Because—and we’ve all heard this one, too—this will all pass and brighter days are on the horizon.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, I know we’ve all heard it, but right now, only four weeks in, it makes my heart ache.” I typed those words in early March, back at the beginning of Ax’s rehab, and I wish I had some perspective as to where we would be now.
Quite a bit has changed in the past four months of Ax’s rehab. The end of June should have set us up for almost 30 minutes of trotting, looking toward the reintroduction of cantering. Instead, I head to the barn everyday, telling myself I won’t be disappointed if my inconsistently sound horse is having a “bad day,” as we choose to call them. Right now, Ax can only fulfill his allocated 10 minutes of trotting time on his good days.
When we reintroduced trot mid-May, I cried happy tears during our 10-second intervals down the long side of the indoor, tracking left. To the right, the tears turned to frustration as it took less than one 10-second interval to realize he was head-bobbing lame on the other front leg—that’s right, the leg we weren’t rehabbing. On what had already felt like a precarious ride for the past three months, my boat suddenly got flipped over.
Almost six weeks later, we’ve tried a handful of conservative diagnostics and treatments to nail down what is causing the sudden lameness. A past injury to the right front shoulder is likely the culprit, but our initial thoughts of arthritis aren’t seeming to completely line up with the continued discomfort Ax displays under saddle. Without a rider, he’s sound as “his normal” has been since said past injury, but the second you ask for trot with a rider, his right front isn’t in full working order.
Next up is another vet visit—another vet bill—and hopefully some answers. Each day we go without a diagnosis and solution is another delay in the healing of the left front.
My frustration has tried to get the best of me in this time. It convinces me that I should just retire him, letting him be pasture sound, a lawn ornament who gets brushed once a week. It whispers in my ear that I should be upset with my horse and resent each day I pull into the barn driveway. It blurs things in monochrome, reminding me that my horse has been unsound for six months and skipping the details of how and why. It turns my mood into something overwhelmingly sour and takes away sight of reality.
In those moments, I choose to remind myself not of my reality, but of my perspective. In April, while spending endless minutes walking Ax, bareback and in a halter, and relishing in the warm spring temperatures, I couldn’t help but think back to that early March blog post where I felt cheated out of my time in the saddle. The longing to be back atop my horse felt so real at one time, but in that moment, while I was staring at the outdoor ring’s scenery through my favorite ears still fluffy from winter fuzz, those old feelings seemed so small.
That’s what I hold on to now. Because—and we’ve all heard this one, too—this will all pass. Brighter (sounder) days are on the horizon, and I can’t way to see them through those same, now less fluffy, ears.
The Working Amateur 