HEART and STROKE SAGA II

The sun was rising as our WestJet flight to Ottawa took off from the Edmonton International Airport. Despite murmurings amongst the flight crew about a blizzard in Toronto which was creating havoc and diverting planes, the stewardesses greeted their passengers with confidant smiles and assurances of a pleasant flight. These did little to allay my concerns about an unscheduled overnight stop in Flinflon, e.g., which would cause Ron and I to miss the Heart and Stroke meetings. However, after a leisurely breakfast and a cup of heavily creamed coffee, my attention was quickly diverted by the tablet which our attendant gave me. I pulled a pair of ear phones out of my purse and immediately began playing with the touch screen. As some of you blog followers might recall, I am a technopeasant when it comes to up to date technology. This was my first time at the controls of the wondrous device. To my surprise the tablet was amazingly easy to navigate, with touch actually proving faster and easier than type. Nonetheless at length I grew bored. After winning back to back games of Free Cell and Spider Solitaire, I flipped through my options and settled on a movie: War for the Planet of the Apes.

            I will not attempt to justify my selection by suggesting that I was familiar with the critical acclaim the film has received. Nor will I argue that I know first-hand how impaired one’s emotions and judgment can become at 37,000 feet. (Hadn’t I been moved to tears by Demi’s Moore’s portrayal of G.I. Jane on a trans-Atlantic flight Ron and I had made a couple of decades ago?) Let me simply say that I have been fascinated by chimpanzees for much of my adult life. I love Jane Goodall and admire her tireless work on the chimps’ behalf.  Any movie which shows how compassionate and intelligent apes can be compared to humans immediately draws me in. However, just at the point in the film, (the point at the bottom of the plot W where the hero’s fortunes look the bleakest; in this case where Caesar, the head ape, is splayed out on an X- shaped cross), the Captain came on the air to announce that we were beginning our descent into Ottawa, where the temperature was minus three degrees and a snowstorm was blowing.

            We landed safely but were forced to wait out on the tarmac for a gate to be freed up so we could disembark. All the flight cancellations in Toronto had caused a ripple effect. Gates in Ottawa were at a premium. Thus it was here, stalled on a runway, where I beheld a wonder, the like of which I had never before witnessed. Seven huge snowplows sped nose to tail up and down the runways clearing snow. Each individual snow plow was a marvel in its own right. A large cab sat atop pairs of huge tires. A giant blade was affixed to the front of each machine while two more sets of monster tires backed two more giant scrapers down the body of the beast. A mixture of sand and salt fell from its bowels. Completing the spectacle, at the rear of the cavalcade, was a smaller snow plow which threw a plume of snow high into the dark sky. All the plows’ headlights were on full. It was only mid-afternoon EST but the snow was falling in thick clumps. Vision was blurry at best. Yet here were seven snowplows racing, circling and cavorting in unison in a stunning exhibition which might best be described as SYNCHRONISED SNOWPLOWING. In time a gate came free and our aged 737 moved into the freed up space.

            Being disabled Ron was able to enrol in WestJet’s One Person One Fare program which allows a personal attendant to accompany him for free (except for taxes). Ron and his attendant get to sit in the premium seats at the front of the plane, close to the wash room. We are also able to take advantage of the perks afforded the occupants of these seats: free snacks, free meals, free drinks, free movies. Needless to say I take full advantage of these special treats while Ron mostly sits with his eyes closed, sipping from an occasional glass of orange juice, stoically enduring the ordeal of the flight from his aisle seat. A couple of things have surprised me on these flights:

1. How early in the day some people start to consume alcohol, and

2. How much alcohol they can consume.

While the disabled are allowed to pre-board, they are the last to disembark. The gangplanks have to be cleared before the wheelchairs arrive. This year there was a new addition for some of the wheelchairs: a white motorized device that affixes to the chair and takes the load off the pushers. We saw only a few of these small machines but I do understand their value. Most of the people pushing the passengers who need wheelchairs are women. Pushing Ron up a long ramp to a departure lounge, down long corridors and up and down elevators to the luggage carousels is no mean feat. I have enough trouble bringing up the rear and navigating with two sets of carry-on baggage. Needless to say we are learning to travel lighter and lighter.

One footnote might be appropriate here: Over the three years in which Ron has been enrolled in OPOF, it seems that WestJet is refining this program. In a couple of airports some of the staff suggested that it was my job, as Ron’s personal attendant, to push his wheelchair. Fortunately, although I was called on to perform, I never actually had to do the pushing. I think it was obvious that, realistically, I couldn’t handle the baggage and push Ron, too.

Saga to be con’t.