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...
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