Regardless of what the CT films show, I seem to be headed toward another surgery in the near future. I'm just not sure which doctor I'll meet in the operating room.
Oh. And you'll love this. So after my CT scans, I get up from the exam table and say to the radiology tech, "Lying on my back like that is the most painful position for me." And he says, "Sorry about that. I know that a fractured scapula can really change your life."
Turns out he had suffered a fractured scapula not long ago. He'd been tossed off his motorcycle. "But I'm not as bad off as you," he said.
Gee, that made me feel better.
I said, "Yeah, well, I still ride horses."
He started laughing. "And I still ride motorcycles."
Almost together we said, "Maybe it's some sort of mental illness."
When you truly love something, you just can't stay away... even if you're partly broken.
I've learned that what causes my physical pain is not necessarily riding, but all the extra chores and work involved. Tacking up is difficult. So is blanketing a horse at night or putting on a fly sheet during the day. Even haltering a horse is hard. Anything that might cause my right arm to accidentally be stretched-- or yanked, as the case may be-- beyond its limits results in about 24 hours of unrelenting pain. And oddly, it's not while I'm doing the activity that makes me hurt. It's later, often hours later, that the pain starts. Sometimes it's so bad that I cry. Then I have to resort to taking pain meds, which knock me for a loop and give me insomnia. It's a vicious cycle that has to come to an end.
While awaiting a surgery that may alleviate some of the pain, I had to make a tough decision. I sold Wyatt.
It wasn't because he was a three-year-old, it was because he was a second horse that doubled the amount of physically taxing activity I had to do each day. Okay, part of it was because he was a three-year-old. That meant he needed longeing (which pulled on my arm) and long rides in a snaffle (which also pulled on my arm). And of course we had some rides that were generally a bit more "involved" than I had anticipated. In other words, to borrow an old saying, my spirit was willing but my flesh was very, very weak.
I'm sure there are lots of people who are reading this saying, "I told her so." Yeah, I guess those people were right. I had no business getting another horse right now, especially not one that was green and still required significant training. But in my defense I suppose I really wasn't ready to accept that I'm not the person I was before my accident. Can you blame me for avoiding that reality?
When I called my sister Jill on the phone, sobbing, telling her that I had decided I needed to sell Wyatt, she said calmly, "I was waiting for this day to come. You've finally realized that you have physical limitations."
Wyatt has gone to a good home. I sold him to a family that has 3 other horses and is well versed in caring for and riding a young horse. To be honest, Wally seems to be quite content that he is back to being King of My Heart. Once again he nickers almost seductively every time I come out the back door of my house. I really think he relishes all the attention. Despite some of his famous idiosyncracies and his funky personality, he is a relatively simple horse for me to care for. Plus, he neck reins beautifully on a loose rein, so when I ride him I can hold the reins in my left hand. Someday he'll have another horse as a barn mate, but first I have to see what lies ahead for me on the trail, medically speaking.
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