The spring of 2006 held such promise for me.
I was a professional chocolatier with a new business, a new horse, a new home. I loved my business and was excited about its prospects. Awards for my chocolates kept coming, customers were raving and I took a leap and some new partners and expanded out of my home to a small factory with actual staff!
After 15 years devoid of horses I took the plunge and purchased my dream horse, a young Friesian/Thoroughbred gelding and had begun to ride again. My husband, Warren, and I moved to beautiful Southern California and were now within a stone's throw of most of our immediate families.
The summer flew by, filled with chocolates and horses and nephews & niece. My days were long, my back ached, I was chronically tired but life was just so darned good! Slowly the days grew shorter and the light of the summer began to wane. Troubles with the business and my new partners kept me awake at night. My new horse became mysteriously lame, off and on. I was missing days at the barn, as my hours in the business increased to 16 - 18 hours a day, often for two weeks in a row without days off.
In November, my horse was diagnosed as having pulled a deep muscle in his left hip/buttal (as we call it) region. He was sent up to Northern California to be layed up and rested for 3 months.
In the chocolate world, although our sales were good, trouble was brewing at a fantastic rate. It was obvious that the business was disintegrating rapidly with dissension among the partners and we were unable to agree on a remedial course of action.
On November 29th, 2006 I nearly died. Seriously.
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| November 29th - Me, Godivan & Jack The day I nearly died |
There are a lot of benefits to living in the beautiful Palos Verdes hills in Southern California. Lovely sunshine, miles and miles of horse trails, just about anything will grow. Sadly, cell phone reception is not one of them.
15 minutes of rest and the climb up the 2 flights of stairs into the house started to seem doable. I eased out of the car and did a lovely impression of an aged crone, shuffling my way up the stairs, into the house and onto a couch. My body ached from head to toe. "Boy", I thought, "this is some flu that's going around"!
"Warren!" I called, "do we have any muscle relaxants?". My muscles hurt so much that I was hoping they might help. Nope, no muscle relaxants. I remembered back to when I used to work for two wonderful Polish women, in my early 20's. No matter what ailed you, they were certain a shot of brandy and a little nap would put you right again. And when I was 13 and got what the Doctor called a "stiff neck" he had prescribed vodka and orange juice. (aka a screwdriver! My how times have changed!)
Hmmmm, no brandy in the house. "Would you fix me a gin and tonic?" I implored of him. "I'm feeling really crappy". Warren brought me a gin and tonic, post haste. I gulped it down. Waited a few minutes. "Another" I gasped. Gulped that one down. Started to feel a wee bit better and my body, not surprisingly, relaxed just a bit. At least, until my heart exploded. Well, that's what it felt like anyway. I sort of crumpled off of the couch, screaming "my heart, my heart!". Warren sort of swayed and attempted not to pass out. "Get up, we're going to the hospital!"' he commanded. I allowed as to how that wasn't really necessary and he was being too dramatic. He allowed as to as a result of my pigheadedness I'd probably die anyway and how it wasn't up for negotiation. So off we went.
At the hospital, it took about 5 hours (give or take) before they figured out what had happened. Turns out I had "multiple, massive, pulmonary emboli" (aka blood clots), according to the Doctor(s), behind both of my knees which had simultaneously all shattered and travelled up through my heart and lodged in my lungs. The x-ray of my lungs showed "constellations" of blood clots. The thing is, apparently, this sort of deal is usually determined at the autopsy.
I guess I just wasn't ready to go. My hospital room was like a scene from Grey's Anatomy - curious doctors wandering in and out all day and night long, poking and prodding the woman who hadn't died.
A week later, stabilized and on blood thinners (or rat poison as my husband called it) I was sent home with strict instructions NOT to ride my big, bouncy, rambunctious 4 year old new dream horse for at least a year, for fear I would be thrown, hit my head (helmet or not - even though I always ride with a helmet) and die for sure this time due to hemorrhaging from the blood thinners.
My illness was a fatal blow to my business and I realized that the chances of it surviving long enough for me to recover were slim to none.
I sat at home in my pain filled, horseless, failing businessy little world and cried. Too weak, physically and emotionally to get up. I couldn't see the bright side yet.
It came to me in a flash (of delirium?) that buying a small, young horse would be just the ticket to nurse me back to life and hope. Yes, that was it! I needed another horse! One that I wouldn't even be tempted to ride because it was still young and needed hours and hours of ground work first! (Boy that morphine is powerful stuff). And small, so that I could drape my body around it and hug it and snuggle it. But big enough that when I was better I could ride it. And, hey! Wouldn't it be a great thing for Robbie and Jack and Lily, my nephews and niece? They'd love it! A win - win situation! I'm brilliant!
Hours of frenzied web searching ensued - emails flew back and forth. I had found just the right one! "Look, honey, look what I found! Isn't she adorable? Isn't she perfect!?"
Warren must have been mighty worried about me. His own mother had passed away rather abruptly several years before, without any warning, and I just nearly had. I think I remember him feebly saying something like "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" and "I'm not sure we can afford another horse".
Before he knew it, he had loaded me into the pickup truck to sneak up to Northern California to buy a trailer and a horse at the same time. Because I was still throwing the odd little blood clot, I wasn't technically supposed to be going over the pass from Southern to Northern California and back again. The change in altitude pressure was not desirable, nor was sitting for any length of time (such as a gruelling 18 hour round trip in a truck). But I was pretty sure that if I stretched out on the bench seat the whole way and didn't bend my legs much and kept my feet up on the dashboard it would be fine.
We left at the crack of dawn, drove up to Winters, CA, where her owner, the lovely Holly Singleton had kindly agreed to bring her from 2 hours north, and met Miss Saffron. Two and a half years of gangling, frowzy, spunky Haflinger. Talk about love at first sight! She was sort of dirty and scruffy but I dare anyone to meet her and resist those big, beautiful eyes. Holly had to ride her around for me so I could see her go, since I couldn't get on. I couldn't have cared less how she behaved, but she was basically pretty good, albeit very green.
We hitched up our "new" (circa 1970's) trailer and, as the skies opened and it began to sprinkle, we loaded Saffron in. Or rather, we tried to load her in. Saffron wasn't having any of it. As darkness fell and the sprinkle turned to a torrent we cajoled and caressed, urged and pushed and, eventually, managed to get the little monster into the truck for the 9 hour trip home. Wet and cold and hungry. In the dark. And the rain. I was ecstatic. Warren is, I'm certain, eligible for sainthood, for that day alone, not even counting being the best husband ever.
And that is how I acquired my Equine Therapist, Saffron. That bright little spark of Haflinger heaven that brought me back to life and love and happiness.
