There was a chance we could save Mr. Prodham--if our buckinghelicopter wasn't flung out of the sky first.
WE WERE AT 2,000 FEET and dropping fast. The flight nurseand I fumbled with our harnesses, preparing to jump out. I was the helicopterphysician on duty, and we were rushing to pick up a critically ill patient in asmall hospital about 150 miles away. We had to move; the weather was closingin.
Skip, the pilot, canted the helicopter toward one of thehospital parking lots. We were to unload hot--that meant we had to jump outwith our equipment just as the helicopter touched down and run like crazythrough the propeller wash and rotary roar. Already the guards at the hospitalentrance were being hit by the wind from the props. Their coats were blownopen, and one of them lost his hat.
"You have 20 minutes," said Skip as he jockeyed usdown. He couldn't just say it, of course; he had to use his helmet'smicrophone. The rotary blades made too much noise. All our monitor equipmentfor the patient had to be electronic with visual output only. Our regularstethoscopes were useless.
The helicopter struts touched down with a bounce."Go," Skip shouted through his mike.
