The other day at Pilates, when we were on our backs and drawing D's in the air with our legs, I was reminded of something I don't often remember happened. Back in the summer of 1995 (I think) I fainted while riding my horse, Grandpa, who happened to be full-out running across a hay field per my request. Naturally, fainting caused me to fall off landing on my head leaving me with a concussion, a fractured pelvis and a broken tail bone.
I was working at Lamonts while going to school. It was summer time. I was working full time to build up my bank account. My weekends were often spent behind the retail desk in the Woman's Sportswear department. Someone in middle management had noticed I hadn't had an actual Saturday/Sunday weekend off in months, so they kindly granted me the gift. I was very much looking forward to the early morning trail ride with my mom, two aunts and cousin. I woke up, sleeping until the last possible minute, hurriedly inhaled cocoa pebbles and rushed out the door driving my little red pick-up truck down the dusty gravel drive with my dog, Frieda, riding shot gun. Two things you should know about me. I'm not of a morning person and I have a really hard time eating breakfast in the wee daylight hours.
We rode until lunch time and everyone was getting hungry. We came out of the trail into the hay field and decided the last hurrah of the morning was to race back to the barn. Shortly after gearing Grandpa up to take off, I felt that feeling of darkness and panic. I relate the feeling to when you are taking a pain medicine and your body slowly warms up and goes numb and useless. All you can do is let the sensation take over no matter how hard you fight it. I remember leaning towards Grandpa's neck setting my sight on his gray mane and feeling the rush of heat take over starting with my legs...
Two days later I woke groggy, and sore. I focused on TV playing the local cable channel. I slowly recognize a guy I went to school with and his band play Bob Marley like tunes. I quietly squeaked out "my friend", then a little louder "hey, that's my friend, Franny". He really wasn't my friend. I just knew him, of him really, from the frat parties and around school. His appearance was unmistakable being the large Hawaiian with a kind smile he was. That was the first memory I can recall after coming out into the field that Saturday morning.
My mom was in the room with me and upon hearing my first coherent thoughts, jumped to my side. She told me I had fallen and was hurt and in the hospital. I was confused and had to pee. She called the nurse to help. I was taken-aback by her lack of bedside manner. And, after getting back to my bed, I asked my mom why the nurse was so mean. She, then, told me my arrival to the hospital was quite an experience for everyone involved and that nurse took the brunt of my unconscious Mr. Hyde self. Apparently when I receive a good conk on the head I have myself a bit of a logger mouth. Who knew.
I went home a day or two later. I slept a lot and managed to get myself around the house with a walker. A month later, cane in hand, I started the fall semester and was able to get handicap parking around the backside because the entrance to the college I attended was about three flights of stairs. A few weeks later I was able to limp around without the cane and went back to work as well.
A decade and three kids later, I don't often remember the experience. Once in a while, however, I am reminded I fell off a horse and landed on my hip when I'm asked to sky write the letter D.
Post Edit: Mr. Hawthorne suffered a bit of hurt feelings because I did not mention how well he took care of me when I was laid up. Even though this post wasn't about the healing of a broken pelvis and head trauma, it was more about the actual event and how I don't often remember that it even happened now. It's only when I'm doing weird things with my hip joints like drawing letter D's in the sky, feeling my bones pop and creak, that I have to remind myself why they might be making those noises. However, I will publicly announce that Mr. Hawthorne took very good care of me. We weren't even married at the time. He was the best nurse maid a girl could ever ask for even when the job entailed hoisting me onto the toilet. So thank you Mr. Hawthorne. I wasn't trying to hurt your feelings or leave you out of a post. I love you and I thank you for taking care of my healing process. I knew you were a keeper right then and there!