Himes didn’t hesitate.
"You volunteer for these flights knowing it might be tomorrow or two years from now," says Himes, 47, one of 6,200 volunteer Angel Flight America pilots who fly their own planes at their own expense to help people with specialized—sometimes urgent—medical needs.
The Oakton, Va. (pop. 29,348), pilot was on standby for Phyllis Rader, a Lizemores, W.Va., resident who was notified that two lungs were available for transplant if she could quickly travel to the University of Pittsburgh Medical Center.
Rader, 56, had been tethered to an oxygen tank for three years, so the hospital’s call last March came none too soon. "She was waiting to die," says her daughter, Melissa Young, 33.
Himes had flown two dozen missions for Angel Flight in four years but never had transported a transplant patient. "You have roughly four hours from the time you get the call to get to the destination airport," he explains.
He checked the weather conditions—ice and snow across the Appalachian Mountains and into Charleston, W.Va., where Rader and her husband, Carl, would be waiting at the airport. "I threw my clothes on and drove to the airport in Manassas (Va.) and had them pull out my plane and heat it up," Himes says.
With help from air traffic controllers, he flew in and out of ice and strong headwinds and couldn’t see the runway in Charleston until the plane had dropped below 700 feet.
"He didn’t even shut the plane off, and we got in," Carl says. It was Phyllis’ first plane ride.
"I never got upset," she says. "He was real sweet and concerned and let us know everything that was happening."
After Himes landed at the Allegheny County Airport outside Pittsburgh and the Raders were driven to the hospital, he made the most satisfying call of his life to the Angel Flight coordinator in Virginia Beach, Va.: "Your patient was down at 10:38, seven minutes to spare."
Himes, who owns a real estate firm in Fairfax, Va. (pop. 21,498), downplays his contribution. "If you have the unique skills and the ability and the assets to help someone, you’ve got to do it.
"I like to donate my time and money where I can see results," he says.
Today, Phyllis shows no sign of organ rejection. When she thinks about the selflessness of the donor family and her Angel pilot, she cries. "Sometimes it seems like a dream."
A grassroots takeoff
In the 1980s, groups of pilots began organizing around kitchen tables to give life-saving lifts to people in their regions of the country. In 1999, pilots from coast to coast met and founded the nonprofit charity Angel Flight America with six regional branches based in Santa Monica, Calif.; Leesburg, Fla.; Kansas City, Mo.; North Andover, Mass.; Virginia Beach, Va.; and Addison, Texas.
"The pilots run the gamut from those with crop dusters in the hinterlands to entrepreneurs with small jets," says Ken Rusnak, executive director of Angel Flight America in Addison, Texas (pop. 14,166). "The one thing in common is they all love to fly and they’re willing to donate their time and aircraft."
In 2004, Angel Flight flew 16,140 missions. Last year, the organization flew nearly 25,000. Angel Flight also transports blood and organs, flies children to special-needs camps and works with the U.S. Department of Homeland Security. After Hurricane Katrina in 2005, Angel Flight pilots rescued hundreds of evacuees in Louisiana and Mississippi. Other volunteers help on the ground shuttling patients between hospitals and airports.
To qualify for an Angel Flight, patients must be able to travel in a small, non-pressurized plane. They must be in financial need, which is common for people with serious illnesses. Some patients can afford commercial flights, but their weakened immune systems can’t tolerate the risk of infection from other passengers. People in rural areas especially need the free flights because they often live hundreds of miles from specialized medical care.
"Even the best doctor in the world can’t heal someone if the patient can’t get there," says Jim Weaver, executive director of Angel Flight’s western branch. "For some patients, this is their only chance of treatment."
Multiple missions of mercy
Halfway across the country, 17-month-old Brodie Zenner is still groggy from surgery as his father, Zachary, carries him into the waiting plane at the Addison Airport in Texas.
In the six-seater plane, Catherine Zenner faces her son, watching every squirm and sigh. "We’re going home now, baby," she says softly.
The family has flown between the Dallas Craniofacial Center and their home in Fredericksburg, Texas (pop. 8,911), 15 times—each a gift from Angel Flight—since Brodie was born with a rare genetic defect that left his skull prematurely fused. A scar circles his head from surgery two months earlier that is enabling his brain to grow normally.
"These pilots are a blessing, more than they will ever know," says Catherine, 29. Living under a crush of medical bills, the couple cannot afford commercial airfare.
Pilot Phil Rosenbaum, 55, says Angel Flight missions let him combine good deeds with his love of flying. At age 3, he was building model airplanes and his fascination with flight soared.
"I’ve been rewarded by society and now I have an opportunity to do something good," says the Austin, Texas, businessman, who has flown 75 missions in six years.
Rosenbaum helps strangers who are sick because he can relate. "I was diagnosed four years ago with prostate cancer and I’m cured," he says. "That gives patients some feeling of additional hope."
Spiritual lift
Another Angel Flight pilot, Greg Kaaz of Leavenworth, Kan. (pop. 35,420), gets a boost spiritually from the 20 flights he makes annually.
"These people are fighting for their lives and you’re their means of survival," says Kaaz, 45, a highway contractor. "It makes me stop and think about the health I take for granted. It makes my problems seem very minor."
Grateful passengers say their Angel pilots make it possible not only to receive life-saving medical care, but also to carry on a somewhat normal routine at home. Gayle and Rocky Tom in Stevensville, Mont. (pop. 1,553), can stay in the town they love while getting care for their daughter Addie, 12.
In December 2000, Addie became gravely ill and ended up on kidney dialysis until she was healthy enough in March 2004 to receive a kidney transplant 500 miles away at Children’s Hospital and Regional Medical Center in Seattle.
"With all of her medical care, we would have had to move," says Gayle, who donated a kidney to her daughter. "These pilots have been able to fly us and it means less time to be away from the rest of the family. They’ve never made us feel guilty. They’ve just been there for us."
Pilot Dale Terwedo, 46, a financial adviser in Edmonds, Wash. (pop. 39,515), has flown 30 missions in two years, including three for Addie.
"She’s the sweetest little girl," he says. "One time, the kids had baked cookies for me. That’s the kind of thing that’s really rewarding."
Four years ago, Terwedo took stock of his 16-hour workdays and decided "to devote more time and energy to making a difference.
"Some things are more important than money," he says.
Addie is back in school and playing violin beside her sister, Anna. She requires regular medical follow-ups and looks forward to visits with "Pilot Dale," as she calls him, and the other pilots.
"I wouldn’t want to be sick for anything, but I’ve met so many great people who are my friends," she says of her Angel pilots. "They make me feel special."
Visit www.angelflightamerica.org or call (877) 858-7788.
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