Good Medicine

Dan Wohlers, 57, loves to fly. Before he obtained his pilot’s license, he took up parachuting, clocking in about 260 skydives over the years. By the mid-1970s, he was piloting his own small planes, including a 1949 two-seater Aeronca Champ.

As the years flew by, he owned a series of planes, including a Cessna 172 and a Piper PA-11.

After graduating from Kettering College of Medical Arts in Kettering, Ohio, with an associate degree in respiratory therapy, Wohlers met and fell in love with Sue, a fellow pilot. She shared something else with Dan; she was also involved in the medical field, as a nurse. They married in 1977 and moved to Punta Gorda in 1979, where they both found work at an area hospital. They settled into a happy family life, bringing up two children, John and Sarah, and flying around the country whenever they could.

Combining his skills as a respiratory therapist and pilot, Dan began moonlighting for the Air Trek Air Ambulance corporation, headquartered in Punta Gorda. Sit with him for an hour and he’ll mesmerize you with stories from the more than 10,000 hours he logged in transporting sick and injured people. In 1995, he became full-time captain of Air Trek’s corporate jet in Punta Gorda. “I loved my work,” he remembers. “I was helping other people and doing what I loved best—flying.” The only downside: It often interfered with his family life. At a moment’s notice, Dan could be called away at any time of day or night.

In 2003, the Federal Aviation Admin-istration offered Dan a full-time position as a safety inspector in Albuquerque, N.M. After so many years of irregular hours, the couple welcomed the idea of a nine-to-five job and decided to move to Albuquerque.

This is where personal history turns into medical history. After a year at his new job, Dan had to take a standard flying test. For a few months, he hadn’t been feeling like himself. His handwriting was changing—it looked small, scrawled and barely readable. His voice sounded more subdued. He says he also noticed that when he walked, “My arms hung stiffly at my sides. Something seemed off.” Dan shrugged it off, thinking it was just stress.

But it wasn’t. During the flight test, he knew it. “My hands were shaking and I couldn’t stop them,” he says. “Needless to say, I flunked the test.”

On his drive back home, “It just hit me that I had Parkinson’s disease,” he says. At home, he quickly found the answer on the Internet. “I had every symptom listed. It was a no-brainer,” he says.

Dan’s initial research told him both his brain and body were under attack. Here’s some of what he discovered:

Parkinson’s disease (PD) results from the depletion of certain brain cells. When they’re healthy and plentiful, these cells produce dopamine, a neurotransmitter that stimulates muscle-regulating nerve cells. Think of dopamine as a traffic cop in the constantly shifting traffic of brain chemistry. With the right amount of dopamine, the body’s muscles and movements stay coordinated. When they lack dopamine, the motor system’s nerves can’t control movement and coordination. According to studies, symptomatic PD patients have lost 80 percent or more of their dopamine-producing brain cells. The symptoms, which become progressively worse, include tremors, rigidity, slurred or slow speech, a mask-like facial appearance and an awkward gait. There’s no cure for Parkinson’s—only treatment—and the earlier, the better.

Dan and Sue tried to rally. “We didn’t want to believe this was happening,” he says. “I’ve always prided myself on being a realist who can deal with emergencies. But this hit us hard.”

They saw a doctor, who confirmed his worst fears. Dan did have Parkinson’s disease—and it was progressing rapidly. Soon the symptoms began to interfere with everything—eating, dressing, driving. But Dan was determined to fight back. “I felt some relief in knowing that it had a name. I knew who the enemy was and was prepared for the battle,” he says.