grounded at 37000

With nine years to retirement, i settled onto my new base in Vancouver BC. it’s the dream of every prairie oyster to leave the summer mosquito and bitter winters of Winnipeg to retire on the wet coast. it was a win-win for us. We owned a house on Boundary Bay or rather the bank did, a half mile from the American border at Point Roberts with its cheap gas, groceries and beer. The other win was my new ride, a Boeing 767.

Late December 1990, cruising at 37000 ft on a glorious clear day overhead Cheyenne from Los Angles to Toronto, i thought, it just doesn’t get any better than this. Suddenly, the data link printer spat out a short message. Even before i read it i had a feeling that my bubble of bliss was about to explode in my face.

The message read, “ cpt flt 790 to fone vr med dept on arr yz”, ( Captain of flight 790 phone the Air Canada Vancouver Medical Department on arrival Van- couver). The short chilling message included the phone number.

The ink of the doctor’s signature endorsing the pilot’s licence in my pocket was barely dry. i’d just taken the medical a week before. i was puzzled and i didn’t know how i was going to sit still for another two hours or so to Toronto to find out what was going on.

Our company had just installed a First Class feature on all their wide bodies, the Flight Phone. it was a conventional telephone handset allowing passengers to make long distance phone calls in flight by entering their credit card data.

Excusing myself to the F/O to answer a call of nature i headed to the First Class cabin behind the cockpit. it was almost deserted, i snatched up the phone in the first seat, quickly entered the Vancouver medical department number and my credit card information.

A youngish sounding woman answered, “Air Canada Medical Department, how can i help you?”

“Hi” i said, “This is the captain of flight 790, your office asked me to call … May i ask why the urgency?”

“Ah … yes captain. i wasn’t expecting your call so soon. Where are you calling from”? She asked.

“Well right now i’m over Cheyenne Wyoming at 37000 feet,” i said, trying to sound indifferent but dreading to hear what was coming next.

Then she asked, “is this a secure line?”

Dumbfounded, i answered, “As far as i know it is but the question sounds ominous … is there a serious problem?”

She hesitated then said, “Okay captain here it is … i have to immediately ground you medically.”

“Crap” i said, “How serious is it? Should i land this thing in Cheyenne?"

"Oh my god. No, Captain don’t do that,” she blurted out.

"Am i going to keel over dead … or what?” i said.

She caught her breath and continued. “When you get to Toronto you will be displaced from your flight home to Vancouver and deadhead on the same flight. Your electrocardiogram had an anomaly and i have to ground you but you are not, repeat not, in danger of imminent death. Call me on arrival in Toronto and i’ll explain.”

To add insult to injury displaced from the flight home meant i would ride the cushions in the back of the bus instead of the cockpit’s left seat. i hung up and returned to the cockpit trying to conceal my tumbling emotions with the thought … the landing in Toronto might be my last one ever so i had better make it good.

Just as i was about reap the rewards of clawing slowly up the seniority list with its prestige, bidding rights and financial reward now i would never fly again … or so i thought.

What followed next was a series of procedures to see why my ticker was so lazy. it ended with these encouraging words from the company VR aviation medical specialist, “if you were a truck driver or a tower crane operator there would be no problem but as an airline pilot and potential crowd killer i have to advise Transport Canada to revoke your licence.”

Then he added, “looks like you’ll need a pacemaker and there are no pilots flying in Canada with such a device.”

Finally, the registered letter arrived ordering me to surrender my licence forthwith and send it by registered return mail to the Transport Canada Director of Personal licencing, Pacific Region. Anyone who has gone through this, seeing their dreams and livelihood fly out the window will know exactly how i felt ... why me? it left me depressed, despondent and yes, a little desperate. it was before the internet. My only tools to mine the pilot network for information relating to certification of pacemakered pilots internationally were the phone and snail mail. i had hopes of going offshore. The news was universally negative. The Brits disallowed it for fear of interference from EMi, (Electro Magnetic interference), from flight deck electronics. The Americans, at the time restricted the paced pilots to freighters …but i did not rate my luck in the green card lottery for American citizenship as being any better than it was at the Assiniboia Downs racetrack. it all ended well and only took five anxious, frustrating, miserable months out of my life as well as my significant other’s before i was back on the line with a restricted, with or as a co-pilot, Airline Transport Licence. There were some restrictions but they were inconsequential. best seat in the house

Meanwhile i became a self-pitying, disinterested slug lying on the couch watching sitcom re-runs, Phil Donahue and OprahWinfrey. Depression, its symptoms and more importantly its potential dire consequences were not well understood by the general population in the late eighties. Looking back on it now i realize i was probably on the brink of clinical depression. Thanks to my wife who gave me ... how shall i put this ... a strongly worded reality check i began to take positive action.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, the Air Canada and Transport Canada Medical departments and the Transport Canada Aviation Licensing department were in a cat fight to determine whether i should regain my licence to fly. The medical people supported the position of the electrophysiologist that i did not need a pacemaker. The bureaucrats opposed it worrying about liability. i suspected that it was a turf war over who had the final say over licensing. it was like being an awe struck bystander at a knife fight.

Later i became symptomatic and required a pacemaker taking another six months out of our lives. Upon successful implant and a period of monitoring, i received an unrestricted Air Line Transport Pilot licence. Nevertheless, compared to others my little contretemps with the authorities is tiny in comparison to those who underwent major surgeries and extensive rehabilitation before returning to the line or worse, those who would never fly again. They and their families endured much more grief than we did. i cannot speak for anyone else but my take from the experience is that as a pilot losing your licence to fly, even recreationally, can have deep psychological consequences even suicide with catastrophic consequences for the pilot’s family.