Mounting a horse from the ground with the use of one sole leg presents a challenge. Fortunately Lars is size smaller, so by lengthening the stirrup leather as far as I can and grabbing the saddle I manage to heave myself up onto his back as Heather is holding him steady. The Myopia 2-horse trailer is already en route. We really need flashing lights on that thing like the ambulance… it is not the first time it has had to respond to an emergency.
Little pony Spencer is soaked with sweat (who knew he was going hunting ahead of time…?) and hard of breathing, so for his and his rider’s safety, we pull him out of the hunt as well. I can tell his young rider is disappointed so I channel my energy away from my pounding, numb ankle to cheering her up the best I can. Perhaps I didn’t help her at all, but it at least helped me staying collected whilst waiting for assistance! Dismounting was easier – Lars really is a nice horse. But “nice” is followed by “horse” hence there is still an element of unpredictability involved.
Back at the barn I remove my riding boot to assess if I really need to go to the hospital. (I have a new appreciation for zippered boots.) The outside part of my ankle resembles more that of a really funky-looking root vegetable or gourd than a part of a human leg. I guess I must go. Sigh. Lucky I don’t travel to Argentina until eight weeks from now! One of my wonderful boarders insists on taking me right away. We just have to pick her car up down the street.
At the emergency room the staff smiles as I enter. “Another riding injury” they comment. Now I know where the other guy went. Without violating any hospital confidentiality, the nurse insinuates that he is also here, and doing OK. Wow! We can have our own Thanksgiving dinner! I am poked, prodded, and x-rayed in typical fashion, waiting for the doctor (in typical fashion) when the phone rings in my room. Strange, I think. It stops, and rings again at which point the nurse comes in and picks it up. I am in a neck brace so I can’t do a thing. She says it’s for me. Huh! Who knows I’m here? AND – who is not occupied with Thanksgiving but finds time to check on little me?
It’s another one of my borders – or perhaps it is an angel disguised as one. She announces that she is on her way and will be there in fifteen minutes. I protest “After all – it’s Thanksgiving!” “I have a whole staff here caring for me!” etcetera. My efforts wasted, she simply says “well I’m already out the door. See you in a minute.” How is that for a “shush your mouth”? Ginny arrives moments later with fresh flowers and continues to demonstrate how wonderful, warm, and generous a person she is: She stays until the poking, pulling, twisting, diagnosing (fractured fibula), and packaging (full cast) is complete, drives me to the barn, and insists I come with her to her house for Thanksgiving. How can I say no? I truly am thankful. Thankful to be surrounded by such wonderful people. I can’t help but smile thinking of the people who believe that the Myopia Hunt Club membership is made up by snobs…HA! I am obviously out of commission for the foreseeable future: So much for my promise of giving the staff Friday after Thanksgiving off.
What would you say if you were in a car accident and the driver of the other vehicle hopped out of the car with a solid cast on her right leg? Yup. I thought so. So would I.
Hence, after a few days of driving (only where necessary, I promise), including moving apartments I come to my senses and succumb to the fact that I am truly an invalid. I should add that the move is the easiest move ever: I watch my friends Kathy and John pack and move all my stuff, including my very crate-resistant cat. Times like these make some friends appear and others disappear. I wouldn’t recommend it but it’s an easy and effective way of weeding the good from bad.
Two days later, a true friend, Debbie, takes me shopping for necessities such as books, tea, a shower curtain, and toilet paper. After hopping around the store for two hours I realize I can stop worrying about losing my toned, hay-throwing muscles on arms and shoulders over the winter. At least not for the next six to eight weeks.