Chapter 28

As Dave continued to excel in PT, his incredible RIC therapy team decided that we needed to come up with something to challenge and motivate him, something ambitious toward which he could work during sessions that might otherwise get boring. Exercise is beneficial for everyone, but for Dave, it was crucial for neuronal plasticity. All of the blood flow of the movement and exercise was good for Dave’s brain as it worked to rebuild neurons. Plus, it was good for him to work on balance, and exercise is always a mood lifter. So his physical therapists did exercises with him that targeted both his body and his mind; he would balance on a plank while also answering trivia questions about orthopedic surgery, for instance.

It became clear that the treadmill and ordinary PT exercises were getting old for Dave, so his lead physical therapist, Liza, proposed that he train for a race in downtown Chicago called the Ditka Dash, named after the colorful Chicago Bears football coach Mike Ditka.

When Liza called me to suggest that Dave sign up for the race, I looked at the calendar with some concern. First, the race was less than a week before my due date. If I went into labor early—a distinct likelihood given how big I was measuring—then Dave would have to forgo the race. That was a small matter compared to my second concern: Was Dave ready for this? October would be just four months out from a stroke that had nearly killed him. He was weakened by the stroke and by his extended stays in several hospitals. In September, we had gone back into the hospital for a procedure on Dave’s heart, during which they had closed his PFO, the hole that had likely contributed to the stroke. Long periods of bed rest and inactivity had sapped his strength.

Plus, Dave still fatigued so easily. A 5K would have been nothing for him before the stroke—he could have hopped it on one foot—but if he wasn’t able to do it now, would he be disappointed in himself? Were we setting him up for defeat?

Dave agreed to do the race and began to train. He worked his way up from fatiguing after just a short walk to taking brisk walks on an incline to eventually jogging for a few minutes at a time on the treadmill. September turned to October. My belly grew bigger as Dave continued to train.

The day of the race was gray and chilly. Dave and I had stayed in our apartment downtown the night before—Dave’s first time sleeping there. We drove over to Soldier Field, home of the Chicago Bears, early that morning for the race.

Everyone running in the race was invited to show up in his or her finest Mike Ditka attire, so, naturally, we were equipped. Dave wore a vintage Bears sweater that I had found for him on eBay one year as a Christmas gift. He had planned ahead (evidence of some executive functionality!) and had grown enough facial hair to give himself a cheesy Mike Ditka mustache. He paired those lovely details with aviator sunglasses and a sweatband around his forehead, and it was actually quite disturbing how much he resembled Ditka.

Dave’s entire team of therapists showed up to run with him. That they were all there so early on a cold, rainy Saturday morning shows just how dedicated they were to Dave, not only as a patient but as a person.

Dave’s brother Mike had also signed up to run the race with him. Mike had not run much since a knee injury had required multiple surgeries years earlier, but he wanted to do this with his younger brother. We joked about who was worse off: the stroke patient or the guy with the bum knee.

Dave’s parents were there for the race, as was Mike’s wife, Marie, who was herself seven months pregnant and also toting around their fourteen-month-old. Marie and I waddled along, watching the runners go by. We made our way to the finish line and awaited Dave and Mike. We spotted them about twenty-four minutes later at the finish line. They ran by, big smiles under gross Ditka mustaches. Dave looked absolutely ridiculous, but he looked happy. His cheeks were flushed, and a sheen of sweat and October drizzle slicked his rosy skin. He had run the whole way.

I think I was happier than Dave was that he completed that race. I had wanted him to cross that finish line. Now, I thought, we are ready to have this baby.