One Year in a Lifetime

One Year in a Lifetime

The leaves were shades of green, yellow, orange, and red, many still clinging to the trees. Occasionally a crisp yellow leaf would float past and land on the road, getting the dogs' attention.

We were walking the dogs up the steep end of Elk Run Road when Dane handed me a heart-shaped rock. He’d been away three days in northern Wisconsin, searching for spongy moth egg masses, when he found the rock and tucked it in his pocket to give me when he got home.

The red rock fit perfectly in my palm. Smiling, I thanked him, put it in my pocket, and we kept walking—me with one hand in my pocket on the rock. It was still warm from Dane’s hand..

Not until later that day, when Dane had been transferred by ambulance to Gunderson Hospital, did we realize it was Friday the 13th. A week later, the stoic cardiologist, upon signing Dane’s release papers from the hospital, stated flatly, “We don’t see people going home with Dane’s diagnosis and his subsequent cardiac arrests and heart attack.”

Dane’s recovery has been a combination of his determination and hard work.

With baby steps, hunched over his walker, he took the timed “walk test,” administered before starting cardiac rehab. My heart plummeted as I watched while giving gentle encouragement. He shuffled past—he’d move one foot, then slide his other foot forward, and awkwardly push the walker forward a few inches.

Soon enough though, the walker stayed in the car when I dropped him off at the hospital entrance. He began counting down how many days he had left in rehab. Not that he wanted it to be over—he didn't, because it gave him a sense of confidence and hope. But he was determined to get his driver’s license reinstated before May so he could then go back to his job as a spongy moth trapper.

As early as November, we’d try walking up the hill where he had stopped that day because of chest pain. He’d mark the spot where he turned around and try to go further the next day. Some days he made a little more progress.

Then one day, taking breaks to catch his breath, he reached the top!

Dane’s next goal was December 18, his 71st birthday, when his driver’s license would expire. He repeatedly stressed about getting to the DMV, knowing that without his license he wouldn’t be able to return to work. He wasn’t allowed to drive for at least six months after his heart episodes, so I drove him to the Viroqua DMV office. The form asked if he had ever lost consciousness in the past year. He had—at least three times—and asked me what he should do. I answered, “Do what’s right.”

He was crushed when his license wasn’t renewed. He climbed back into the car, looking defeated, and stated, “I can’t do this anymore.”

But he didn’t give up.

Three times a week, Dane went to rehab, missing a session only when he had another procedure to put in more stents and once to get a defibrillator implanted. Between home visits from a nurse, appointments with his cardiologist in La Crosse, and his rehab sessions, he started adding my Sit, Stand, Stretch fitness class on his non-rehab days.

Dane was committed to gaining his endurance and strength back. He started his fitness classes with no weights, increased to 2 pounds, then 3, and graduated to 5-pound weights. Again, like with his rehab and walking, he didn’t miss a class.

Nowadays, Dane eats a salad loaded with vegetables and fruit daily. His cardiologist advised that increasing intake of both of those makes a huge difference in heart health. He no longer salts his food before tasting it and rarely afterwards. Sodas are rare, as is eating red meat, and he avoids processed food. He still indulges in an occasional sweet treat, but gone are his daily donuts!

In the past several months, he’s managed to get his driver’s license back, start work on time in May, and consistently walk a minimum of two miles a day. He looks forward to getting back to his fitness classes when his seasonal job ends for the year.

We’re on Rock Island, walking on a bed of smooth white rocks on a narrow point jutting into Lake Michigan. The sun is bright and there’s hardly a cloud in the sky. It’s unseasonably warm and we’re taking a break from our camp host duties.

As we walk, we scan the ground for interesting rocks while reminiscing that in only a few days it’ll be a year since the day we were walking up the road and Dane's life changed—our lives changed.

Suddenly, Dane reaches down and picks up a perfectly white, heart-shaped rock, smiles, and hands it to me.