service Station in Mayo, Yukon Territories. I still had my flight suit on as we were on Red Alert whereby we were poised for action. There was a large fire only minutes away. I did not want to fly. I knew something was wrong with my guts. I knew it was not ulcers as I had been initially diagnosed. It was not Beaver Fever as I was now diagnosed. The pain became unbearable.
The bird dog officer came with good news: we were to return to Dawson City and stand down as a fleet of helicopters were on the fire line. I clambered up the ladder of the A26 and fired up both engines in haste , followed by a scrambling take off .... I wanted to go to the small medical clinic in Dawson City ASAP so I left the power at METO and scorched across the blurred landscape at 260 knots indicated. The clinic sent me immediately to Whitehorse where I sought help but there was only one surgeon there and he was busy. Fortunately , he did see me and I discovered how lucky I was. He was an Australian who was temporarily releiving the local surgeon and he saw me after hours. He admitted me immediately for explorative surgery but when I awoke and was clear of the morphine he gave me the bad news. He had removed a tumour from by colon that was clearly cancerous but he said he was amazed that I had survived so long and that I would not have lasted a week as there was four litres of stuff backed up behind the tumour.
Recovery was very painful but his visits showed him to be a pleasant and compassionate man who had clearly saved my life. He was an athletic, 52 year old good looking man and was a favourite amongst the staff. He returned to his home down south as I was released from Whitehorse hospital and shipped south to my home in Chilliwack where I recovered over the next six months only to be subjected to the chemical nightmare of chemotherapy for six months. It was a miricle that the cancer seemed to be beaten and I returned to flying with the help of Transport Canada who gave me a restricted Airline Transport Licence and Fugro Airborne Surveys, who I flew for in the off season. Fugro was both compasionate and generous and had sent me to one of the most respected flight surgeons , Dr Takahashi of Ottawa. His gentle encouragement was a beacon of hope.
I now have a lifetime loyalty to Fugro and that was put to the test in Yellowknife on my way back from Baffin Island a year later. As I wandered throught the hangar at Buffalo Airways I was approached my Buffalo Joe who offered me an immediate job as Captain of a fire-bombing DC4 but loyalty won out. I stuck with Fugro for half the money. Joe was even appreciative of that.
Honour is a man's gift to himself.
A very close friend, Brian, from the Yukon, phoned me one day and was emotional as he told me to check my e-mail. The attatchment was an obiturary of Dr Frank Timmermans , an Australian surgeon previously from Whitehorse. He had died of a brain tumour.
And this man had saved my life.
I'm sorry folks ... I have to collect my thoughts .... back soon.....
Dr Timmermans was one of the most productive, profound, adventurous and compassionate jewels of mankind.
He had sailed around the world and had stopped in Africa to work with people with AIDS. He than went to India to work with people with leprosy and then on to Canada where he went up to the Northern villages to help the native population with myriads of afflictions. He settled in Whitehorse and as I say, became a popular hard working surgeon.
Can you fellow aviators see where my inspiration comes from?
I am blessed.