Aww life transitions. This one kind of snuck up on me. I take that back, it hit me like a freight train going 80, or better yet, a 1600-lb horse flipping over on top of me. Yeah that's it. Nothing like waking up in the trauma unit to knock some sense into you.
I regress. August 8, 2011. I don't remember it. It's a complete blur. On occasion I think I have flashes of memory but my doctors have told me that's what happens when you experience a traumatic brain injury and have memory loss. Apparently my brain can't fathom the fact that the day is gone so it tries to piece information together and form memories that aren't actually there. Weird concept. They are kind of like dreams coupled with an anxiety attack. All I know is I took Tuff for a ride and he flipped over on me.
I have spent hours trying to put the puzzle together, granted I had 6 weeks to recover from the broken bones and 6 months to recover from the head trauma, so I had a lot of time on my hands. Tuff is an amazing horse. In fact, I had told his owner repeatedly that he was the exact kind of horse I would want to ride. He was beautiful. About 15.3 hands, solid black, with a super thick, stocky build and roaring energy. My kind of quarter horse and that boy could spin on a dime. He was extremely athletic, to the point where I could literally feel his energy course through me when we ran. It was electricity. His physical power was overwhelming. I rode him a few times before this, the first time with another rider while I was giving a lesson. I remember feeling foreign in the saddle. His movements took some getting used to because he was nervous. He was deathly afraid of cars and riding in Rancho Santa Fe, cars would speed pass every few seconds. I could feel his nerves beneath me. He would jump and bolt so quick that even as an experienced rider, it would catch me off-guard. I remember thinking this horse needs work and I could help him.
Before I knew it, I was hired to get this guy out a few times a week along with the other paint mare I rode for the same clients. I was excited but there was a sense of insecurity about the situation. Riding him wasn't the problem, it was consistently being on my game since this horse was so athletic and could throw me like a rag-doll if he felt so inclined.
A few rides went by effortlessly. Tuff and I were running around the Rancho Santa Fe golf course a few days a week, I felt confident and comfortable and he was obviously warming up to me. His power became normalcy as we flew around the trails together. After every ride his owner would get a phone call from me raving about how wonderful he was and how much better he was doing with cars. Then August 8th happened.
As I said, I don't remember waking up that morning. I don't remember anything until approximately 7pm when I came to at Scripps Memorial Hospital. According to the doctors I was found unconscious on the driveway next door to Tuff's house. A neighbor saw him running around the outside of his corral fully dressed in saddle and bridle with no rider. She knew something had gone wrong. When she walked down her driveway, there I was tangled on the pavement. She called 911.
The first thing I remember is seeing my Dad's face peering over the hospital bed. His full white beard and big blue eyes, glassy with tears. He let out a worrisome grunt. A sound I've heard for years when he is disappointed or worried. In this case, his baby-girl, the one who always loved horses was sitting in a blank-stare before him. The same strawberry blonde who at three years old he asked what she wanted for her birthday and she quickly replied, "a horsie." From that point forward his goal was to eventually fulfill that dream and on Christmas morning 1996 he surprised me with my very own horse.
Now looking at me in a neck brace, swollen cranium, glazed over appearance, being pumped with morphine, his worst fear was realized. My love of horses that he had fueled led me to this place, this hospital bed, unsure what the future would hold.
The room slowly started coming into focus as I entered my new reality. Welcome back Carli, your life has changed.
To be continued...
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Saturday, January 21, 2012
The Adventures of Patito: Part 1
Ah the baby duck story. Yes I raised a baby duck, a mallard to be exact. You may ask how the hell did this chick end up raising a duck? Well, here's how...
My incredibly tolerant roommate, Heather, and I were driving down from our place in Mammoth Lakes, CA to Bishop to float the Owen's River with some friends. It was the middle of Summer 2008, the weather was perfect, hot and dry. The water was chilly and still deep enough to keep our butt's from scratching along the bottom while we float on inner tubes, one holding a cooler filled with Bud and Coors Light, the others a few tipsy friends looking to relax and get a tan on a perfect Saturday. Just what a bunch of Mammothites needed to escape the sometimes suffocating small town that we called home.
As we entered Bishop on the 395, excited to start our adventure, we saw some cars slowing down in front of us. Curious and impatient, we peered around to see a 3 inch puff of black and yellow feathers waddling across the street, heading directly into oncoming traffic. Each car took a look and slowly started back toward their destination but I could not pull my horrified eyes away from what was about to happen. This baby duck, only two days old, had somehow been separated from his mother only to end up smack dab in the middle of a busy highway, dodging semi-trucks driven by oblivious men on a mission that didn't include braking for anything, especially a supposedly insignificant life.
I watched as the helpless duck took a few steps forward in front of a truck traveling at close to 35mph. I gasped as it sped passed and watched the whirlwind from the tires pick up the tiny bird and throw him back to where he started. He began to walk again, trying desperately to avoid the seemingly giant cars and trucks zooming across his path. Heather, watching in awe, looked at me and asked what we should do. My heart was in my chest, I was squinting at every car, every near death experience, panicking as I watched this little creature almost die a tragic death over and over. I screamed for her to stop the car. Without hesitation I swung the passenger door open, leaped out and ran to the median. Filled with the overwhelming need to do something, anything, I darted into the middle of the highway. A scream hit my lips as I watched the duck roll in the street after a car drove directly over him, the force sending him tumbling deeper into traffic. I couldn't think, I was overcome with irrational hatred for our way of life, for the carelessness of every driver whizzing past without even realizing the impact they were having. I held my breath and focused on nothing but the baby in front of me, helpless and scared. I ran. I ran without looking, I didn't care if I was hit, I didn't care what it took, I was going to save this duck. My legs propelled me forward at a speed I'd never experienced. I was weightless. I had a purpose. As I sprinted across the busy street I lowered my hand and felt my fingers wrap around cold feeble legs and lift the ball of feathers into the air all in one sweeping motion. Before I knew it, I was on the other side, panting as adrenaline rushed through my bones, standing in a grassy lot staring at my roommate still parked in the middle of the street. I was in shock. I looked down at the foreign object sitting peacefully in my hands as though nothing had happened. He was a baby. He had that look that every baby has no matter what their species, the innocent eyes, filled with curiosity and undeserved trust. He looked up at me as though he knew he was now OK, that's when I realized, in that moment of chaos, I had become Mama.
Heather pulled her car into the parking lot, looking at me like I was crazy and I'm sure, wondering what the hell I was going to do now. I figured I would walk around, check out the local stream and hopefully find a mother duck wandering around aimlessly but there were no ducks. Not a duck in sight. I decided to call the local bird rescue but since it was a weekend there was no answer. Now, running late to our floatopia, I made the decision that after all I'd done, I couldn't leave the little guy lost in the park just to end up back in the street so I decided I would raise him. Heather laughed when I told her my plan. This is where the tolerant part comes in, she somehow agreed, knowing the ridiculous amount of bird poop that would inevitably fill our rented condo.
A warmth came over me as I sat back down in the car and laid this perfect little being on my chest. He stared at me as I studied his form. Big round expressive eyes, soft rabbit like fluff where feathers would eventually grow in, a little yellow beak, and surprisingly big feet and long toes. I had grown up with animals but never birds and this one was alien to me. I had no idea where to start, how to feed him, or where he would sleep but none of that mattered. He was my responsibility and I would care for him the best I could. Step one, he would float the river with me.
We continued on our way to the Owen's, car packed with beer and floaties and one special stow away, my new found feathered love, Patito.
To be continued...
As we entered Bishop on the 395, excited to start our adventure, we saw some cars slowing down in front of us. Curious and impatient, we peered around to see a 3 inch puff of black and yellow feathers waddling across the street, heading directly into oncoming traffic. Each car took a look and slowly started back toward their destination but I could not pull my horrified eyes away from what was about to happen. This baby duck, only two days old, had somehow been separated from his mother only to end up smack dab in the middle of a busy highway, dodging semi-trucks driven by oblivious men on a mission that didn't include braking for anything, especially a supposedly insignificant life.
I watched as the helpless duck took a few steps forward in front of a truck traveling at close to 35mph. I gasped as it sped passed and watched the whirlwind from the tires pick up the tiny bird and throw him back to where he started. He began to walk again, trying desperately to avoid the seemingly giant cars and trucks zooming across his path. Heather, watching in awe, looked at me and asked what we should do. My heart was in my chest, I was squinting at every car, every near death experience, panicking as I watched this little creature almost die a tragic death over and over. I screamed for her to stop the car. Without hesitation I swung the passenger door open, leaped out and ran to the median. Filled with the overwhelming need to do something, anything, I darted into the middle of the highway. A scream hit my lips as I watched the duck roll in the street after a car drove directly over him, the force sending him tumbling deeper into traffic. I couldn't think, I was overcome with irrational hatred for our way of life, for the carelessness of every driver whizzing past without even realizing the impact they were having. I held my breath and focused on nothing but the baby in front of me, helpless and scared. I ran. I ran without looking, I didn't care if I was hit, I didn't care what it took, I was going to save this duck. My legs propelled me forward at a speed I'd never experienced. I was weightless. I had a purpose. As I sprinted across the busy street I lowered my hand and felt my fingers wrap around cold feeble legs and lift the ball of feathers into the air all in one sweeping motion. Before I knew it, I was on the other side, panting as adrenaline rushed through my bones, standing in a grassy lot staring at my roommate still parked in the middle of the street. I was in shock. I looked down at the foreign object sitting peacefully in my hands as though nothing had happened. He was a baby. He had that look that every baby has no matter what their species, the innocent eyes, filled with curiosity and undeserved trust. He looked up at me as though he knew he was now OK, that's when I realized, in that moment of chaos, I had become Mama.
Heather pulled her car into the parking lot, looking at me like I was crazy and I'm sure, wondering what the hell I was going to do now. I figured I would walk around, check out the local stream and hopefully find a mother duck wandering around aimlessly but there were no ducks. Not a duck in sight. I decided to call the local bird rescue but since it was a weekend there was no answer. Now, running late to our floatopia, I made the decision that after all I'd done, I couldn't leave the little guy lost in the park just to end up back in the street so I decided I would raise him. Heather laughed when I told her my plan. This is where the tolerant part comes in, she somehow agreed, knowing the ridiculous amount of bird poop that would inevitably fill our rented condo. A warmth came over me as I sat back down in the car and laid this perfect little being on my chest. He stared at me as I studied his form. Big round expressive eyes, soft rabbit like fluff where feathers would eventually grow in, a little yellow beak, and surprisingly big feet and long toes. I had grown up with animals but never birds and this one was alien to me. I had no idea where to start, how to feed him, or where he would sleep but none of that mattered. He was my responsibility and I would care for him the best I could. Step one, he would float the river with me.
We continued on our way to the Owen's, car packed with beer and floaties and one special stow away, my new found feathered love, Patito.
To be continued...
Friday, January 20, 2012
Just the Beginning
Many of you may not know this, some of you do, but I used to write A LOT. I was into politically infused poetry in college and was an avid journal writer but over the last few years, things changed. Now I can't even tell you where my journal is let alone the few small UCSB publications I used to cherish, probably in a box packed in Anza with the rest of my past. That storage unit that somehow turns into a black hole filled with old yearbooks, love letters, and the occasional half melted scented candle, still potent through years of dust and mildew. Memories of another time, another life, something so foreign I don't even recognize it except there's my name in big black sharpie staring at me, screaming "Yes this is you!".Crap. I don't want to admit that I was once a love struck college student journaling about some guy who loved me and left me and blah blah blah. Or, maybe I do. Maybe that's the good stuff and maybe, just maybe it's a revelation to see how much I've changed and how much I am the same. So here it is, the stories of my life, the transition from a 3 year old ballerina in a chicken costume to the woman I am today. My little existence that to some is irrelevant but to me is everything.
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