No More Ballerina Slippers
I wanted to fly fast, supersonic, so, at a young age, I traded in my ballerina slippers for combat boots.
I grew up as a P.K. (a.k.a. pastor's kid) The unusual thing is, I behaved. I never rebelled, at least not to any extreme. I did however walk against the grain whenever I could. If you told me a girl couldn't do it, I took it as my hell-bent mission to prove you wrong.
I loved playing basketball, still do. It was the one sport that we did as a family. I played in school organized co-ed basketball through elementary school. Then I went on to play church league, well, that was my plan. I clearly remember trying to join the local Catholic church team as the only female. (There were only boys teams in the church league at the time.) I showed up to practice with a neighborhood friend. I handed in the required paperwork which was met with some hesitation but they took it. Now it was practice time.
As I entered the gym the coach pulled me aside, "Look you're not going to be able to play for our team." "Why not," I queried. "Well, uh, you can't play shirts and skins," he replied. "Ha," I thought, "He just messed with the wrong girl." I ripped my shirt off right then and there and ran onto the court to play. Unfortunately, my indifference didn't matter to the league and that was my only practice.
My other push against the grain, at least against my parents', was my deep desire to be a soldier, a navy seal, a guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and then I thought counter intelligence might be my niche.
Then one day, it all changed. My family and I were on one of our many summer road trips. This one took us to Devil's Tower in Wyoming. (If you have not been, I recommend adding it to your bucket list.) We were standing at the base of the ginormous rock formation, when, out of absolutely nowhere, an ear shattering scream and earth moving rumble seemed to bellow out from within Devil's Tower. Seconds later, a fighter jet came blasting forth from behind the tower. My jaw dropped. I knew what I had to do. I wanted to fly that jet!!
Fast forward to college, I now stood on the campus of The Ohio State University with tears streaming down my face. I was at a turning point in my life. I was conflicted. I wanted to follow a life that was better suited to what the important people in my life wanted, but I was not happy. It's then, that I dropped the military bomb on my mom as we stood on the campus. I told her I really wanted to join the military. So, probably reluctantly, my mom suggested going to the Navy and Air Force orientation briefings. And that's when I sealed my fate, the Air Force colonel, at the time, reminded me of my high school cross country coach. I had made my choice to join the United States Air Force.
I graduated and commissioned four years later as a second lieutenant with a pilot slot to attend the Air Force's Specialized Undergraduate Pilot Training (SUPT).
I might have thought I dropped the last bomb, but life had a couple of heat seeking missiles headed my way at supersonic speeds. The first one exploded that fall, barely a few months after I had settled into my new life on base. I received a call from my mom to inform me that my dad had just been diagnosed with a brain tumor. The brakes slammed on pretty damn hard sending my life shattering through the windshield. Luckily, I was allowed to push my SUPT start date later down the road. Giving me time to get my head together and visit my dad.
I finally started SUPT, with a pretty awesome class I might add! Life was stable, enough, and about as good as it can be when you are working hard to stand up against the brutal flow of the SUPT fire hose opened at full throttle.
But what about the other missile? Ah, yes, don't you worry. It's almost time.
As I got closer to my initial solo in the T-37B "Tweet", that second missile had just crossed the state line.
Well, I discovered one day that I was lactating. (Yes, what only pregnant women should be experiencing.) But the good thing was, I wasn't pregnant. But the problem was this shouldn't be happening. I was grounded put on antibiotics, tests were run, and speculations from an infection to breast cancer where visited. An MRI of my brain was ordered. It was two weeks of hell. During that time, I did manage to fly a couple of times. However, I spent most of the time on the ground. Only two good friends, the female instructor pilot, and my flight commander knew what was going on. So I had to tiptoe around a lot of questions and confusion it created as to why I wasn't flying.
The missile was now crossing the county line.
Since I wasn't flying, I spent some time helping in one of the RSUs, a mini tower located next to each runway. My job varied, but basically helping to keep track of sorties, or flights, confirm each aircraft had gear down, etc. One day in particular just felt off to me. I was out in the RSU when a call came in. The instructor pilot answered. "Do you want me to send her back now?" is all I heard him say. My heart fell with a deafening thud onto the floor. That call was about me. I was the only female in that particular RSU. We finished our shift and headed to the van. The instructor informed me that I was to report immediately to my flight commander once we got back to the squadron.
It's probably a good thing I wasn't having my blood pressure taken at that moment. I'm pretty sure I would have broken the cuff. Never mind my head hurt from my heart thumping way too loudly. We drove back in silence.
When we arrived, I headed to my flight commander's office. He ushered me in and closed the door. "You need to go see the flight doc right now. You should probably take a classmate with you." "Oh, f@$%," I thought. It can't be good if someone tells you, you had better bring a friend.
The missile had just passed through the base gate.
I headed to the flight doc with my friend, the only other female student in the class. The flight doc was waiting for us. We never checked in. He ushered us through to his office and had us sit down in front of his desk. He pulled out an anatomy book and placed a box of tissues in front of me.
The missile blew through the med clinic entrance and was beginning to weave its way through the doors and hallways of the clinic. It was locked onto my heat signature...
The explosion hit before I had a chance for it to register. "You have pituitary micro-adenoma, a tumor," the flight doc said as he pointed to the pituitary gland in the anatomy book. I stared in disbelief as I was overcome with emotion; waterfalls cascading down my cheeks.
That happened over eleven years ago. The good news is, it is not cancerous. I was removed from SUPT due to the concern the tumor could grow and push on my optic nerve and cause peripheral vision loss. (It still hasn't happened.) I then opted to get out of the Air Force which happened to coincide with a force reduction. The year I was officially separated from the AF, I got married. I was blessed to have my dad and a childhood friend officiate my wedding. About nine months later, my dad succumbed to brain cancer.
I was beyond bitter. On the outside it may have seemed that I was doing well, but I was pissed. It took seven years to come to terms with my life and the passing of my dad.
But as some say, the best is yet to come...
