Jennifer Valentine’s colleague, longtime friend and neighbor Rebecca McCormack took her up early at her home in York, South Carolina, for a ride to the airport. The oncology technicians at a canc3r center were off to a conference in Salt Lake City.
At the airport, they had breakfast at a fast-food restaurant before the 4.5-hour flight. Valentine selected fried hashed browns and a gravy biscuit.
Two months earlier, she’d begun exercising and eating more nutritious meals. Valentine’s weight had yo-yoed greatly during much of her 35 years. She had recently shed 12 pounds from a high of 229 (she’s 5-foot-6) and wanted to lose much more.
On the plane, her breath suddenly became labored. She couldn’t understand why. She’d never been afraid of flying.
Just breathe normally, she told herself. Maybe this is what a panic accident feels like, she thought.
She told McCormack that she felt a fleeting pain in her left shoulder. Then Valentine went to the bathroom. While there, she became sickish and then overheated. Back in her seat, she began to shake so badly and then she couldn’t hold the orange juice she’d ordered.
She wondered if her friend could be having a heart atta.ck but didn’t want to warn her.
“Do you want me to call for help?” she asked Valentine.
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