I've Fractured My Pelvis!
This is the idyllic scene I was gazing on just minutes before I fell off my galloping horse, fracturing my pelvis in four places. I am writing this from my living room couch, where I’ll be recuperating for the next few weeks, as I can’t walk, much less climb the stairs to get to my bedroom.
They say you aren't a real rider until you've fallen off a horse. Well, that day came for me Sept. 12th — and it wasn’t at all what I expected.
Cowboy is a rescue horse I bought a few months ago. I've been a lifelong horse lover, especially in my youth. I knew as a child, however, that my family didn't have the means or ability to own a horse. So I gave up my dream of ever owning a horse, grew up and moved on — until I moved to South Carolina.
Saint Anne, who is my patron saint (I was born on her feast day) also happens to be the patron saint of equestrians. I started praying a novena to her when I was first introduced to Cowboy — and by the end of it, I owned him. He has been a tremendous blessing to me and my family, and is probably one of the most loved horses in the world, judging by the way we care for him.
I board Cowboy at a 50-acre farm with trails and fields. I ride him every day, after grooming him, cleaning up his paddock and everything that goes along with taking care of a horse. It’s one of the blessings I look forward to daily — yes, even mucking out manure from his shed. I wouldn't trade it for anything.
We'll practice walking and trotting on the trails, and at the end, the trail opens out onto a wide grassy field, where I ask him to break into a gallop, all the way until we reach the trailer. We’ve done it plenty of times, and it’s wonderful. Anyone who has ever galloped on horseback knows how wonderful it is.
It’s hard to describe what I feel at the farm as I ride Cowboy, looking on the beauty of the evening sky dropping over the rolling fields, full of cows and horses and bales of hay and trees — acres and acres of green pasture under a sometimes blue, sometimes gold horizon. There is no sound but the easy lowing of cows and nickering of horses, and sometimes a tame wind rustling the tree leaves. I pray easily out there, and give thanks to God.
As I was gazing on the scene in the video, I thought to myself — this is a slice of Heaven on earth. I was so grateful to God for giving this to me.
I’ve galloped plenty of times on my western saddle, easily and comfortably. Thursday was the first time I tried galloping on my English saddle.
For those of you unfamiliar with the difference, western saddles have a deeper fit and are U-shaped, with a horn and higher cantle in the back, providing more support and making the rider feel a bit more secure in the seat. The seat of my saddle is made of a suede-like material as well, which grips your clothing and keeps you from slipping.
I also have an English saddle. It’s oiled leather, with a smooth surface. English saddle seats are slightly flatter and are harder to balance on. It takes a bit to get used to if you’re only familiar with western, but it’s an enjoyable ride once you get acquainted with the feel.
Cowboy and I were walking and trotting easily through the trails on my English saddle. I was pleased with how quickly I adjusted to it. As usual, as we came out onto the wide field leading back to the trailer, I asked him to break into a gallop.
That day, he galloped faster than he had ever done before. For the first few moments, it was fine — but then I started to feel myself losing balance. I was beginning to slip off my seat, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to recover. Rather than getting thrown and possibly trampled, I rolled over to my left, and hit the ground as Cowboy galloped at full speed.
It was the hardest hit in my life. Most of the impact came to my left pelvis, but my head also banged the ground hard. Thank God I had my helmet on, otherwise I am sure I would’ve been knocked out.
Everything went black, and the world seemed to whirl. The pain was tremendous, and I started crying out. The first thing that came to my lips was “Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum …”
I remembered it was September 12th, the Feast of the Holy Name of Mary, so I began calling out to Our Lady again and again and again for help. It’s a large farm, and I am sometimes there alone. That day, providentially, several people were taking lessons — but they were in a field far from me. I lay alone on the ground in agony, calling out to Mary to send help. I knew I couldn’t walk. My arms were trembling, and I was hyperventilating. I tried to slow down my breathing and started taking deep breaths between prayers.
My car was at the far end of the field. About 50 feet to my right was a fence. I thought, if I can just drag myself over to the fence, I could grab it and lift myself up and use it as a crutch to hop up the path to my car. I started the slow crawl over.
With every move of my left leg I groaned with pain, pausing every few feet to catch my breath. I forced myself to keep crawling over the grass and dirt until I reached the fence. With effort I grabbed onto the metal wire and pulled myself up to my knees, but knew I couldn’t go any farther. It was impossible. There was simply no way I could put weight on my left leg, and it was too painful to try.
I knelt there holding onto the fence and praying for help. Five minutes later, I heard young girls’ voices. Three girls on horseback emerged from the trail and started to ride over to me and asked if I was ok. I asked them to send an adult to help me.
They rode off. Before long they returned, with my former instructor and their father. They held me up on either side as I very slowly limped back to my car. They loaded my dog in the car, untacked Cowboy and put him back in his paddock, and I drove off.
If I had known my pelvis was broken, I would’ve had an ambulance come out to the farm and take me straight to the hospital. But at the time I was holding out hope that I had simply bruised my hip badly and that I’d eventually be ok. I’ve always been the type of person who avoids doctors’ visits and hospitals as much as possible, and only go when I have no other option. At the time, I thought I still had options.
After a 15-minute drive I arrived home, and my children helped me out of the car. The distance from my car to the door takes 20 seconds to traverse. That night, it took many long minutes. The pain seemed worse with every step, and I could only take two or three at a time before needing to stop. I realized later it was the adrenaline after my fall that had dulled some of the pain and made it possible for me to crawl through the field and limp, with help, back to my car. By the time I got home, the adrenaline had worn off, and the pain was emerging in full force.
Long story short, after about an hour on the couch at home, I figured this was probably serious, and I had my daughter take me to the nearby hospital. CT scans and x-rays confirmed my pelvis was fractured in four places. There was some discussion of surgery, but fortunately, the doctor decided that, because my hip and leg were stable and I hadn’t dislocated anything, no surgery would be needed.
While on the gurney, I prayed the Ave Maria nonstop — not just for myself, but also for all the patients, all the dead (there is a morgue in the basement of each hospital) and all the hospital staff — the doctors, nurses and others who work long hours to help the sick and suffering. Everyone who treated me was kind, and I was grateful for that.
Now, at home, it’s just a lot of bed rest. I still can’t walk, even with crutches. There is a rolling armchair we have at home that the kids use to wheel me around as needed. Otherwise, my living room couch is my home for now.
They say it will be 6-12 weeks on crutches. Naturally, there will be a hiatus from media production, as I can’t get to my media studio upstairs.
Meanwhile, I am uniting my sufferings to that of Christ on the Cross, and offering them up for souls. I am too grateful for the many blessings God has showered on me, especially in the last year, to complain. Too many blessings and graces to recount.
He has allowed this suffering, and rather than be upset, I try to thank God for allowing the grace of suffering in my life — to help souls, and to make me grateful for the little things (don’t ever take for granted your ability to go to the bathroom unassisted, or make a cup of coffee, or just be able to walk across the room!).
I would appreciate your prayers for swift healing and recovery. I plan on producing more media content as soon as I can (and getting back on Cowboy as soon as possible for some more trots in the field!). God bless.
