Heart and Shed
Heart pulsing anticipation carried me over a rock-interrupted ridge where wind tortured bull pine
desperately clung to scattered crumblings of granite. The first rays of sunlight had won their battle over
defeated clouds and brought a prehistoric cast to the canyon rims below where the echoing hooves of
white rumpled ghosts franticly attempted to vanish. “No antlers,” I said to myself, “perfect”.
Descending, I scanned my surroundings in search of white tips protruding through snarls of dead
grass, or brown beams camouflaged among tangled branches and needle-blanketed shadows. I felt a rush
of adrenalin, as if I were a ten year old again, when I noticed a two-point shed peeking through the
trampling of winter.
After spending the day climbing ridges with the relentless plodding of a mule, rooting the brush
with the determination of a boar, and searching my surroundings with the cunning of a mountain lion,
long shadows awakened me from my antler induced stupor to the realities of a worried wife. Years of my
hiking alone had calloused her concerns but had never kept the nagging, “what if’s”, at bay.
It was my first antler hunting adventure of the year. I knew my conditioning wasn’t the best, but I
felt tired beyond my years and had to rest more than I was accustomed.
In the next couple of weeks, I returned to the wintering grounds of elk, deer, and Indian spirits but
long days ended with exhaustion. On one occasion I got so frustrated with my effort that I slammed my
fist into my chest and yelled into the evening solitude. “If I’m going to have a heart attack, then bring it
on.”
Doing my own diagnosis, I felt I had some form of pneumonia. I seemed to have a slight cough
with my tiredness and some hyperventilation, which would wake me from restless dreams. I scheduled a
doctor’s appointment to have a physical, thinking I would be prescribed some antibiotics to get the
nagging inconvenience cleared up.
When the Doctor and I reviewed the results of my chest ex-ray, she couldn’t hold back her
surprise. “That’s the biggest heart I have ever seen.” I laughingly remarked. “I have always been known
as a big-hearted guy.” An agitated, “NO”, is how she dismissed my disregard for the seriousness of the
situation. “This is no joking matter.” A little dumbfounded, I asked, “it’s not just a little pneumonia
that’s causing my problem?” Then quickly followed with the plans I had for an antler-hunting trip the
following week?
The Doctor looked at me as if I was a less than gifted child and then called in another physician to
confirm her findings. The two of them grilled me with a barrage of questions. “Have you had any pain in
your chest? Have you had any pain or numbness in your arms?” My answers were “no”. Then came the
“yes” questions. Have you had shortness of breath, fatigue, heart palpitations, or a frequent cough?
Three days later I was having an echo gram. The cardiologist pulled no punches. “I have been told
that I can be too blunt.” I said, “Be blunt.” He continued. “Your aortic valve needs replaced. It should
have an opening about the size of a quarter and yours is about the size of a pencil eraser. That’s not all.
The aorta itself is aneurysed when it leaves the heart. The aorta shouldn’t be more than three and half
centimeters wide. Anything over five centimeters is critical and yours is five point eight. It could bust at
any moment.”
Seventeen days after my physical to clear up my self-diagnosed pneumonia problem, I was lying
on the surgeon’s table ready to have my chest carved open.
My recovery has been nothing less than miraculous. Five days after surgery I was home and
walking five miles a day within two weeks. I was back to work in a month and my wife had given up in
frustration on telling me to take it easy. The only reminder of my interrupted antler collecting is a ten inch
scar, which my grandsons think is “sweet”.
Searching for antler treasure has been a constant with me since I was a child, and strengthened me
through my teens. It has been intertwined through thirty-seven years of marriage, parenting and now
grand parenting. I have always felt there is a spirit sealed in the antlers hardness. I truly believe that I
have that spirit to thank for my tomorrows.