One of the more terrible days of my life started one weekday morning when I learned at the municipal pool that they were searching for a Lifebeat helicopter that was lost in the early morning fog. My husband, Bob, was the
designated day shift respiratory therapist who normally rode on air transports, and he was at work.
Luckily, for our family, he wasn't onboard. The flight had crashed during the early morning hours (4 am) and the therapist working nights was killed, a RN (daughter of some longtime family friends) and the little boy who was being transported. They didn't find the crash site for several hours.
Lately I have become complacent about the dangers associated with the helicopters because RT no longer went along on the transports. That was shattered last week when Bob casually mentioned that NICU transports were difficult because the baby ventilators are hard to manuever around in the helicopter. Unknown to me, RT's once again frequently accompany the wee babies on their journey to the designated NICU.
It causes me particular pain when news, such as today's tragedy, is announced.