Chesley "Sully" Sullenberger, the pilot who saved 155 lives on the Hudson River, told ABC News his greatest fear about his Alzheimer's diagnosis is that it has left him on his final mission.
Sullenberger, 75, sat down with "Good Morning America" co-anchor Robin Roberts on Wednesday to discuss the disease he first disclosed in July, and he did not sugarcoat what lies ahead. The retired pilot who became a national symbol of calm under pressure said he now struggles to remember the names of people he knows, forgets things he would not have forgotten before, and repeats himself without realizing it.
Yet the man who once glided a crippled US Airways jet onto the Hudson River spoke about his diagnosis the same way he spoke about that emergency landing: with composure, directness, and a refusal to quit.
Sullenberger told Roberts that the warning signs crept in gradually, the kind of lapses easy to dismiss at first, then impossible to explain away.
"One of the first things I noticed was it was harder and harder to remember people's names, even people we knew. That's still an issue."
He described a pattern that will sound familiar to the millions of American families already living with the disease: forgetting routine things, repeating himself without realizing he had said the same words an hour earlier, checking his calendar every day just to keep track of his schedule.
Sullenberger did not name the specific infusion treatment he is receiving, but he confirmed he undergoes monthly infusions. The type of medication, the prescribing physician, and the stage of his disease were not disclosed in the interview.
Asked about his biggest fear, Sullenberger did not hesitate.
"That this is my last flight."
Then he added the line that captured the same steel millions of Americans saw on January 15, 2009, when he set a powerless Airbus down on the freezing Hudson and every passenger walked away alive:
"But if this has to be my last flight, I'm going to go out using a full afterburner."
Sullenberger acknowledged the initial shock and anger that followed his diagnosis. He said he is now trying to put a positive perspective on it, and he used the interview to deliver a blunt public-health message.
"An early diagnosis is so critically important. If you have doubts, get tested, because the sooner you act, the more options there are, the better the outcome is likely to be."
That plea carried weight coming from a man whose own career depended on split-second decisions. Sullenberger framed the choice to get tested not as surrender but as the same kind of disciplined action that saves lives in a cockpit.
His wife, Lorrie Sullenberger, will serve as his caregiver as the disease progresses. She was candid about the uncertainty ahead.
"My plan right now is to take it one day at a time. I have no idea what's coming."
Sullenberger said the couple is not facing the fight alone. He described himself and Lorrie as part of a broader community of patients and families working to make the best of a difficult situation.
"We're part of this community who are trying to make the best of a bad situation."
Alzheimer's is a progressive disease, and Sullenberger did not pretend otherwise. He acknowledged that his condition will inevitably continue to worsen. But the tone of the interview was not resignation. It was the same controlled resolve that defined the 208 seconds between a bird strike over the Bronx and a safe landing on the Hudson, the event that earned him the title "Hero of the Hudson" and made his name shorthand for grace under fire.
On that January day in 2009, Sullenberger had seconds to decide and no room for error. Alzheimer's offers no such clarity. The timeline is long, the enemy invisible, and the outcome, for now, unchangeable. Sullenberger said he has done harder things before. Millions of Americans watching him fight this one will be pulling for him to be right.
