The nose of the plane had just lifted. This was the last leg of a journey home after being with fellow soldiers in Pennsylvania. I was so tired, I knew I would be asleep in minutes.

She was in the aisle seat on the row behind me. It was a Delta flight, a short one back to my work location. I had slept very little the night before and continued to battle bronchitis that has remained in my lungs for a month now. Normally I read on flights, but I was so tired this day, I intened to close my eyes and rest. Then it came.

EEEeeeeeeccccchhhh!!!! The woman in the aisle seat on the row behind me began having an epileptic seizure. She flailed, foamed at her mouth, kicked at the seats, and was helpless to do anything but endure. The flight attendant rushed to the phone in the galley at the front, called the flight deck, and shouted, “We have a medical emergency!” into the phone receiver.

EEEeeeeeeccccchhhh!!!! The woman’s thrashing continued. The flight attendant asked loudly, “Is there a doctor on the plane?!” No one came forward. No one spoke. All of us just sat. Some turned their heads to stare at this woman who was clearly in agony. We felt helpless.

The pilot lowered the nose of the plane and returned us to our terminal. The flight crew called the EMTs and paramedics. The pilot, to his great credit, remained very calm. He came on the speaker: “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot speaking. We are returning to the gate because we have a passenger who is not feeling so well. This should take about 30 minutes or so for us to taxi and get her medical help. Thank you for your patience.”

He was so understated, he could have been a Brit. Not feeling so well. Meanwhile the screaming continued. The flight attendant rifled through the seizing woman’s purse for any medication or contact information she might use. She retrieved only two cell phones and was somehow able to contact the woman’s son to let him know his mother was going to be taken to Grady in Atlanta via ambulance from the airport.

The screaming continued and the plane’s passengers otherwise were deathly silent. We were of no help. I tried to pray, grasping to say silently to the Lord what He already knew–that this woman was in agony and she needed help. Mercy, Lord, mercy. I beg You.

Finally we arrived back at the gate. The door was opened. Two paramedics entered with a rollup gurney. They tried to communicate with the woman, but she remained uncommunicative. The flight attendant updated the paramedics on what had happened, gave them and the EMTs (they were just outside the door) a summary of what had happened, the woman’s purse, and the two cell phones.

The pilot came back on the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your pilot again. We have gotten the passenger medical attention. It may take another thirty minutes or so, and we should be able to be on our way shortly. We apologize for this inconvenience and appreciate your patience.” He was the textbook definition of grace under pressure.

Eventually we were able to take off and we landed safely. We were about 90 minutes later than our original slated arrival time, but it did not matter to me. I had watched this poor woman go through agony right behind me, and I was of no help. I felt so small. It seemed that so much of life was out of my control, that life was tenuous, that all can change in an instant. I wanted desperately to see my wife and tell her I loved her and to hug my children. And I am thinking still of that woman who shrieked in agony on the plane, and of whether she got to the ER at Grady in time, and of her life and the life of her son, and I wanted to say, I don’t know exactly what, except that I am sorry, and that I learned from your suffering, and that I am doing my best to tell a bit of your story.