The story of my plane crash

My story: (I originally wrote this for a writing contest a couple of years ago.)

God’s Answer
It was a simple prayer, and straight to the point, "Rescue me before noon, or let me die!" I was 19 years old and this day and all it held for me had started me on one huge life changing experience. Thankfully, I knew God heard me and because of this I did not feel alone.

Our family went to church and as a child at the age of seven, I had prayed and asked Jesus to forgive my sin, and acknowledged that I would never be as good as He is and that I wanted to spend eternity with Him. Making this commitment to Christ put me on a path that was not free from trouble, but connected me with the One who would help me, comfort me and be with me through it all!

When I was a toddler my dad bought his first airplane. I grew up living in Northern Manitoba enjoying the freedom that flying brings.

At the age of 15, I went to Caronport High School, a Christian boarding school in Saskatchewan. The Northern community we lived in didn’t offer high school and so we had to go elsewhere. I graduated from Caronport in 1980 and continued there for another year in the Bible College program. In September 1981, I began a nursing program at the Thompson General Hospital. My life’s dream was to become a nurse and work in the North. I wanted to use my skills as a nurse, and also looked forward to spending time with the children in these communities, baking cookies, reading stories, valuing them! I wanted to share God’s love with them, without "officially" being a missionary and having to raise support.
The next winter I felt I needed a break from studying! On the last weekend of February every year, Caronport had an annual youth retreat called, "Youth Quake," I was determined to go and visit with my friends who were still students on campus. James, a friend from church, had his own plane and decided we could fly there for the weekend.

We flew there and had a wonderful time. The theme that weekend was "The Race of Life." Little did we realize what our race held for us.

En route home from the retreat, we refueled at Swan River. The air was crisp and cool, the sky was bright, but snow was starting to fall. I felt apprehensive as I trailed about six feet behind James and climbed aboard the low-winged Piper Cherokee, for the last leg of our journey home.

We chose to fly as the crow flies, across country from Swan River to Thompson. It was a shorter but more hazardous route than the one we had flight planned because it didn’t follow the road system. Twenty minutes after departing from Swan River, James and I flew into a "white out." We had just flown past two islands on Lake Winnipegosis and James was looking out the window instead of watching his instruments. Since I had grown up with a bush pilot for a father, I had learned the function of various instruments. I had noticed that the artificial horizon was doing funny things. I yelled, "James, watch your instruments! James! Watch your instruments!" Seconds later, the plane crashed onto the surface of the frozen lake.

Six hours later James woke up and weakly called my name. I came to and the first thing I thought was, "my mother’s going to kill me." My mother had a hard time letting me go with James. I was only nineteen and he was twenty-three. My parents thought that he was too young and inexperienced to take their only daughter hopping across the country.

We moved ourselves from the front to the back seats. James lifted my legs while I cried in agony. He dropped them again, that hurt worse! I screamed at him, "just do it! Do it!" He lifted my legs and I lifted myself into the back seat. My legs were stretched in front of me. James wanted me to move over so he could join me in the back seat for the long night ahead. It was weird to see my left leg conform to the pilot’s seat as I moved to my left. I had never had a broken bone in my life until today. It was wild!

James tried unsuccessfully to close the only door in the plane. We covered ourselves with a sleeping bag and talked about the conference we had just attended. We prayed together and talked some more. About midnight, James asked me for my gauntlets. I felt his icy hands and fear grabbed at my heart for him. I knew then that something wasn’t right. It was cold, yes, -21 Celsius, but my hands were warm, I was warm.

One thing I learned from growing up in the North, was if you have a survival problem, you must keep your head covered. They say that 80% of body heat is lost through the head. I kept covering James’ head and he would uncover it. James started slipping in and out of consciousness. It felt like the biggest fight in the world for me. A fight that was lost about 4:30 that morning.

I turned over and gave in to much needed sleep. It is hard to describe how I was feeling at that moment. I had lost a friend; I had failed to keep him alive until help came. I was a nursing student who just completed the unit on ‘death and dying’ with an A+, but lost in the real world. I was crushed. James’ race was finished here on the ice of Lake Winnipegosis. Would mine end here also?

I woke to another bright clear and cold day. James’ lifeless body was beside me, confining me to the small area I had been in for the last 14 hours. This is when I prayed to God to rescue me or let me die. I didn’t want to just sit there and sit there and sit there. Believe me, by this time I was bored. It is hard to explain this feeling any other way. I was alone, yet I knew God was with me. I waited, knowing and expecting my dad to rescue me. Waiting was very difficult, but I always had hope that things would be ok. Waiting was boring!

Around 11:30 I heard the familiar drone of the plane my father flies. I had a 12" by 12" piece of a space age tinfoil blanket, to help keep me warm. I stuck my arm out the glassless window and waved the foil. The plane circled three times and then landed.

This plane was not my dad’s. He was looking further North from where we were, closer to the filed flight plan.

The first man to the plane was James’ brother-in-law, Lorne. I joyfully exclaimed, "I have never been so glad to see anyone in all my life!" He asked, "Is James unconscious?"
"No, he’s dead," I replied.

Lorne stepped back, and the other men got to work right away. The plane was like a badly banged up tin can and it took little effort for the men to tear the roof off and lift me out into the Cessna 185. As I greedily demanded more coffee, we departed Lake Winipegosis for the safety of St. Anthony’s hospital in The Pas.
These four men who rescued me, were told by Canada’s Search & Rescue, not to come and look for me. These dear men ignored the order and had me to the hospital before Search & Rescue was even in the air that day.

This event had a huge impact on my life. I can now say I am a survivor. I have stamina. I spent 23.5 hours on a cold and frozen lake. I can say these things but it cost much. James’ life, my legs and right eye, my nursing career.

I am a better person for it, inside. I know what it is to look death in the face. I now see the beauty in the little things. I learned the value of relationship and to not waste time. Even my belief in God changed. I grew up attending church and Sunday school and from a very young age believed what the Bible said about Heaven and Hell. Up until the plane crash though, everything I believed about God I had inherited from my parents, and not because I chose it for myself. But many of the circumstances surrounding the crash reinforced in me the knowledge that God knows best, and that I can trust Him.

I am not a better person for it outside because of the damaged eye, the scars to my forehead, the loss of both legs below the knee, and the weight gain that comes from inactivity. I don’t like them. I can change only my weight and here I have had little success. Through it all, I know that God says I am valuable – not because of my outward appearance, but because of my heart and the changes He has brought.

Behind these clouds there is a silver lining.

During my time in Rehab and different visits back to the hospital I have had the pleasure of being an encouragement to others. Most often the amputee is an older person who has one limb off. They see me with both off and are inspired to press on.

People ask me if I can visit a friend or relative who has lost a limb too. In 2 Corinthians chapter 1, the Bible says, "We give thanks to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is our Father who shows us loving kindness and our God who gives us comfort. He gives us comfort in all our troubles. Then we can comfort other people who have the same troubles."

In spite of not becoming a nurse, I have a connection with some patients. My desire to help and meet their needs can’t be satisfied as a medical professional but is as a peer who cares and really does know what they are going through.

God’s answer came that fateful day, March 4, 1982 via the rescuers, 11:30 that morning! The trust in God that was instilled in me by my parents carried me through this horrific time. No matter what we go through, no matter what the prayer, God does answer and we are never alone!