The horse wreck
It's been fifteen years or more since I started trail riding. So I've been lucky. Although I've been thrown, had a horse fall, been run thru countless briar patches, slid down some hills that made me want to throw up, had my arms and knees whacked on countless trees, and made a couple of slightly terrifying river crossings, this was my first major wreck.
Gwen and I decided to tag along with the Arkansas Trail Rider's Association on a ride from Woolum to Mt Hersey. Since this trail is near our new cabin, we wanted to see it. The ATRA gang was very welcoming and we had a nice ride out to the Mt Hersey river access, where we had lunch. We were halfway back to Woolum when disaster struck.
This trail had plenty of steep, rocky places, narrow trails and about 6 river or creek crossings. There were also lots of places wide enough for the 30+ riders to get bunched up and get everyone's horses stirred up. But that is not what happened. No, Rocky and I were the victims of plain bad luck. We were walking calmly down a smooth, flat trail. There was a washout in the trail and when he stepped down into it, like he has done 1000 times before, the loose dirt slid under his feet, and he turned a somersault. I say "he" turned it, because I only participated in about the first half.
As he went down, my right leg hit the ground with the force of a woman and a horse behind it. Crunch. I came off and hit the ground while he completed the somersault, partly in the gully and partly on me. OOF was the last coherent thought I had for a while. When everything stopped moving I was on the ground with one leg under the horse, staring at his hind legs. In a distant sort of way, I knew I should move before he started kicking me in the head. I understood the implications. I just couldn't move. Gwen (who had apparently teleported into the trail beside us) was simultaneously holding onto Rocky, pulling on my leg and yelling at me to get away from the horse. Somehow, she got my leg free of the horse and the tangle of reins. (No, my foot was not caught in the stirrup. I am not a greenhorn!) I scrambled to my feet, and my right ankle did this weird crunchy, wobbly thing.
Now, I am forty-five years old, and a combination of luck and good genes has so far prevented me from having broken bones. But it took my mind only a nanosecond to register crunchy/wobbly as WRONG. So I fell back down. A woman from the ATRA group sort of dragged me out of the trail. Then I was looking up at Gwen (who was still doing the teleportation thing) and said "my leg is broken, my right leg". Then everything was sort of gray for a while.
That nice little gray hazy feeling was very brief. Then several things returned all at once. Hearing, vision, clear thought.... I saw a group of trail riders getting Rocky up. And he was able to get up! And he was not, apparently, broken. I was so relieved at that!
Along with my other senses, however, my sense of PAIN!!!! had also returned. My ankle hurt. A lot. And it was still wobbly. Gwen had, on hearing me say that I had broken my ankle (not my leg, I was pointing to ankle and saying leg), had gone to get a splint and ace wrap out of her saddle bags. In the mean time, the other riders had gathered around Rocky and I to brush off the dirt, gather up far-flung equipment, and assess damage. Not knowing me, or that I was an ER nurse, they were not willing to accept my self-assessment! Gwen splinted and wrapped my ankle for me. Then the fun really began.
We must have been at least a couple of miles from the trail head. Maybe more. And there was no place accessible by vehicle. So. I was either going to ride out, or I was going to wait an hour or more for a rescue crew to get to me, then package me, then carry me out. Over a mountain and thru a river. No. Huh uh. Not. So back on the horse I must go. One of the riders asked me if I thought I could ride out. "Yes," I said "I think I can ride. I just don't know how I'm going to get on." As it turned out, I was going to be hoisted up and over by a group of gentlemen now collectively known as "my heroes". Someone gave me a couple of Aleve. I petted and praised my poor, shaken up, bruised and sore horse, and down the trail we went. Slowly. Very carefully dodging trees and bushes and anything else that might hit my foot.
Most of the other riders had gone ahead, some to alert the emergency services. But there was a group of about eight, all strangers to Gwen and I, who rode along with us, helped me navigate obstacles, offered advice and encouragement, distracted me with talk and jokes, and were just wonderfully supportive. I didn't even catch the names of most of these people but they were marvelously kind to us and in spite of the fact that I must have put a huge kink in their plans for the day. Someone mentioned that I would make the next edition of the "Roundup" in their trailride article. I sincerely hope they won't be quoting me.
Once we arrived to the truck the question was "How do I get OFF the horse?" Apparenlty the answer was to have someone swing my injured leg over and then sort of fall backwards and hope these guys catch me. Which they did, of course. But for someone with control issues, that was a bit much. However I was so extremely very glad to get down from that horse. The hour or so we spent riding back with my throbbing ankle dangling and bobbing around and feeling the bone clicking around in there had just about exhausted my supply of pithy remarks and patience.
Once I was stuffed into the back seat of the truck with jackets stuffed under my head and ankle,I looked up to see a Park Services Ranger standing at my head. He was about 12 years old. And had that big hat...... Anyway. He took my name and number, and let me know that there was both an ambulance and a HELICOPTER on the way for me. Do you want to go in the helicopter, ma'am? No. No I don't. And I'm not going in the ambulance either. This truck right here is taking me to Conway ER. Yes, I will sign your waiver. Yes, I'm sure. Goodbye now, little ranger boy.
And then Sherry, one of the ATRA riders and my new best friend, stuck HER head in the truck to ask if I could take hydrocodone. Oh heck YES. Yes I can! And no, I don't mind drinking after you to take it with your water bottle. Not at all. Did I mention that I love you?
So after a brief stop at the cabin to pick up my purse and the dogs, we were off to the ER. Poor Gwen, who had been serving as nurse, wrangler, rescuer and driver, was tired and hungry but wouldn't stop to get her dinner. By this time, the drugs had kicked in, and propped up with pillow and ice on my ankle, I was pretty content in the back seat of the truck. Except for the fact that Gwen had declared me NPO after a few sips of peach tea with my pill.
When we got to the ER, Gwen pulled up in the ambulance bay, where we were met by Kenneth, Persey and a wheelchair. Riding in a wheelchair when stoned is fun. Anyway...... they got me on a stretcher and got me properly tagged and identified and ordered an Xray. Then Kenneth, with a raised eyebrow and a hand on my boot, silently poses the question. Do we pull this off over your injured ankle and listen to you scream? Or do we cut it off and listen to you whine about your favorite boots? (and they really are, they are lined, waterproof Ariats and I love them) No, he didn't verbalize any of this. I understood the choices. And I picked option A. So with Ashley stablizing my leg and Kenneth pulling on the boot... well, it was still horrible. I yelled and said profane things. So they stopped. And I gritted my teeth and said "Just do it". So with a shrug (it's your leg, sister) they went on pulling and the boot was saved!!!
My coworkers and, in this case, nurses and doc, were great. But they did laugh at me a lot. I'm not sure why, tho I did hear Brooke say something about me being "hilarious when she's on drugs". Hmmm. I get his from my mom, who is also not a frequent drug user, and also a nut job when so medicated. Gwen suggested that I might hush, and save myself the later embarassment, but I heard Ashley say "oh no, let her talk!" There may be some blackmail in my future. But I don't care. Because once my Xrays were done, and my ankle officially broken, but not "surgery tonight" broken, Ashely gave me her own, cold, Diet Mt Dew. So I love her too.
We left the ER with my ankle in a boot, crutches and a lortab prescription in hand. My medial malleoulus is broken and the ligaments on the lateral ankle sprained and swollen. I have numerous small bruises and sore spots from the fall. But both my horse and I will live to ride again so I am calling myself lucky.
More than lucky, I am blessed. I have been the grateful recipient of numerous phone calls, texts, Facebook postings, visits and gifts of food, flowers, wine, shower chairs, and books. A bit of bad luck on the trail is no match for my wonderful friends, family and ER family. Though I am sure my patience will wear thin with forced chair rest in the coming weeks, and my butt may be permanently molded to the recliner, it is all only temporary!
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