Holding the reins in my left hand, I gingerly put my left foot into the stirrup and swing my right leg over Daffyd's back. Gently I settle into the saddle.
Daffyd makes no movement, waiting till I gently nudge his girth with my calves, signalling that I want him to start walking, making our way out of the stables, slowly, onto the road that leads to the practice arena.
It has been three weeks since I entered that very same arena on Daffyd's back. Three weeks since I flew off, knocking myself unconscious, causing the most unpleasant headache which led to three weeks of rest at home.
My doctor has now given me the all clear. I can start riding slowly again. No jumping for the time being. I won't beat around the bush and say that I am not apprehensive. There is no such thing as a fearless person, fear is one of the most basic human emotions and it serves us well protecting us from danger. In our society admitting to fear is tantamount to showing weakness. But in reality it is not. It is a responsible and sensible way of limiting danger to ourselves and potentially those around us.
Closing the school gate behind me, Tommy, my instructor, advises me to take things slowly. At my own pace. There is no deadline. There is no pressure to prove anything. At the first instance of discomfort I must stop. Things will fall into place, he reassures me whilst I head for the Dressage arena.
Steering Daffyd around the arena a couple of times, I gently progress into a rising trot, achieving an immediate rhythm which Tommy is very pleased with. Slowly we start working on some basic dressage exercises – twenty metre circles in different directions and areas of the school, changing rein, practising a square halt – which requires the horse to bring his fore and hind legs in such a way that when viewed from the side the legs are perfectly in line.
Seeing the direction the training session is taking, Tommy encourages me to undertake a preliminary dressage test. Upon completion, although requiring some fine tuning, the result was very satisfactory and saw me with a grin as big as that of a Cheshire cat. My lesson is over and we slowly head back to the stables.
In equestrian sports, most of the physical work is carried out by the horse but it is the mental attitude of the rider that defines one's limits. Being confined indoors for three weeks, with little to do, gives growth to a number of negative thoughts. It gives you time to start creating a number of “what if” scenarios. Couple that with comments from well meaning friends who give a very graphical example of what could have happened is not conducive to gaining back the mental conditioning required. Ultimately, we need to confront our fears but we must do it in our way and speed. I am just going to do that.
Having stiff muscles from riding again is a great feeling!
Showing posts with label Daffyd. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daffyd. Show all posts
Saturday, 31 January 2009
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
My latest (mis)adventure
I don't recall much of the accident.
My last recollections are those of jumping my horse Daffyd over a course in preparation for the next day's show jumping competition followed by Leli, the stable owner, cradling my head and telling me not to worry as the ambulance was on its way.
Ambulance I think? Why? Then I recall that there was a fall somewhere in between. But how fast were they to call an ambulance, it is only a fall, not my first. Then the realisation, that this might be more serious than I'd like to think, sinks in.
The pain in my head and the nausea are unbearable. My first reaction is to see what degree of mobility I have. I have heard of too many accidents not to be aware of the potential hazards. Thankfully I can move although Tommy, my instructor, and Leli are begging me to stay still.
I ask if my horse is fine and when I am told he is I am relieved. One less thing to worry about but I can't help thinking that this will be a huge setback on my riding experience since potentially I could lose my nerve and give up riding altogether.
I can hear the ambulance from a distance, well perhaps not such a distance after all as soon after I can hear a doctor asking me what happened, my name etc. My rescue training skills come back to mind when the doctor starts explaining the procedure, what kind of treatment they are giving – just as though a spinal injury has taken place. I know its procedure but still I get a bit worried.
All this has made me tired and want to sleep. Jenny, a fellow rider at the stables has taken the trip on the ambulance with me, tries to keep me awake by constantly calling my name.
I hear a siren, is there another ambulance in the vicinity I wonder? It isn't the case. It is the ambulance I am in being transported in. I feel very disoriented and confused. I try remembering Conrad's number but no luck, I have to ask the guys to take my phone, which I left in my tack room, to call him and advise him. I would have preferred speaking to him myself but I had no choice.
Arriving at the Emergency department, I feel very relieved when I see Herta, Conrad's sister, waiting for me. Such a friendly and familiar face is very reassuring. A doctor comes in to assess the situation, I know him slightly. He asks me how I am feeling ....to which I dryly reply that I have seen better days. He asks me what happened but I don't remember much. Jenny fills him in following the account that Tommy gave her prior to leaving for hospital.
Conrad arrives, I guess he is relieved to see me alive following Tommy's call. I hear his voice, muffled but very concerned. He patiently waits next to me, holding my hand till it is time for an X-Ray and CT scan. Apparently it took quite some time till it was my turn but I don't realise this. I am lucky the CT scan shows a slight brain haemorrhage but no fractures. The doctor says I am very blessed as it could have been worse....much worse.
As is normal procedure I have to stay in hospital under observation for at least 24 hours. Since there has been a head injury, I cannot eat or drink as it might induce vomiting and that could be dangerous to the brain. I am given an intravenous drip which is very uncomfortable but at least the straps and the spinal board are finally removed. They were very uncomfortable, making me feel very claustrophobic....a feeling that I am normally oblivious to!
The next couple of hours are hazy. I only start to focus a bit when friends start coming to see me during the hospital's strict visiting hours routine. Although I try to set their mind at rest by trying to look wide awake and smiling, in reality I am very tired and feel like a zombie. The pain in my head won't go away and finally I fall asleep even before some of them leave.
Thankfully I manage to sleep at night and if it was the case that I was being woken up at regular intervals, this procedure did not affect me. What affected me was the wake up call at 5am – what a rude awakening. Hospital staff start shouting orders and moving objects around as if it were midday. The cherry on the cake was the religious chanting of an old lady, two beds away from me....the double portion was the nurse joining her chants at the top of her voice I felt like chanting a chain of expletives but where would have that taken me? Nowhere!
To my joy I am discharged a few hours later, with strict instructions to rest and take things easy for the next couple of weeks.
I am now resting at home. A slow steady progress towards getting back to my hectic lifestyle. This (mis)adventure has taught me, if anything, that it is during these times you will (1) realise what is really important and (2) who your real friends are.
Having 600 friends on Facebook or on your contacts list doesn't really mean anything if they are just there to add up the numbers.....it is those few friends, who regularly check on you, whether by means of a phone call, SMS, email, message or visit, to make sure that you are still alive, to see if you need anything, to make you smile if you are sad and need cheering up, are those that really matter.
This blog post is dedicated to all those friends who cared.
You don't know how much you mean to me!
My last recollections are those of jumping my horse Daffyd over a course in preparation for the next day's show jumping competition followed by Leli, the stable owner, cradling my head and telling me not to worry as the ambulance was on its way.
Ambulance I think? Why? Then I recall that there was a fall somewhere in between. But how fast were they to call an ambulance, it is only a fall, not my first. Then the realisation, that this might be more serious than I'd like to think, sinks in.
The pain in my head and the nausea are unbearable. My first reaction is to see what degree of mobility I have. I have heard of too many accidents not to be aware of the potential hazards. Thankfully I can move although Tommy, my instructor, and Leli are begging me to stay still.
I ask if my horse is fine and when I am told he is I am relieved. One less thing to worry about but I can't help thinking that this will be a huge setback on my riding experience since potentially I could lose my nerve and give up riding altogether.
I can hear the ambulance from a distance, well perhaps not such a distance after all as soon after I can hear a doctor asking me what happened, my name etc. My rescue training skills come back to mind when the doctor starts explaining the procedure, what kind of treatment they are giving – just as though a spinal injury has taken place. I know its procedure but still I get a bit worried.
All this has made me tired and want to sleep. Jenny, a fellow rider at the stables has taken the trip on the ambulance with me, tries to keep me awake by constantly calling my name.
I hear a siren, is there another ambulance in the vicinity I wonder? It isn't the case. It is the ambulance I am in being transported in. I feel very disoriented and confused. I try remembering Conrad's number but no luck, I have to ask the guys to take my phone, which I left in my tack room, to call him and advise him. I would have preferred speaking to him myself but I had no choice.
Arriving at the Emergency department, I feel very relieved when I see Herta, Conrad's sister, waiting for me. Such a friendly and familiar face is very reassuring. A doctor comes in to assess the situation, I know him slightly. He asks me how I am feeling ....to which I dryly reply that I have seen better days. He asks me what happened but I don't remember much. Jenny fills him in following the account that Tommy gave her prior to leaving for hospital.
Conrad arrives, I guess he is relieved to see me alive following Tommy's call. I hear his voice, muffled but very concerned. He patiently waits next to me, holding my hand till it is time for an X-Ray and CT scan. Apparently it took quite some time till it was my turn but I don't realise this. I am lucky the CT scan shows a slight brain haemorrhage but no fractures. The doctor says I am very blessed as it could have been worse....much worse.
As is normal procedure I have to stay in hospital under observation for at least 24 hours. Since there has been a head injury, I cannot eat or drink as it might induce vomiting and that could be dangerous to the brain. I am given an intravenous drip which is very uncomfortable but at least the straps and the spinal board are finally removed. They were very uncomfortable, making me feel very claustrophobic....a feeling that I am normally oblivious to!
The next couple of hours are hazy. I only start to focus a bit when friends start coming to see me during the hospital's strict visiting hours routine. Although I try to set their mind at rest by trying to look wide awake and smiling, in reality I am very tired and feel like a zombie. The pain in my head won't go away and finally I fall asleep even before some of them leave.
Thankfully I manage to sleep at night and if it was the case that I was being woken up at regular intervals, this procedure did not affect me. What affected me was the wake up call at 5am – what a rude awakening. Hospital staff start shouting orders and moving objects around as if it were midday. The cherry on the cake was the religious chanting of an old lady, two beds away from me....the double portion was the nurse joining her chants at the top of her voice I felt like chanting a chain of expletives but where would have that taken me? Nowhere!
To my joy I am discharged a few hours later, with strict instructions to rest and take things easy for the next couple of weeks.
I am now resting at home. A slow steady progress towards getting back to my hectic lifestyle. This (mis)adventure has taught me, if anything, that it is during these times you will (1) realise what is really important and (2) who your real friends are.
Having 600 friends on Facebook or on your contacts list doesn't really mean anything if they are just there to add up the numbers.....it is those few friends, who regularly check on you, whether by means of a phone call, SMS, email, message or visit, to make sure that you are still alive, to see if you need anything, to make you smile if you are sad and need cheering up, are those that really matter.
This blog post is dedicated to all those friends who cared.
You don't know how much you mean to me!
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