My name is Gayle Andrew. I and my twelve-year-old son Devin are the two people that you crashed into on June 3rd, 2001. Putting it simply, you have changed our lives for ever. Most of these past six months I have been in Albany Medical Center or Laurel Lake Nursing Home. I have been in so much pain I could barely hold a conversation, read a book, or at times, even watch a half hour television show. Most of the two months I was at Albany Medical, I was on high doses of narcotics in order to get me from surgery to surgery. Therefore, I have little memory of this time. Most of the bones in my body were broken or fractured. One nurse took the time to count 123 breaks and or fractures which she then discovered was a new record. My left shoulder was dislocated and fractured, my left elbow was smashed and reconstructed leaving me more metal than bone, as were both knees. My right knee still has an inch and three quarters of bone to grow on a fabricated matrix before I can even begin rehabilitation. I also sustained a fractured pelvis, six broken ribs which caused my lungs to collapse twice and one lung to disattach twice. My gall bladder was destroyed and removed and my liver slightly lacerated and bruised. Both my wrists were broken, and my left forearm was shattered. Three leg bones were broken in addition to my shattered kneecaps, and also my right foot was broken and pinned. Until my right leg bone finishes growing, if it does, I live with the very real fear of amputation. Every time I see my orthopedic physician, he reminds me of this fact. I still cannot put any weight on my right leg or move it much at all. My left arm still moves little without help. I still cry a good portion of my days either from pain or sadness. At this point I still need assistance with even the most simple things in life. Bathing, brushing my teeth, getting dressed, eating, are all things I need help with. Even going to the bathroom is a major event, especially when I am away from home at a doctor’s visit. At times I even need help coming up with my words because of all the drugs I still need. At some juncture, I will have to deal with coming off the drugs. On June 28th, I was to begin a new career doing private consulting at Canyon Ranch with my partner, Jess Kielman. I had been lecturing with her once a week, but now I am uncertain as to when I will be able to return. As for the twenty hours a week of consulting, I have no clue as to when that will be possible. So far I am tolerant of only about three hours in my wheelchair. At the time of the accident I was enrolled in a certification program which also has been aborted. It is an intensive training one weekend a month. I don’t know when I will be able to sit that long. My social life has been limited to hospital visits. Even now after almost a month of being home, many friends are reluctant to disturb me with a visit in case I am sleeping, doing therapy, or having a “bad” day. As for my sporty life, I miss it terribly. My new cross country skis will sit unused this year, and perhaps longer. I don’t know if or when I will return to skiing, golfing, racquetball, canoeing, hiking, and practicing soccer with Devin.
I have missed six months of my son’s life. I could not be there for him when he was hurt and needing me nor was I there for his healing process in the hospital, at home, during the pain of physical therapy, or the angst of his trauma counseling. He has had his nose and toes broken. His wrist was broken as was his ankle. His ankle was broken at the growth plate. He remembers most of the accident. The horror of watching his mother barely holding on to life, the pain within his own body, the panic of believing that the car was on fire when indeed it was just powder from inflating airbags, him trying to free me from the clutches of the crushed car, and his refusal to leave the car until the jaws of life arrived to make sure I was taken care of first, the stress of separation as I was medi-vacked to Albany while he remained at BMC, all still make me cry. This accident has changed him in ways that I still am discovering. Devin was disappointed at not being able to play with other children all summer. He was truly sad to miss the three or four soccer camps that he routinely participates in, but most of all, he lives to play soccer for both Pine Cobble and the YMCA. This loss was devastating. The nightmares that haunted him for months later, the fear of riding in a car, the loss of his mom reading and talking with him just before closing his eyes at night, the change of night-time habits of homework and helping around the house, are some of the many things Devin and I have missed terribly. He was in the hospital during his finals at Pine Cobble, but was able to attend his graduation in a wheel chair with the aid of pain killers. Of course I could not attend this event. Devin missed the YMCA travel soccer playoffs and will be unable to play for another six months. I could not be at any of his school activities including the recent all important parent/teacher conferences that is key to his success scholastically.
All of my family and friend’s lives have also been affected. The worry, the time spent in caring for me, cheering and encouraging me, and traveling to me, the extra expenses of travel and hotel stays, the inconvenience of sleeping on chairs in my hospital room, the work days and earnings missed, all have been extremely stressful. Jess was waiting for me to come home on June 3rd, but instead of walking through the door, the Williamstown police called telling her that I had been in a serious accident. What a horrible shock. After ten years of being together she was suddenly faced with doctors telling her that I might not make it through those four initial surgeries. My parents, who are seventy-nine and eighty-two, and Jess never left my side for the first five days believing that I could die at any time. My father promised me that I would never have a day without a visitor. Jess missed three weeks of work in order to sit beside me, and has reduced her work schedule still by one third in order to do the many care taking efforts that I require. Since I have been home these three weeks, she has had to convert our home for wheelchair accessibility, including turning our beautiful downstairs living room into a hospital bedroom. She built a long ramp in order to get me into the house. Many of our dreams, hopes, and desires as well as our budding business have been put on hold. She now takes care of me and is exhausted most of the time. Just two nights ago, my knee and shoulder became infected again and she had to set the alarm for meds every two hours. We have missed our vacation with the children in June and our own in November. In August, my twenty-one year old step-daughter moved into her first apartment. It was pushed by the loneliness of her coming home to an empty house. Rebecca and I would have enjoyed going shopping and decorating together. I have yet to see her new home because it is on the second floor.
Lionel, I hope you realize how much pain you have brought to so many people. Whatever the court decides today, I hope you can take it with good grace and find within yourself the courage to think about and grow from this experience. Just as I am trying to make the best of a bad situation, I hope that you can do the same.
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Sunday, June 3rd
“He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.”
- Frederish Nietzsche
That was the first card I pulled from the pouch that Becca made for you when you found out you had cancer in your hand, but that’s a story for later. Someone here in the waiting room at Albany Medical Center suggested that we keep a journal during your stay. I don’t know if you will ever want to read this, but it’s as much for me as it is for you. It keeps me from going crazy when they won’t let me sit in the ICU room with you.
On Sunday afternoon while you were on your way to Pine Cobble, a 17 year old boy from Worthington was returning from a lunch in Williamstown and lost control of his Dodge Dakota truck on Route 7 in Williamstown. He apparently struck one vehicle without doing much damage at all, then careened off slamming into you and Devin. I was at work filling in for Thea. I had called at three to see how things were going at home, and you had told me that you were heading up to Pine Cobble to look for Devin’s French book. The accident occurred at quarter past four.
I got the call from the Williamstown Police at quarter to six. I had started to worry a half hour earlier, and was about to call around to see if you were at your folk’s house or something. My heart sank as the officer said that you had been involved in an accident. “A fender bender? I asked hopefully.” The answer was “No. It’s very serious.” He said that you and Devin were at Berkshire Medical Center. I flew. Larry and Gail were already there and shaking and crying. One of the nurses, Susan Roth or Ross, was wonderful. She got me in to see you and Devin as quickly at possible. You whispered in my ear, “They say I’m going to make it, but I’m not so sure.” I stroked your hair and insisted, “You’re going to be fine! I’m psychic, remember!” When they said that Devin was staying but you were being heliported to Albany Med, I kissed Devin goodbye and told him I would take good care of you. I called Becca on her cell phone, told her you’d been in a serious accident, and asked if she felt okay to drive home. She insisted she could, so I took off for home. I gathered up some stuff knowing I’d be out of town for a while. It’s odd what goes through your head at moments like this. I put on my “lucky” teal and yellow polo shirt, the yellow pullover you love to look at, and the earrings that Devin gave me that I noticed on my night stand. But did I pack any other clothes? Or even underwear? No! I did put in contact stuff, toothbrush, near empty tube of toothpaste, and a hairbrush. I made a bunch of phone calls: my mother to take care of our dog Ginger, Lisa to take care of Larry and Gail, Ellie Persip to take care of your folks, Cherie to take care of canceling work, and Ann to pull together prayer groups. I had Becca to take care of me and Nate to take care of Becca.
As we sat in the car waiting for Nate to arrive, we first heard and then saw the helicopter rise up from the trees, hover, then take swoop quickly to the west. “Bye, honey. I’ll be with you soon.” That was the first I cried. Once in Albany, it was a waiting game. We arrived at 8:15ish. By 9:30, we hadn’t heard anything. I made the kids go get food and bring it back. Becca and I shared a turkey sandwich. It went down hard but I knew we needed to take care of ourselves and keep our energy up. Dr. Max Alley was the first doctor I talked to. He explained that you were in x-ray being scanned all this time and that as soon as they were done he’d take you in for surgery. He warned us that there could be many. He walked us all to surgical waiting. At 11:00 I told Becca to find us all a hotel. She was great! She asked security for a close and clean place. They recommended the Quality Inn about fifteen minutes away. Forty-five a night for hospital folks with a 24 hour shuttle. By 11:30P.M. they were gone. It was better for them to sleep and me to be alone. I paced, sat, watched TV, walked outside in the near full moon (not good!), tried not to worry, and prayed. Max came and got me at 11:45 and told me where to wait so that I could see you between scanning and surgery. He sat with me long enough to hear me blubber on about how upset your hand surgeon Bill Morgan would be to know that you been hurt. “I’m Bill Morgan trained!” he said with great pride. What wonderful words. I will never forget them. It made me know that you were being watched over.
Monday, June 4th
“How a person masters his fate is more important than what his fate is.”
- Wilhelm Von Humboldt
At midnight they wheeled you out and left you in the hall outside of surgery where I got to stroke your hair and kiss your forehead for five minutes. It was hard to see you in so much pain, but you looked pretty good for what you were going through. You talked again about how you weren't sure you were going to make it, but I just kept reassuring you that everything would turn out okay. All too soon, you were wisked away. I felt lost and alone. There was the love of my life going into a room where strangers were going to try to put her back together. Knowing that thought is energy, I repeatedly reminded myself that you deserved better than my worry and tears. The tears of empathy I could accept, but the tears over what might be I fought back. You were in surgery until four in the morning. Max came out to tell me what they did and again took me to where I needed to wait next. He gave me your anklet and rings telling me it might be a while before they would let me in to see you. Wait. Watch TV. Pace. Stare into the ICU. Cry. Wait. Sleep ten minutes. Pace. At 7AM a nurse came out. As she walked past she must have seen the look on my face. “Are you alright?” “Yes,” I said crying. She knew who I was waiting for because she had seen me through the doors. “It really won’t be much longer,” she assured me. Finally at 7:30 they let me in. What a relief to see your face and know that you had made it this far. Becca and Nate returned at 9ish. Your folks were here with Ellie by 9:30. It was a long day watching and waiting. The first surgery was to clean up the gash in your left arm. There were no other major flesh wounds. You had a broken left leg bone which they put a rod and pins into to stabilize. Both knee caps and pelvis were shattered. They put a screen around one or both kneecaps. I’m still a little fuzzy on a few things. They pinned and I believe plated your right foot. That was all you could tolerate for now. Max explained that the traction on you left leg might allow your pelvis to heal on its own. Hip surgery is too major after such a trauma, and there is usually only about a one month window to do it in, he explained.
Many phone calls were made, and many trips into the ICU were made when we allowed to go in and sit with you. Our favorite nurse, Callie, was your day nurse and said we could put up pictures, a balloon or two, no flowers, and later we could bring in a tape recorder. I took Devin’s soccer picture out of my checkbook and taped it over your head on the metal traction bar. I kept telling you that Devin was fine. He had a broken ankle and a broken wrist, both of which were set non-surgically and casted. All the studies indicate that even though unconscious, words are heard or experienced in some way. I wanted to be sure that if you could hear me that you knew what had happened to Devin and that I loved you.
Becca and Nate went home around noon to take care of things, visit Devin, and get me clothes, UNDERWEAR! Grampa and Ellie went home after supper to get him to rest. He was a mess! Your mom and I took the shuttle back to the hotel at 10:30PM. It was hard to leave you, but they said that you were VERY stable, and we’d better get some rest. We were reluctant to leave, but they assured us that we could call at any hour. We called at midnight and later at 6AM. Both times you were very sedated and still stable.
Tuesday, June 5th
“The art of life lives in a constant readjustment to our surroundings.”
- Okakura Kukuzo
This morning they decided you were in good enough condition to go in to do more surgery. Max had explained that we had a week long window on the legs and arms, so we figured you were doing really well to be heading to surgery again so soon.
The first call from anyone outside of immediate family was from my boss Cherie at about one in the afternoon. It was so wonderful to hear the concern and the love in her voice. She said she got my message and everything at work would be taken care of. She asked me to update her on your condition and if there was anything the people at The Ranch could do not to hesitate to ask, meals for Becca and Devin, a car while we’re here. When we got back to the hotel, there was a printed e-mail from Dawn at the Ranch expressing their concern for what “our family” was going through and that arrangements had been made with the accountant at the Quality Inn to pay for the first five nights. What a wonderful place to work. I appreciated their reaching out in such a way.
When I called Becca, to let her know that you were going to be operated on in the afternoon, she told me all about Devin and who had called him and who had visited and how well he was doing. Then she cracked me up saying, “I thought you guys only had two friends in the whole world!” I laughed at her ability to make a joke in the middle of all this. “The phone is ringing off the hook. And with the number of people who want to bring flowers and plants, you could open a nursery. I slept with your phone, my phone, and my cell phone. Can you believe someone called at eight in the morning? Good God!” She said that when she went to the Williamstown police station to pick up your purse, they all wanted to know how you were, and “how’s her son?” and if there was anything they could do they would. Then she told us that Mel & Richard called to see if there was anything they could do. Mel told Becca that they shut down their whole building for a few minutes of prayer. She also said that Ann had called every synagogue, church, and prayer group in Berkshire county.
Your surgery went very well. They started at four and ended at eight. Oh, yeah. Earlier in the day, they put in a filter to stop the fat globules that are released with the blood when you break long bones. Those clots can travel through the heart and go to the lungs causing an embolism. In this surgery, they set your left wrist and right elbow and wrist. They were surprised when they checked your shoulder. What they thought was a fracture turned out to be a dislocation. Any little good new is what we focus on right now. In the surgical waiting room you had a few people who had come up to be with you. Of course your mother and I were already there, but your dad came with Ellie and Linda. Ann and Becca came together, and then my mother, Fred, John, and Tom were there. I think that’s eleven. Yup! eleven! As soon as they came up to tell us you were done and doing well, my mother et al said their goodbyes and went home. After Grampa went in to make sure you were really okay, he and Ellie and Linda went home. Becca was torn. She wanted to stay. She wanted to go. I left it up to her. She decided to stay, but while we were saying goodbye to Ann, she said she wanted to see you one more time then she’d go. Poor thing.
Okay, so the quote thing. All the while I’m with you I’m struggling with how to communicate with you. Sure. You were nodding “yes” and “no” to pain, or can’t breath, or upset, but I wanted to get more complicated message from you somehow. We had asked Becca to bring pictures of Devin, a tape player, and tapes. She did that and added your white satin pouch of sayings that she'd made for you when you were going through cancer. Along with the quotes there are also a few jokes. She printed them on her computer, cut them up into small pieces, then laminated each one so that they would last forever. So what I would do is close my eyes, focus deeply, and ask your high self to communicate with me. Before the cards came I simply repeated over and over silently to you, “Whatever your destiny is, I will support your choices.” So now I had a tool. I reached in and got the quote I put at the beginning of your journal. “He who has a why to live for can bear almost any how.” And so everyday I would find your message. I also used it for my own guidance and will share that with you, too.
Wednesday, June 6th
“What is dumber than 2 brunettes that tried to build a house
at the bottom of the ocean?
The 2 blondes that tried to burn it down!”
- Web Joke
I guess today is supposed to be a bit lighter. That’s the first time one of Becca’s jokes came out of the bag. Not much good or bad today. You were pretty sedated and out of it most of the time. Thank God! We connected a lot with Annette, an older Jewish woman from Miami who reminds me of Gramma Gillon, and her granddaughter Molly, who is studying for the law boards at the end of July. Your folks and I really enjoy them. They are the mother and daughter of Glenn Perry who is a few doors down from you. Lovely people. He was thrown from a new horse at his farm/retreat center in Berne, NY. When the two of you are well again, we’ll be going for a visit.
Did I tell you that all the gloves here are purple? Now that’s good Feng Shui! And you’ll be happy to know when you’re better that I did Feng Shui in the hotel room I put the picture of you from my desk and from yours “Grow Old With Me” in the Love Sector, my white alarm clock and new silver watch fob that I bought Sunday in Children sector, blue sneakers in Wisdom when I’m not wearing them, moved a green chair and draped my green jeans over it, also my black suitcase on the floor between Wisdom and Family since the door’s in career, a purple file folder full of bills in Wealth, a jug of red juice on top of a red Gideon Bible in Fame, and a folded yellow blanket in Health with a prayer for you on yellow paper (a piece of an envelope from a Get Well card) in one of those red boxes we never used from the Goddess ritual kit Mel gave us, which for some reason was still in my suitcase.
Thursday, June 7th
“Cherish your visions and your dreams, as they are the children of your soul and the blueprints of your ultimate acheivements.”
- Napoleon Hill
I waited too long to write anything for this day, but I did save the quote. Can’t really remember anything except you sleeping a lot. I still spend a lot of time wondering why, then just affirming that you know best what is your destiny. I will respect and suppport whatever you need to do in your life with or without understanding.
Friday, June 8th
“Success is a state of mind.”
- Joyce Brothers
Friday was an uneventful day. The only good news was that you were tolerating the liquid food (the white more nutritious stuff). There was no bad news. Your dad brought your mom home till Sunday. I keep stroking your hair and humming the Cris Williamson lullaby, “Like a ship on the ocean. Like a mother and child. Like a light in the darkness. I’ll hold you awhile. We’ll rock on the water. I’ll cradle you deep. And hold you while angels sing you to sleep.” I only hope that when I’m humming, you are hearing angels and not me. Don’t want to bring on a migraine. Sometimes I change to the Jain healing chant just so I don’t drive you completely crazy with the same thing over and over.
Saturday, June 9th
“You have to have faith that there is a reason you go through certain
things. I can’t say I’m glad to go through pain, but in a way one
must, in order to gain courage and really feel joy.”
- Carol Burnett
I didn’t pull a card (from the bag of quotes that Becca made when Gayle had cancer) until later in the evening because you had such a good day. Your mom and I went for a walk around three, and two blocks from the hospital we discovered Washington Park. First we saw what looked like a little park, then gravel walking paths and flowers, then a pond reflecting a building. It turned out to be a beautiful, brightly painted outdoor theater. Out the back door was the pond and people were fishing. We walked some more and discovered a tree that looked all the world like the tree on your Integrative Acupressure sign. I put my arms around it and asked it to make your bones strong again. Then there was a wading pool with a huge rock waterfall with a sculpted Zeus on top and four other figures. When you’re better, we’ll take you there. Callie, our favorite nurse, said that they have a spectacular tulip festival on Mother’s Day weekend. I put it in the reminder calendar for next year. On the way home we stopped for ice cream (I had frozen yogurt and only ate half) and we did a couple scratch tickets. I won two dollars but lost it to your mom in a bet that her second ticket was a winner. It wasn’t so she got my two dolLarrys. It was good to take a giggle break as well as walking. I keep reminding myself how important it is to stay well, rested, and exercise so that I can go the distance with you. I’m still on my diet hoping to be one hundred and fifty pounds by the time you’re out of the hospital and going into rehab.
Jerilee tried to get in to see you, but they were doing something and she had to get to the airport to pick up someone. I didn’t catch who. It was such a pleasant surprise to see someone from home, someone who loves you so much. I gave her a thorough update. She left us with a planter basket with the coconut liner and filled with fruit and goodies. I gave your malted milk balls to the nurses. Mel told me to give them treats and be sure to tell them who they’re from. Mel insists you get better care, so I handed them over with little compunction. I’ll get you more when you can have solids. But I didn’t offer the Paul Newman’s dark chocolate raspberry expresso bar. NO WAY!!
So you had had such a uneventful day, we thought we might take our first early night. At 7:30 when we were thinking of leaving, you started to fuss. By eight you were in so much pain and struggling with reflux and coughing that there was no way we were leaving. We asked you questions and figured what was going on. You are amazing in the way you are able to communicate with head nods and expressions. I had my hand on your chest to comfort you and felt a rattle. The nurse checked it out and it helped her to know that you needed the suction put back on your chest tube. She figured that for some reason you started to form fluid in the chest cavity after they thought you were nearly done. Good thing they hadn’t pulled the tube prematurely. Your mom and I were getting pretty angry that the chest x-ray was taking so long, but by 9:30 it was finally done. It took them until 10:00 before it was developed and seen by a doctor. In the mean time, you had us both in tears with all the pain you were in. On several occasions your blood pressure was 162 over 88. At your worst, it was 183 over 92. Debbie, your night nurse, was also concerned.
Just before the x-ray was done, I called to see how Devin made out. He told me how he went to the soccer game and was made honorary captain. They wheeled him to the center of the field for the coin toss then gave him the official coin to keep. He was pretty pleased about that but was disappointed in the game. They got creamed - 8 to 1! I reminded him that they’re all still pretty shook up about his injuries. I gave him a slightly modified version of your problems so as not to worry him any more than necessary. But I don’t want to tell him how wonderful you are either. Then he’ll know we’re lying through our teeth. I try to keep my morning email updates on the chipper side while still giving him accurate information.
The chest x-ray was normal, so they determined that they’d need to put the suction on your chest tube again. By 11:00, there was enough fluid removed that you were down to 120’s over 60’s. We went to the hotel and collapsed. At midnight I called and you were fine. At 1:30 Becca called. She was home from working the Williams College Reunion. I had told her to feel free to call. We talked a little about the trouble you had but that it was resolved. Then she couldn’t contain herself. She had opened the mail and wanted to tell me about a note from Richard and Mel that accompanied a check for a rather large amout “to cover the extra cost of gas and phone and unexpected stuff.” We were both in tears of amazement and appreciation for the generousity of friends. She also told me that The Ranch had called offering help and that your chiropractor, Dave, had lit candles for you at the outdoor santuary on Route 20 in New Lebanon, NY. I told her that he had also paid for two nights of my hotel stay. We ended the conversation uplifted by the generousity and compassion around us.
Sunday, June 10th
“In the middle of every difficulty lies opportunity.”
- Albert Einstein
I called at 6:30 and you were okay, so your mother and I took leisurely showers and I emailed Devin his morning update. We got there at 8:30 and you seemed better. There was only a small rattle. By noon the rattle was gone. Today is the first day you don’t have rosy cheeks though. You are a bit yellow. You’ve got Callie today and she agreed with my, “She looks a bit livery today.” She said she'd noticed and was going to take some blood for testing. She explained that the body shoots off all kinds of fat globules that the liver has to deal with. Also, you haven’t had a bowel movement of any kind yet, so she’s going to try a suppository. If that doesn’t work, she’ll be giving you an enema. Honey, I’m praying you poop soon!
It’s 3:30 and you’ve been in and out of excruciating pain, nausea, and difficulty breathing. It’s been going on and off since about one. I don’t know whether or not it’s better if we weren’t there. I’ll draw an extra card. I am aware that it has now been one week since the accident. Perhaps your body is reacting to that.
“Life is eternal and love is immortal and death is only a horizon
and horizon is nothing save the limit of our sight.”
- Unknown
I’m not sure I should have pulled a card at that moment, but that’s the message I got for myself. I remember you saying before you were taken to the helicopter that you weren’t sure you were going to make it, so it’s not like I haven’t tried to ready myself for that possibility. I have had as my mantra from Sunday: Whatever is your destiny, I will support you in your decisions. So, after reading that at 4:15P.M., I vector splattered (our family expression for losing control) and went back to the hotel room to cry and perhaps sleep. Unfortunately the key wasn’t activated and I had to go back down to the lobby. I was tired, frustrated and really trying hard to keep a stiff upper lip, but two of the women at the desk grabbed me and dragged me into their office for hugs and more tears. They were so nice. The key was fixed and I went to my room to crash. At 6:45P.M. I woke feeling more in control again. On the way back to the hospital, I realized that I had lost it one week to the minute. Watching you in such unimaginable pain, not being able to speak, and us not knowing what to do is a nightmare. Your mother and father and Ellie and Linda went home shortly after I left. I called and your mother said she also lost it. When I saw you, you seemed better and the nurse said you had a very small bowel movement. Oh, thank goodness!
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Table of Contents
Photo Journal
Gayle The Jewelry Maker
Jess The Photographer
The Back Cover
Help Line
Contact |
I remember well how I felt when I first arrived at the barn in March of 2005. My throat was tight and my heart was pounding. Would I be able to stretch my legs over the width of a horse? And would these men, Joe and Mark, my first instructor and my side walker, be able to get me on? Would I be able to sit upright long enough to relax? Would it be fun? Or would it hurt? Had I gained so much weight since the accident that they wouldn't be able to get me on the horse? And how the hell was I going to get off?
When I met Joe and Mark, I found them to be quiet spoken and down-to-earth. I learned in that first lesson that each had a child who had used Equus Therapy for years, and so they were true believers in the concept of using horseback riding as physical and emotional therapy.
With much trepidation, I let Jess push me in my wheelchair up the specially made ramp in the indoor ring. Then I stood and positioned myself next to the horse facing in the same direction. Joe stood at Saint’s head as I picked up my right leg and gently swung it over the saddle. Mark held the lead rope and gently guided my leg over and around the horse. Saint stood perfectly still. Oh, My God! I was on! And, Holy Smokes! I was so high off the ground! As Saint took his first steps, so did I…towards a feeling of independence. As I was lead round and round the ring, I began to hope and dream that someday I would be able to take control of the reins and move through space, not on my own legs, but at least according to my own will, to turn left or right as I chose, or ride through the woods like I used to hike, enjoying the sounds of the birds and the wind through the trees, the smell of the decomposing leaves or blooming flowers. Oh, how I missed these things. I had almost given up on them. Later, I met a woman who shared with me a famous quote that matched my emotions in that moment: To ride a horse is to borrow freedom.
When Joe asked me to be aware of my body, I quieted my exuberance and focused. Boy, was I shocked. Everything felt wrong. Even though it had been three and a half years since the accident, I was still very physically challenged. My legs felt as though they were crammed into and past my joints. My arms felt pinched and short. My trunk felt unyielding. And it all hurt. As Saint took his first few steps, I was sure I would fall off. I didn’t seem to be able to move with his gentle sway. I took a big breath in and a long breath out, and I forced myself to become aware of the big, strong-muscled creature beneath me. I knew quickly that I could trust this horse, and over a time, we developed an understanding. We trusted in each other’s patience, but as those first few minutes passed and my deep breathing continued, it took all my concentration to get my legs to let go of their tension. Slowly and painfully, they edged their way into a longer, more relaxed state.
Saint was a big barrel of a creature. I felt like I was mounting a house instead of a horse. He was stable and strong. In ways, I was like a child that had to be put on and taken off him. And like a child, I was both frightened and exhilarated. I felt like my smile would break my face, and at the same time, I was aware that my panic was overwhelming. So Saint's matter-of-fact, sturdy, nurturing attitude matched my needs perfectly. His parental nature gave me permission to feel my excitement and my fear. I knew that I could get lost in those feelings, and he would stay under me. In the beginning, I was so afraid of so many things, and Saint was the perfect horse for me. I knew he wouldn't let anything happen to me while I was on him. In later conversations, I learned that it takes a special horse to become a therapy horse. They need to have a smooth gait as well as being emotionally stable, or as Joe described, “Bomb proof.” Saint was clearly that kind of horse.
It took two or three sessions to let go of some of my emotions and tension enough to relax into Saint so that I could feel the therapeutic benefit of his movements. I instinctively closed my eyes. Later, Joe mentioned that it was something he would sometimes ask riders to do as a technique to get a new rider more in touch with their body and how it felt to sit on top of a horse. At that point, I was totally out of touch with my body, and it would take quite some time before I could truly enjoy the fact that I was riding. Because there was only a blanket between Saint and I, I soon began to notice the places where my body was touching this warm being beneath me. I remember thinking when I first started to walk that I felt like the veritable Tin Man from Oz. My usual grace and flow was gone. It felt like my bones were working, but with no muscle awareness. Slowly, as I relaxed more, the movement of the horse, as it is intended to do, began to move me. Awareness slowly began to return.
In the beginning, riding was tearfully exhausting. When I was done riding, I would be in so much pain that I would be in bed for two or three days, sleeping extra and taking extra pain meds. I couldn't believe how much it hurt. Sometimes my ride would last only ten minutes before Joe noticed that I was no longer able to control my body enough to safely stay on the horse. After a month or so, Joe introduced a saddle. It was a special saddle with extra long stirrups so that my legs could be nearly fully extended. Over a period of three months, I was able to ride longer depending on the day and how I felt. It was sad when after riding for a month or two and having worked up to half an hour, I would all of a sudden tire after ten minutes again. And so my experience waxed and waned for about three months. It was six months before I could consistently ride for an hour. Even now after two years, it is still painful, but totally worth the pain!
Riding has given me back some strength and stamina. It has helped my balance, and my walk is no longer the Tin Man walk. Some of my old grace has returned. The horse is the only animal that can replicate the human gait for its rider. Along with all the physical benefits, there are also neurological improvements that can be made. And then there are the emotional benefits of bonding with a living being. I could say so much about the experience of bonding with a horse, but Linda Kohanov is most eloquent in describing it in her book, The Tao of Equus.
".... to horses, emotion is neither good nor bad; it's simply information. As animals that are preyed upon in nature, it behooves them to know when another herd member is feeling afraid or playful, angry or in pain, depressed or content. Though they ultimately strive for well being in their relationships, horses don't consider so-called positive emotions any more important then the negative ones humans routinely try to suppress. To these animals, the ability to intuit fear in a distant herd member and act on this feeling without hesitation is a lifesaving skill. Their innate aptitude for resonating with another being's trust, joy, or confidence is a life enhancing skill."
When I was young, I had gone to a summer camp for horseback riding. I loved all horses I encountered just because they were horses and I was horse crazy, but I didn't distinguish one from another. Now, here at Oak Hollow Farm, I was again involved with horses, but in such a different way, and for such a different reason. After a trauma like I had endured, trust is a huge issue. And so week after week, I was developing not only trust in the horse and my body, but trust in the world. It was ridiculously hard in the beginning. Even now after riding for two years, it's only in moments that I am able to lose myself and not have this little bit of myself holding back. In those moments it is thrilling, and yet relaxing all at the same time. Those fleeting moments give me a quick glimpse of who I used to be. There was a comfort in recognizing an old friend, me. I think anyone who has done something well knows that moment in time where you forget yourself and that moment when your surroundings fall away. Whether it is that perfect sound in golf when you hit the ball just right, or a good move in a chess game, there's a feeling of glowing from within. Those moments where everything is flowing from the inside are truly stunning. Since the accident, those moments for me are few and far between. Before the accident, it was very easy to lose myself in the sensation of movement when I was skiing or canoeing or golfing or dancing.
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