I think you might have
MYASTHENIA GRAVIS
MYASTHENIA GRAVIS
The shower was warm and good, a sharp contrast to the rest of this day's events. As the warm
water soothed my body, my mind replayed scenes from today's Test Hop of a T29.
About fifteen minutes into the flight, still climbing from take off at about five thousand feet, our
left engine caught fire. Smoke rolled off the wing and when it thinned I could clearly see
flames. This was serious trouble but no reason to panic as I had faith in the engineer on
today's flight.
I had always been able to function during emergencies, but today, looking out at our engine
burning, on a wing full of explosive fuel, I began to feel a strong and terrible anxiety.
The fate of our plane rested squarely on the judgment of the flight engineer. He would decide
at precisely which moment to trigger the fire extinguishers that were built into the engine pods.
You had only one shot and timing was everything. When they were used up it would be time
for plan "B". Jump!
The Flight Engineer's hand was raised high, as he stared at the burning engine. From my seat,
behind his position, I could see the copilot looking around the bulkhead, waiting for the signal
to activate the extinguishers. I looked out the window at the flaming engine, then to the
engineer's hand poised in the air, then to the copilot with his hand on the switch. Ten lifetimes
passed before the engineer's hand finally sliced downward. A huge puff of smoke billowed
from the engine and then---nothing!
The next thirty seconds were excruciating as we waited to see if the fire was completely
extinguished. If it rekindled we would have no choice but to abandon the plane.
I looked behind me to the escape door in the tail. A number of times I had stood at that door,
ready to go, but had never had to jump. My body tensed as I considered my chances of
exiting the hatch safely if the fire reignited.
As the tension thickened, all of us watched for new signs of smoke or flame. Realizing that the
fire was truly out the pilot turned the plane and we headed for the base.
Later I figured out that I had earned and extra dollar fifty for that ten minutes of hell.
The shower washed over me and I hoped it would, somehow, heal the shattered emotions of
today's trauma.
Were the emergencies becoming more severe or was I losing my nerve? The very thought of
flying another test hop filled me with dread. Flying had been fun, I recalled, until when?
Shortly after failing a review board and loosing my Technicians rating. The depression that
water soothed my body, my mind replayed scenes from today's Test Hop of a T29.
About fifteen minutes into the flight, still climbing from take off at about five thousand feet, our
left engine caught fire. Smoke rolled off the wing and when it thinned I could clearly see
flames. This was serious trouble but no reason to panic as I had faith in the engineer on
today's flight.
I had always been able to function during emergencies, but today, looking out at our engine
burning, on a wing full of explosive fuel, I began to feel a strong and terrible anxiety.
The fate of our plane rested squarely on the judgment of the flight engineer. He would decide
at precisely which moment to trigger the fire extinguishers that were built into the engine pods.
You had only one shot and timing was everything. When they were used up it would be time
for plan "B". Jump!
The Flight Engineer's hand was raised high, as he stared at the burning engine. From my seat,
behind his position, I could see the copilot looking around the bulkhead, waiting for the signal
to activate the extinguishers. I looked out the window at the flaming engine, then to the
engineer's hand poised in the air, then to the copilot with his hand on the switch. Ten lifetimes
passed before the engineer's hand finally sliced downward. A huge puff of smoke billowed
from the engine and then---nothing!
The next thirty seconds were excruciating as we waited to see if the fire was completely
extinguished. If it rekindled we would have no choice but to abandon the plane.
I looked behind me to the escape door in the tail. A number of times I had stood at that door,
ready to go, but had never had to jump. My body tensed as I considered my chances of
exiting the hatch safely if the fire reignited.
As the tension thickened, all of us watched for new signs of smoke or flame. Realizing that the
fire was truly out the pilot turned the plane and we headed for the base.
Later I figured out that I had earned and extra dollar fifty for that ten minutes of hell.
The shower washed over me and I hoped it would, somehow, heal the shattered emotions of
today's trauma.
Were the emergencies becoming more severe or was I losing my nerve? The very thought of
flying another test hop filled me with dread. Flying had been fun, I recalled, until when?
Shortly after failing a review board and loosing my Technicians rating. The depression that
Page 5 of 63 Beyond the Limit
Copyright 1994 by Clete Gress Revised January 2000 & Reformatted December, 2005
followed seemed to change everything. I should have quit flying at that time but we simply
needed the money too much.
The shower mixed with the tears that streamed down my face.
What was happening to me? Lately The tears would flow for no apparent reason. Not a single
tear but a flood of tears. Always when I was alone. Thank God for that but, Why? I had never
been much of a crier and now I felt uneasy and a little ashamed. In addition to everything else
I didn't need this!
I moved the soapy washcloth to my chest. Nothing! I couldn't apply pressure! I could raise it
up but could not apply the slightest bit of pressure to my chest. What was happening to me?
The next day I went on sick call. The Flight Surgeon gave me some tranquilizers and told me
not to fly for a couple of weeks but he didn't take me off flight status, so I continued to get my
precious fifty- five dollars.
The tranquilizers proved worthless and in the next few weeks I experienced double vision,
weak legs, weak arms, droopy eyelids, difficulty in breathing, trouble chewing, trouble brushing
my teeth, and difficulty combing my hair but the doctor didn't know what was wrong.
The dread of flying was gone now, but it had been replaced by new and more terrifying fears. I
could not command my body to do as I wished. It just would not work as I asked it to!
Finally, out of pure desperation and frustration at the inability of the doctors to diagnose the
problem, I pushed myself as hard as I could to intensify the symptoms, and when they were all
at their peak I struggled into the Flight Surgeons office, past the other men waiting, and said,
"Here! Look at me!" My speech was slurred and I could barely keep my eyes open. My
breathing was shallow and my legs were rubber.
A look of recognition came over the doctor's face and he disappeared for a few minutes,
returning with a medical book.
"Here it is," He said. "I believe you might have Myasthenia Gravis."
Copyright 1994 by Clete Gress Revised January 2000 & Reformatted December, 2005
followed seemed to change everything. I should have quit flying at that time but we simply
needed the money too much.
The shower mixed with the tears that streamed down my face.
What was happening to me? Lately The tears would flow for no apparent reason. Not a single
tear but a flood of tears. Always when I was alone. Thank God for that but, Why? I had never
been much of a crier and now I felt uneasy and a little ashamed. In addition to everything else
I didn't need this!
I moved the soapy washcloth to my chest. Nothing! I couldn't apply pressure! I could raise it
up but could not apply the slightest bit of pressure to my chest. What was happening to me?
The next day I went on sick call. The Flight Surgeon gave me some tranquilizers and told me
not to fly for a couple of weeks but he didn't take me off flight status, so I continued to get my
precious fifty- five dollars.
The tranquilizers proved worthless and in the next few weeks I experienced double vision,
weak legs, weak arms, droopy eyelids, difficulty in breathing, trouble chewing, trouble brushing
my teeth, and difficulty combing my hair but the doctor didn't know what was wrong.
The dread of flying was gone now, but it had been replaced by new and more terrifying fears. I
could not command my body to do as I wished. It just would not work as I asked it to!
Finally, out of pure desperation and frustration at the inability of the doctors to diagnose the
problem, I pushed myself as hard as I could to intensify the symptoms, and when they were all
at their peak I struggled into the Flight Surgeons office, past the other men waiting, and said,
"Here! Look at me!" My speech was slurred and I could barely keep my eyes open. My
breathing was shallow and my legs were rubber.
A look of recognition came over the doctor's face and he disappeared for a few minutes,
returning with a medical book.
"Here it is," He said. "I believe you might have Myasthenia Gravis."
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