Okay. I didn't cry. But I did sulk. Heavily.
I'm over it now and my leg feels A LOT better. By leaps and bounds actually. I can bend my knee and now walk without looking like a fat crippled penguin and I CAN GO UP AND DOWN STAIRS. Its a Christmas miracle. My friends are champions and helped me with chores & riding the Yankee horsebeast a little bit for me.
 |
| Looking majestic in the 6:30 AM fog |
 |
| So steady. |
Translation: Wild bebe OTTB is feeling his oats and his 2 weeks off and mommy can't hang on to a lunge line while balancing on one leg while he attempts to destroy mommy and her resolve.
I've had a significant amount of time with my grumpy pants on this week and took to trolling the internet and doing things that don't require walking. Like, finding homemade fly sprays and looking at tack I cant and don't need/can't afford. BUT I WANT AN OGILVY OKAY.
I resented for a bit telling the world who kicked me. Because it was none of their business and everyone on the internet has their own opinion about everything and I didn't want to hear it.
Now that I am in a better mood though and don't really care what anyone thinks, prepare yourselves for "The Great Kick To The Thigh Synopsis and How Monica Almost Died But Not Really"
It all started one day after a fierce four days of solid rain. My boarder and I wanted to hack out down the road since our lovely field arena was flooded.
In a twist of fate, we were running late (gotta beat the sun and bugs) and I was in a hurry to get to an appointment.
I grabbed some brushing boots and a body brush, and stupidly and complacently rushed into
Bacardi's stall.
Cue normal baby OTTB response.
He reared, quite magnificently, as I bent down to put his boot on. My mind still hadn't registered that a giant Thoroughbred was above me thrashing wildy at the monster that was his dumb human crouching like I was to attack and eat him. My bad B, my bad. As my tiny imbecile brain realized what was happening .5 seconds later, I made an awkward, seal-like movement to get out of the way and ended up falling backwards in a crouch, folded, like a tortilla over my feet. try to imagine it.
My life quite literally flashed, as I say him attempt to not step on me. And then he came down right on top of my thigh.
Full force, all of his weight. On my leg.
I immediately thought I had died because my vision went black and I felt like I had been shot with a cannon.
Turns out, it was just my muscles shearing in half from the intense force that a sharp baby hoof put on it.
As I slowly regained my vision ( I apparently screamed because my boarder came crashing into the stall while I tried to tell him NO DONT SCARE HIM AGAIN but it came out more like nuuuhhhhhhh, hubbb heeeeeeeeeem) and laid there on the ground. Trying to regain composure and GTFO of the stall. But I couldn't make my legs move. I was pretty sure I had broken my back.
Nah, I hadn't but trust me, the pain and adrenaline coursing through me assured me that I was indeed, dying a painful slow death.
I later learned that my legs, back, neck, arms, teeth and face had not been broken. But I did tear several muscle strands in my thigh. Before the hematoma settled in, there was a disgusting indented hole in my muscle. It was gross. In a cool way.
So there I sat, with a nasty bruise and giant swollen leg, unable to move, really anything, without jarring the shit out of my leg.
So that was painful and scary.
Lesson here kids: Don't get complacent with ANY horse. You never know. Bacardi is a very good baby, and I forget he is STILL a baby. A spooky one at times. It was 100% MY fault and I was an idiot to rush at any horse from behind with boots in my hands. I. Am, an idiot.
So, yeah. That's my overly dramatic retelling. But that's what it felt like. Flash of legs. Flash of life. Cannon. Body shattering. Crying, dying. Realizing mostly fine. 7 Steps. Healing. And now I'm fine.
Sort of.
Still can't ride.