Here we go again. New year, same story. It’s a different actor this time though, as now it’s my beloved Beau who’s ringing in the new year on stall rest and not me. I was gleefully looking forward to the first off season in three years where I could do the thing you’re supposed to do in the off season. You know, train…
Life has this funny way of re-routing all of the chapters I want to write. I was training for a marathon when I broke my leg. I dreamed of what that would feel like, all the battles to be fought and won as I trained, I saw that finish line in my mind’s eye. In an instant, that story line was gone and replaced with surgery and 12 weeks unable to walk. I was planning a victorious comeback last fall, and had been steadily working towards new goals when I learned I had to have surgery, again. There went those hopes and dreams. Another chapter on the cutting room floor.
And that brings us to the present.
Beau was going better than he ever had. There was power in the trot. He was becoming more sensitive to the seat aids in the lateral movements. And most exciting of all, he was really starting find a new degree of collection in the canter. I felt like we were on the right track heading towards our goal of Fourth Level in the new year. Then one day something was just not quite right.
Soon after that, it became apparent that he was very not right and as fast I could, I had him on a trailer heading toward a specialty vet clinic in Ohio. I had not slept in days. I could barely eat. I couldn’t focus at work. I was just sick with worry, knowing in my gut that whatever answers awaited us were not going to be good ones. And unfortunately, my gut was right. Even though I knew deep down I was not going to get good news, I still was not prepared to see that ultrasound which revealed a tear in the suspensory ligament.
In that single moment, each dream I held for our future was erased. Each goal we were working towards, halted. Another chapter re-written. I was doing a pretty good job of holding it together until the diagnostic stages were completed and it was time to decide what to do next. I was about to answer a simple question posed by the vet, when Beau turned his head and looked at me with those giant brown doe-eyes. My heart shattered when I looked into his eyes and the only sound that came out of my mouth was an uncontrollable sob.
It remains impossible to put into words the overwhelming emotion that moment held. In those giant eyes, I saw the soul of a creature that had given me more than I could ever ask for. I felt overwhelming gratitude for my boy, my once-in-a-lifetime horse. I felt pain at letting go of the dreams I held for us and I felt grief for the loss of everything we’d worked so hard to do. I felt confusion and panic at trying to balance the medical, financial, and emotional considerations that went into planning his rehabilitation. In the days that followed, I bounced between hopeful delusions that he would make a miraculous recovery and unshakable despair that life as I knew it was over. It took a week for the emotion roller coaster to run its course then I clicked into gear: I had a new goal. Work tirelessly day in and day out to get this horse better, whatever “better” may mean at the end of 6 months.
Each day, the sadness was replaced with a sense of purpose. This horse has carried me through all the trials and tribulations of my adult life. He has made dreams come true. He has taught me everything I know about dressage, about horsemanship, and an awful lot about life. When I was broken, he helped me heal. The universe was just giving me a chance to return the favor.
So each day, we walk. Week by week, we walk a little bit more. I stand in the rain and watch him eat grass. I take wraps off, put wraps on. I groom him daily so he glows like a show horse ought to. I put ice packs on the injured leg and treat it with light therapy. I massage him weekly to help with the stiffness that comes with stall rest. And each time I use my hands to release tension, ease soreness, help him relax, I feel grateful that I have this skill to help my best friend feel better.
This is not the chapter I planned to write this winter, not by a long shot. I like to believe it’s possible that it has a happy ending, even if it is not the ending I hoped for or dreamed of. I’m searching for the silver linings which will surely be there–they always are. I have become more conscious about how the simple act of being around horses makes me feel whole. How listening to hooves clicking down a barn aisle and the happy sound of teeth munching hay bring me peace. How a day revolving around walking him in circles for 15 minutes somehow feels like a day well worth while.
In the new year, we look forward to challenges to come. But as horse people, we don’t always get to choose our own challenges. The last couple chapters in my own broken leg diary have taught me a thing or two about healing, and the parallels the healing process shares with training: patience, consistency, determination. We’ve got this. Just 159 days to go…