One of my best friends was a B-52 Stratofortress pilot and training pilot. The B-52s can carry 488,000 pounds. He was in the Air Force for over 20 years, starting during Vietnam.
He's not doing well right now. He has congestive hear failure. I talked to him about 5 weeks ago and he didn't sound right. He was out baling hay. I told him he should go to the hospital. He didn't want to. I went after him. He wasn't at his farm. I found him on his tractor on State Route 29, stopped on the road. I fought to get him in my truck and got the tractor off the road. I put an 02 meter on him. His blood oxygen level was 71 and his heart rate 43.
I wanted to take him to a hospital in Urbanna, which was closer, but he insisted on going to London. On the way to London, he insisted I stop and let him tell the guy he was baling hay for that he wasn't able to do it. I said I would tell the guy after. We argued over it. He tried getting out of my truck, while I was going over 65 miles per hour. I was barely able to hold him in and stop, while staying on the road. The low oxygen level made him act drunk and belligerent.
I made a side trip to the farm he was supposed to bale at and drove down a huge hill, over a mile back in the woods to satisfy him the guy wasn't there. I probably should have called for an ambulance, but he kept knocking my phone out of my hand.
I got him to the hospital. Over several days, they took out 67 pounds of water that had built up in him. He's doing better, but I don't think he's got long left.
He's like a second dad to me and I'm pretty upset about his dying.
Keith