MiKael's Mania - Arabian Horses

A Return to the Journey of 2011... Turning Point. .......

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Wed, 19 Jun 2013 02:18:00 +0000

Part 1

I lumbered back to the house, exhausted beyond my limits and weighted down by the unknown. As much as I needed rest, I needed to be prepared more. My mind raced from the assumptions I had made.

They were after all only assumptions. I was giving this woman the benefit of the doubt based on my good friend's trust in her instead of listening to my own internal warnings. Then I deduced this partnership notion out of who knows where wanting this situation to be something reasonable instead of the nightmare it would become.

I don't know if my thought process was something explainable by my deteriorated physical and mental state or what, only that it was. My mind tricking me into thinking I was in control of a situation where clearly I was not.

I am not aware how long I rested when my sleep was broken by the voice of my friend. Her tone alarmed me to such an extent my eyes popped open searching her face for clues to the cause of the heightened concern emanating my direction.

I had not heard a normal tone or seen a relaxed expression on her face since I was first diagnosed. Her look since then fixed and reflecting back at me the worry I knew she didn't want me to see but too grave to be masked by such a caring person. Now as I struggled to consciousness, the lines were broader, the furrows deeper, transmitting something more than my health was amiss.

With the cobwebs thick, I barely heard the utterance, "Mare.....bad...." Once again forcing myself on feet that had long since lost their usefulness, I walked to the barn with my friend trying to grasp the reason for this abrupt change in my her demeanor. My mind raced trying to understand.

We got to Lilly's stall to find her wheezing. Twenty-five years ago had I discovered a horse breathing in this manner it would have overwhelmed me like the expression I now saw on my friend.

The woman's alarm didn't stop there. Next I was informed that Dare was lame. That was followed up by talk of poor hay and weight loss, particularly on Aana.

All of these things are situations that can and do happen in a herd the size of mine. Not to minimize any one of them but normally these things would just be something to deal with. Stuff happens, we fix it and move on. Of course my observation has the benefit of hindsight.

At the time it happened I did not see that in the course of a couple hours something had changed my friend's viewpoint. She was alarmed by things that would not normally faze her either since her experience is more extensive than mine. Suddenly she had lost faith in my ability to handle these situations or they appeared bigger than they really were. Whatever it was, the perception was skewed from the reality and the door was opened for the wolf to feed.

To be continued......

A Return to the Journey of 2011... Planning....

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Tue, 18 Jun 2013 01:07:00 +0000

Part 1

Looking back I imagine this woman couldn't get me out of the barns fast enough. What she needed was me gone so she could work on my friend to manipulate her perception of the situation to suit her needs.

My friend with her good heart was ripe to be easily swayed by the argument this woman's motivations were totally about helping me. Trusting this woman as much as she trusts me, she wanted to believe her motives were pure. My friend's desire to help me in these difficult times and the overwhelming extent of the situation here made her an easy target.

That groundwork must have been well laid by the time the truck and trailer pulled up. My friend never would have allowed any kind of advances that might put me at risk.

While I had not recognized the truck and trailer pulling into my yard, I had seen one of its occupants well enough to realize I knew her. She was the mother of this woman who was now out at my barns grooming horses. I figured the other one was probably her husband since I knew all three lived together.

Knowing the rig was associated with this woman gave me pause. That paperwork from AHA listing all my horses still nagged at me. Now having a truck and trailer show up without an invitation my uneasiness grew.

To tired to think, I still could not rest. I tried to imagine why this woman would think it was ok to summon a horse trailer to my farm. Not having the benefit of the hindsight I now have, struggled for some kind of readin. Obviously she must be thinking she was taking horses home but what was she thinking?

My friend had told me that in the past this woman had taken young, unstarted horses for others. As I remember there was some kind of partnership. The woman did the training until the horses were sold. My friend had even suggested, in the past before Richard and Angie, that this might be an option for me.

Now I wondered if this could be the explanation for this rig showing up at my farm. If it was, it was still presumptuous for her to take such liberty without talking to me first but presumptuous behavior was not surprising from this woman. To sick to think clearly, I could come up with no other reason so I tried to rest telling myself I would know soon enough what was going on.

The uneasiness I felt would not let go. I tried to convince myself waiting for a brief respite would not change anything but I just could not shake this feeling something was amiss. As exhausted as I was I pushed myself back out to the barn for some kind of explanation.

I found the woman in the outside stalls of the hay barn. She was inside the third stall from the end while my friend was in the stall next to her. Both were working on detangling the manes of the mares there.

I looked at my friend for some sign of discomfort. There was none there, no sign of any alarm that a horse trailer had arrived on my farm without invitation. I didn't know what else to do so I just came out and asked, "What's the deal? Are you planning on taking horses home?"

Without hesitation she responded. "Well, that depends. We are a partnership so I have to talk to my family. We all share in the work so we all must share in the decision. I will let you know when we decide something."

That was it. She broke off the conversation like everything necessary was said.

Shortly after her mother came walking around the corner to find me sitting on a railroad tie totally exhausted. Her look was grave. I assumed her expression was about me. I certainly felt that bad. Then she said something about it being overwhelming and I nodded in agreement. Being this sick and responsible for thirty horses was overwhelming.

Not seeing any sign of alarm from my friend, I pushed myself back onto my feet making my way back to the house to rest. Whatever was going on I would need a clear head when the woman came to talk.

To be continued.....

A Turning Point.............

A Return to the Journey of 2011... What Is This?

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Mon, 17 Jun 2013 00:15:00 +0000

Part 1

The tour through the barns seemed normal enough. I introduced each horse giving the usual spiel I would give to prospective buyers, bloodlines, talents, level of training and personality traits. With the younger horses, I included what I expected for growth and behaviors that indicated what discipline each might do some day.

As we made our way through I noticed the deterioration that is inevitable when someone is not staying on top of things. Also noted was my usually hard keepers were showing some signs of weight loss. I made mental notes on all of these things so the necessary corrections could be made. I was more alarmed by the state of my barn than by the health of my horses.

The woman asked questions as we stopped at each stall. With her list of my horses out she was trying to match the individual in front of her with the corresponding listing there. The questions she asked were to clarify what I was telling her about each horse.
There was no hint her notations might be anything more than notes on my conversation. There was also nothing to indicate any kind of negative judgment about the condition of the barns, the horses or how they were being cared for. We seemed to linger at the hay barn stalls a bit longer than others but it appeared she was still figuring her way around that exhaustive list of paperwork that is the printout of my horses owned information from AHA.

Dave's unemployment had run out late that spring. Over the three years we had made many cutbacks but nothing concerning the horses' care had been sacrificed. With shavings now running around $500 for a small load, we had to make the decision to forego bedding.

We were already experiencing problems getting shavings on a regular basis. With so many lumber mills shutting down all over the country, our biggest supplier was now sending everything to the race tracks in southern California. That has left us at the mercy of one struggling small mill that only had shavings when it had orders for lumber.
The transition from occasional loads to none was not a big one for the horses. Their stalls were cleaned and the mats swept daily. Other than now something new to figure out how to play with, they seemed unaffected but just the thought of no bedding drove me crazy despite the fact some stall mat manufacturers advertise quoted from actual farm owners choosing to eliminate bedding because they use stall mats. For me this was something I was not doing for my horses and it eats at me......making it yet another vulnerability.

Now as we toured each barn the only concern from either woman seemed to be about my well being as I struggled with exhaustion and pain. There was nothing to indicate this woman was anything but genuine as she encouraged me to leave them and go into the house to rest.

I pushed myself beyond my limits wanting to show this woman each horse but by the time we reached the far barn I could go no farther. Most of the horses in that barn are my breeding stock so when this woman encouraged me again to leave, I acquiesced knowing the horses left to be seen were not horses I intended to part with anyway.

As I headed back to the house I still had no idea I was in any jeopardy other than from my health. My body trembled from exhaustion as I made my way by myself. Both women stayed at the barns so they could go through and groom all of the horses. I rested thinking my horses were in safe hands.

I must have fallen asleep almost immediately when I hit the couch that was my resting place in the living room. The fatigue of the barn tour was the most exhausting activity since my illness. It even trumped my walk to that shower in the hospital. My body screamed at me for the torture I had subjected it to but my psyche refused to accept the reality of my physical state, shut in.....

The frailty of my body smacked me in the face heightened by the enormity of the responsibility of thirty horses but my will could not keep me conscious. The sleep was fitful as my mind struggled to bring order to my opposing veiws. The state of my body versuses the state of my mind which still clung to the belief I had the strength to survive anything and colon cancer was nothing more than a small set back.....how could that sleep be restful? I had the weight of my world on my shoulders.

I did not sleep long when I was startled awake by the sound of a truck in my driveway. Not expecting more visitors, I forced myself to my feet to peer out the front door. Imagine my surprise to see a strange truck and horse trailer driving into my yard. My stomach rolled, my heart sank but my brain told me my friend would not allow any harm to come my way.

To be continued........

Planning........

A Return to the Journey of 2011... A Wolf......Some Attributes.......

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Sun, 16 Jun 2013 03:59:00 +0000

Part 1

Before I proceed I think there are some things it is important to say. I am not using my friend's name because she is blameless. As this story unfolded plenty of people tried to tell me she was in on this scam but I never had, nor will I ever develop, any doubt. My friend was as much a victim as I was. She has just paid a different type of price.

While I didn't see this woman as a friend, it never occurred to me she would exploit me right under my friend's nose, let alone exploit their friendship to get to me. Their friendship was on a "most trusted" status so in granting her permission to come here that was the only thing I considered.

To be candid, I wasn't even thinking in terms of my vulnerabilities or that I might need protection at all. I was thinking about what I thought my horses needed. Both the fact I was not thinking about needing protection, and that I was thinking only in terms of my distorted perception of my horses needs, added to my vulnerabilities.

One of the things I have learned as I have tried to understand how I get myself into exploitative situations is that such people have a knack at identifying the vulnerabilities of others. They know how to expose them and use them to their advantage and they are arrogant in their methodology.

Thinking she could use her friendship to exploit me without consequences to her long time relationship or, for that matter, legal jeopardy is afterall arrogance. People who exploit others are so arrogant they will pull all kinds of stunts most of us would never even consider.

What that means in terms of how to see such things coming is that thinking someone would never be so arrogant or "stupid" is in itself a weakness. It is in fact something these people count on. They want us to see things their way and when we rule out an explanation because we think no one would be so bold or obvious we play right into their hands.

Another characteristic of those who exploit others is they are masters of manipulation. The reality is you must see manipulation to have any chance of being protected from it. Unfortunately my friend does not have that skill set and she can be loyal to a fault. Those aspects of her behavior made her as vulnerable in this situation as I was. I doubt my friend even understands the depth of the betrayal to this day.

As the happenings of that day unfolded, I was relying on the judgment of my friend but she was blinded by her inability to recognize the way she was being played. Her friend knew how to make this work for her and she did just that. We were both like lambs trusting the wolf to help.

Looking back I can see the woman also used her friendship to learn my vulnerabilities. By the time she arrived here, she was well armed to carry out her plan. She knew all about my health, my concerns, my fears and my horses. All she needed was to figure out exactly what she wanted from me.

Keeping these things in mind as the story unfolds, you will probably see there really was a well laid out plan, actually it was more like a trap. My friend and I both walked right into it.

Even in the writing I am understanding more of the pieces but as it went down I was oblivious and confused. Confusion is another one of those things I have learned to be a tactic employed by those who exploit the vulnerable.

How I wish I had the clarity of all of this hindsight at the time. As it is what I have is this story to be told and now that I have added these important details I will get back to it.

To be continued.....

What Is This?

A Return to the Journey of 2011... A Wolf......The First Red Flag....

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Fri, 14 Jun 2013 01:49:00 +0000

The Adventure Begins
Part 1

The day that woman arrived here is etched in my memory. I was still under the care of a home health care nurse, a wound specialist and a dietitian and too sick to heed the red flags I might otherwise have seen. There was no way I ever would have expected anyone could be so cruel as to deliberately exploit anyone as vulnerable as I was at that point in time.

When the women first arrived, I went out to meet them in the barn despite the fact I had little strength and even less stamina. I figured if this woman was to help me find homes for horses sometime in the future, she would need particulars on each one of them to know which, if any, might be best suited for her contacts so I put aside my needs and forced myself through this painful tour.

We went through each barn just as I do with all visitors other than my many stops along the way to rest. I introduced each horse sharing pertinent information.

To my surprise the woman produced from her pocket a printout from the Arabian Horse Association listing each and every horse I owned to make notes on each horse. I thought at the time those notes were what I was telling her about each horse.

In all my years of open houses and farm tours with potential buyers, no one has ever brought that paperwork even though it is available on the Datasource. It was really odd to see it now, even in this context.

Alarm bells were screaming in my head. The appearance of this listing of each horse I own took me back in a way words can't even describe now. No way did I understand it at the time. Being that sick distorts everything so I was unsure of this visceral reaction.

Instead of trusting it, I relied on my good friend's perception. Looking at her, I saw no alarm there but in hindsight I realize she was in no position to see through this woman's plan anymore than I was. She was being played just like me. This woman knew exactly what she was doing and she worked us both all the while pretending she was only trying to help.

To be continued...

The Wolf......Some Attributes...........

A Return to the Journey of 2011... A Wolf......

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Thu, 13 Jun 2013 00:35:00 +0000

Part 1

Those first few weeks it wasn't just about my body trying to recover from two surgeries in a short time, the shower pulmonary embolism or the starvation that had racked my body. Even the gaping holes in my abdomen were not enough to keep me down. It was the excruciating pain that coursed through my abdomen and in the ostomy itself that was the most debilitating. The combination of all these things had me crippled in a way I have never experienced before and it worked on my psyche despite the great coping skills I had learned in my years of therapy.

I spent my waking hours praying for sleep and the night time hours weren't much better. There seemed to be no relief. In the daylight, I worried about the horses and my sleeping hours dreamt about them. Most nights I awoke in a fitful sweat driven by the fear my horses were suffering because of my health.

I had many conversations with friends about my concerns for my Arabian horses. Even their belief that I would always do the right thing by the horses was not enough to soothe my fears. I clung hopelessly to those unrealistic expectations I had for proper horsemanship and I just could not measure up. I was my own worst enemy, holding myself to a standard no human could maintain in similar circumstances.

Those first weeks a dear friend volunteered some time to do grooming. On her trips we would talk about options I was mulling around as I tried to decide what was best for my horses. On one hand there was the conditions driving me crazy, on the other the bad situations I had unwittingly sold horses into. One thing was clear to me, I could see grooming issues did not outweigh inhumane treatment. Poor placements could make matters worse for my horses and I sure didn't want that. I drove myself crazy looking for answers.

My friend did not try to push me one way or the other. She knew I would not allow anything bad to happen to my horses despite my illness. I imagine she was and still is probably one of those people who thinks this many horses is too many by her standards. She respects my right to make those decisions for myself instead of living my life based on the opinions of others.

She is the kind of friend who would tell me if she thought I was not living up to my responsibility even if it was hard to do. At no point was she pushing me to cut back. She was supporting me, my horsemanship skills and my right to make my own choices. That is why I trusted her input as I tried to decide what my best course of action might be. I knew it would not be colored by her needs but instead what was right for the horses and me.

I must admit I have encountered many others over the years who have thought they knew best how I should run my farm. (Here is one example) So many, I have almost become immune to their jabs, letting them roll off my back with hardly a notice, as if those people and their control issues are somehow harmless. Unfortunately I have learned there is an error in my thinking. It will show its face along this journey too.

When my friend suggested she bring a friend of hers to help her groom and look at the horses on her next visit, I consented. This woman had contacts that could be useful in finding good homes or so she said. I also understood (possibly wrongly) that this woman had sometimes helped other breeders by starting horses under saddle and then splitting profits when the horses sold. Whatever I was specifically told, it was my understanding that she wanted to help.

I definitely wasn't at the point I had decided to do a quick or radical downsize. The woman coming here was supposed to be about exploring options should I decide to make such a decision.
Allowing this woman on my farm was totally based on my friend's trust in her.

It is important to say here that I had meet thus woman before. She and I had both worked as a groom for my friend years ago. At our first meeting she had mentioned she was good friends with a woman I know to be unethical, manipulative and an out an out liar as well as being a person who exploits situations to accomplish her goals regardless of the human toll her behaviors might incur.

When this name was raised, this woman actually threatened me quite aggressively, telling me she would tolerate no bad remarks about her friend who she asserted great loyalty towards. Her body language, choice of words and forcefulness had left an impression so unnerving I thought I would never forget it. I made the decision to keep this woman at arms length and that is where she stayed.

Now as I was so sick and vulnerable I had totally forgotten the red flags that had nearly knocked me down when I first met her. Because my dear friend had suggested this woman could help me and because I was feeling desperate, I totally spaced on the jeopardy allowing this woman on my farm could represent. It was a huge mistake. One I still pay for to this day.

To be continued....

the First Red Flag.......

A Return to the Journey of 2011... The Farm. Mores Issues.......

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Wed, 12 Jun 2013 03:28:00 +0000

Part 1

The stall floors were not the only issues here. I worried the horses weren't getting turned out as often as they could. If that was true, bored horses can do serious damage to wooden walls and doors. I could only imagine what my barn looked like....and as it turned they looked exactly as I feared.

Then there was the problem with the fence charger. I had bought a top quality solar unit when we moved here. With only two new batteries it had given me my money's worth but it chose this time to finally die.

With no deterrent to keep the horses off the fencing they were leaning across it to reach the grass on the other side. This behavior not only stretched my 2 by 4 non climb horse fencing out of shape but the over saturated ground allowed the fence posts to lay over from the added weight. My farm was a wreck which turned out to be one more thing used against me to exploit my vulnerability.

There was something else that summer that affected the drama that was yet to unfold. That was something normally pretty innocuous, the coming of the new season's hay.

Because I raise young horses that can be adversely affected by high protein levels, I choose not to feed the usual choices of eastern Washington grasses or alfalfa after discovering protein levels double that recommended for horses.

Feeding good quality local grass hay is much safer considering there have been growth issues in GS Khochise get. The trick is finding good quality local hay especially for a herd the size of mine.

To assure the hay I buy fits that criteria, I have it tested. When I find a good field I contract with the farmer for his entire crop. Still I test that hay each year to assure it is staying within the standards I need for my growing horses. I have been buying from the same farmers for a dozen years and their hay always tests up to the standards necessary for happy, healthy horses.

With all the confusion surrounding my illness, the new season's hay had been brought into the barn. Testing it is not something Dave has ever had to do so it didn't occur to him and it sure didn't occur to me.

By the time I came home from the hospital, the horses had been on the new hay for about a month. I was relying on Dave's observations to know the horses were doing okay and new hay never crossed my mind. My only concerns about feed were the usual ups and downs that can happen with horses, let alone a herd of this size.

As much as I wanted to spend time with my horses and to see for myself how they were doing, I had to be content to hear the horses as they played outside or for brief glimpses I got of them as we went to and from my many appointments. It was literally weeks before I had enough strength to walk out to the first barn.

Occasionally I would notice a horse that I thought needed some weight. It was nothing scary, just the usual ups and downs that can happen with the youngsters and sometimes the old mare. When I saw this I would advise Dave and Lindsay of the necessary adjustments to get everyone on track. Other than the fact I was sick, it seemed to be the usual stuff.

Regardless, I laid there in the house and worried about my horses. Every little aspect of what night happen went through my mind. With my high standards I couldn't help but worry.

Would I know if it was time to make the tough decisions? I prayed that I would but I worried that maybe I should have made them a long time ago. The stage was set for an exploitation I could never have imagined.

To be continued....

A Wolf......

A Return to the Journey of 2011... The Farm........

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Tue, 11 Jun 2013 00:06:00 +0000

Part 1

With me being home Dave and Lindsay no longer had to make the trip to the hospital to visit but there were aspects of my care that required more time than visits had been. That left my youngest daughter shouldering more of the horses care than she had already been doing.

Thus situation was very distressing to me. I not only worried about the horses but I worried I was being unfair to my husband and daughter. There was so much to do and not only was I unavailable, my care was taking away Dave as well. I couldn't help but worry about all that entailed so it was one more stressor for me.

As it has been said in the comments, situations like this require reevaluating one's priorities. You do what is absolutely necessary and other things get let go. On a farm the size of this one that means a lot of the maintenance issues get but on the back burner. The end result of that is a deteriorating facility and that was certainly happening here.

Before I got sick we had experienced a difficult winter. With a rainy season more persistent than usual there was plenty of flood damage needing to be addressed but the waters had not even receded yet by the time I was hospitalised. The last indicator it was safe to do repairs happens to be my round pen and it was still floating in July.

One of the issues caused by all that water was the destabilization of the ground underneath some of the stalls. Even though there had been a thick layer of gravel, rolled and tightly packed under the mats originally, the amount and duration of the rain had created a situation we had not experienced before.

The weight of the horses moving around on top of the mats had caused the iver saturated ground beneath the layer of rock to rise up and mix in with the rock. The end result was a softened surface that was malleable. It rose and fell with more powerful movement of the horses. The end result was an uneven surface to the stall floors. The worst examples were a few floors that looked more like moguls than a horse's stall.

As this problem evolved we worked on those floors. We evened out the floors but we were unable to remove the excess water that saturated the ground so it was just a temporary fix. Mother Nature was the only one who could dry the ground out enough so we could do a permanent fix.

Unfortunately, the rainy season kept on but the usual rain wasn't as much trouble as the huge downpours that saturated the ground beyond its limits. The horses still acted like horses sometimes spinning around or racing from one point to another to look at whatever had elicited this response and the soft ground underneath was sculpted into those moguls again. We could fix the stalls one day and have an undulating floor the next.

While we had had flooding in years past in one barn aisle, we had never had this issue with the ground staying saturated for so long that it began to be influenced by the horses' movement in the stalls and weird as this may sound, it was dry on top of the mats. We had no flooding in the stalls through this.

As another indicator of how weird our weather had been, we experienced this issue to a lessor degree in stalls in barns that have never flooded. By the end of the rainy season any stalls that did not have concrete floors were affected to some degree except for those in the one small barn. That meant half our stalls were affected to some degree and it drove us all crazy but it was just a part of what needed to be addressed. For a perfectionist like me, it was another aspect of vulnerability to be exploited.

To be continued.......

More Issues.......

A Return to the Journey of 2011... ..My Situation at Home

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Sat, 08 Jun 2013 03:43:00 +0000

Part 1

If I had any illusions about my condition, they were questioned once I got home. I had no trouble getting to the toilet in my hospital room but it was five feet from my bed. At home it was down a hall that felt fifty miles long to me.

I couldn't make the trip down and back without hanging onto the walls. I would shake from exhaustion for several minutes before it would subside. Then I would fall asleep from sheer exhaustion. Not really what I had envisioned when I'd longed to be home.

In the morning I would join my family in the living room spending my time mostly sleeping on the couch. I didn't get up except for those necessary trips to the bathroom. In the evenings I would drag myself back down the hall to bed. It took everything I had to accomplish that. That's pretty much how those early days went.

I weighed somewhere around 120 lbs. I was so boney that sitting or laying hurt until fernvalley reminded me that pillows like I had used in the hospital would prevent bed sores. I have gained weight but I am still using those pillows. I've worn out a couple of pillows cases and have killed at least one pillow but I totally avoided those bed sores and that feels like a big accomplishment.

At first the dressing changes were daily. Dave was the one doing all the work but I was usually falling asleep as he laboured over me. I remember wondering how sick must I be if the simple task of a dressing change exhausted me.

I didn't really want the answer to that question. I was sicker than I wanted to acknowledge but there were times I realized I was not out of the woods yet even though I was home. It was too disheartening to think about often but the reality was hard to deny when my life at home was not much different than that in the hospital.

I was too exhausted to dress and too exhausted to eat. Most nutrition was in the liquid form and sometimes I would fall asleep before the glass was empty.

The nurses regularly coming and going kept a stoic front not wanting me to be alarmed at their reaction to my condition. One would later admit his fears for my safety upon seeing my wounds for the first time but I never would have guessed his concerns.

I figured I must be well enough to be there or I wouldn't have been allowed to come home. I probably had more faith in the healthcare system than it deserved but that belief kept me insulated from a truth too overwhelming to fathom. I had to believe that I would be on my feet soon and I sure didn't want to accept how vulnerable I was but there were those out there just waiting for an opportunity to strike.

To be continued....

The Farm..........

A Return to the Journey of 2011.....More Baggage

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Fri, 07 Jun 2013 01:06:00 +0000

Part 1

This whole thing was complicated by another harsh reality. My oldest daughter, Colleen, and her children including my granddaughter, Rachel, had made no attempts to see me or contact me in any manner since they had learned of my illness. Even when they were told I was in critical condition there had been no concern or interest in my well being.

It is one thing to have differences of opinion. Their betrayal in joining Richard Galarza and Angie Miller of Opus Arabians as partners in trying to defraud me by keeping Storm without paying for him had been difficult. Neither Colleen or Rachel or her siblings had spoken to me since I'd discovered their subterfuge but I guess I still held out hope there would be a reconciliation at some point. But when laying there for days not knowing if I would live or die did not generate some sign of caring, it was finally obvious to me that they are not interested in having a relationship with me.

Now a while back when their betrayal actually happened an anonymous commentor suggested if they had indeed behaved as I said, I must have deserved it. The claim was they must have learned that behavior from me. I was also accused of always. blaming others and taking no responsibility for my behavior.

I knew at the time this person sure hadn't read much of my blogs nor did she know me because her assessment sure didn't fit how I have chosen to live my life. The thing that concerned me was this person was putting her trust in people who not only don't deserve it, but who will exploit it should the opportunity arise.

That bothered me then and it bothers me now mostly because of that guilt by association thinking. Integrity is everything in the horse industry. I have worked hard for mine and to have it affected by something I have no control over felt like one more thing stacked against me in times that appeared to be growing exponentially worse as the days ticked by. I don't seem to be able to think about this loss without considering the effect their betrayal has had on the perceptions of some of my integrity.

So as I faced this situation where most people would be able to depend on family, I found myself dealing with a broken heart and a dis ease about my place in the industry. It was one more thing heaped on my shoulders and it gnawed at my soul. As much as this may not appear logical to some, feelings are not necessarily logical....and these were mine....the whole convoluted mess as I left the hospital and returned home.

Medical professionals will tell you that healing is compromised by stress and heartache. As hard as I tried I could not get the worry for my horses or the heartache out of my mind.

To be continued......

My Situation at Home..

A Return to the Journey of 2011.....Getting Home with Baggage

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Thu, 06 Jun 2013 02:44:00 +0000

Part 1

Despite the fact my pain management was not good with the change over to oral medication, no one at the hospital seemed to be concerned so I sure wasn't going to let it stop me from going home. The pain really wasn't much worse than what I had been enduring on IV medications for weeks already. It seemed to me if they hadn't fixed it sooner, they sure weren't likely to make it any better by keeping me there. I needed out of the hospital and that was all that mattered to me.

The rest of the requirements for my discharge were lined up the next morning complete with a visit from the social worker explaining everything that was in place. It actually took longer for a nurse to get time to get my signature on the dotted line than it had taken for the social worker to make all the arrangements. My discharge was authorized well before noon but Dave and I didn't depart for the drive home until the evening rush hour , all because of under staffing.

In addition to the obvious issues of pain and wound care there were a number of other issues affecting me as well. To understand what's to follow I think it is important to know those forces playing on me since each contributed in its own way to a chink in the armor that usually protects me from life's twists and turns.
The weeks of alone time had me feeling very isolated. While I had visitors after the first surgery, most everyone thought I had long since been discharged and the visitors had stopped except for Lindsay and Dave.

My other connection with the outside world had been in the form of blog comments left after the handful of posts either Dave or I had managed to do while I was hospitalized. Those comments had served as an important connection to my life and my horses. They helped keep me sane in a world turned upside down.

I posted a brief post when I got home trying to reestablish the lifeline online connections had been. Pain interfered with my ability to keep that going despite how desperately I needed it. Nuzzling Muzzles commented on an earlier post how important a touch of a friend had been during her bout with hospitalization. Well, comments have done that for me as I have struggled to hang onto the vision of a life other than crippling pain and disease. My inability to reform those connections left the vultures of isolation preying on me daily.

During my stay in the hospital I had struggled trying to figure out the right thing for my horses. I have such a high standard for myself on how I think they should be cared for. There was no way this barn could be maintained like a show horse barn without my help. Dave and Lindsay are just not up to that task and with the second surgery in such a short amount of time I had no idea how long I was going to be out of commission. The responsibility weighed heavily on my shoulders despite the fact the horses were fine and living above the standards of most any horse people. They were not living up to mine and believing that was a problem that made me vulnerable in ways I couldn't have imagined.

To be continued....

More Baggage

Rope Work

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Wed, 05 Jun 2013 02:18:00 +0000

As I wrote earlier it was the particular methodology in each man's use of the rope that I saw as the most striking commonality between Buck Brannaman and Harvey Jacobs. Their use of this tool just another extension of their reach, as natural and fluid as if they were born with it attached at the end of the arm. They could and did put that rope around any body part of the horse they chose regardless of the animal's antics. Incorporating that with their understanding of herd dynamics and equine body language, their impeccable timing made even the renegade horses see the man as the superior without causing harm or pain.

It struck me as I witnessed each of these men interact with various horses, there were no gimmicks to what they did, no endorsed equipment to buy. Their tools were the basic equipment of a ranch working cowboy and their desire to build upon an idea that horses should not be broken but instead taught with methods that instill trust and encourage partnership.

Of all of the clinicians advocating natural horsemanship I have seen, with the exception of John Lyons who had been the first and laid the foundation for my journey, it has been these two men that have given me fresh ideas that could get me where I want to be with my own development.

Ever since I first witnessed Harvey throw a rope on Rhythm I have seen the value of such work. Then watching Buck with the renegade stallion, it reiterated this and gave me some new perspective in ways only such jeopardy can do for something to become crystal clear. By roping that horse on a hind foot, Buck was able to control the horse's movement and even enough so as to make a rider safe. Who would even imagine such a thing could happen by just hanging onto a horse's foot? Certainly not me.....until I saw it in action Harvey's method of teaching a horse to lead by each foot had new meaning.

Watching a loop fly with such precision makes me want to be forty years younger so I might have some hope at attaining such proficiency. I see the limitations I have without such a tool as much as I hate admitting to that. The ability that kind of rope work affords to get inside a horse's head is something magical to me.

Working with Arabian horses who can actually do two things at one time makes the lack of such a tool a really big deal, a means of accomplishing in minutes what it otherwise could take me weeks to do. The perception it changes for the horse something not easily duplicated by other means. A switch flipped from doing enough to one of undivided attention.

Such a huge gap between the two that can mean a horse is so focused on what he is asked that he doesn't even notice the unruly kids playing on the rail over his head or hear the cell phone drop. That kind of commitment from the horse is based on a deep trust.

Some think such trust can only be built over years but watching the greats in this style of training suggests otherwise. What is seen at those clinics may just be the cornerstone for that deep trust but it is a piece of the journey that many never achieve. It is what I strive to attain with each and every horse and I have no doubt good rope work would be a huge step in the right direction.

The only problem I see with that logic is sorting through the crazy world of determining which rope will be the right one and followed by much practice.

Anyone know how to choose a rope?

The Face of Spoiled Horses

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Tue, 04 Jun 2013 01:36:00 +0000

It is the story of this horse in particular that had me viewing . over and over. Listening to the body language of horses is the basis for all natural horsemanship techniques. It is a rare opportunity to study the behavior of a horse, who according to Brannaman was "as close to a predator" as a horse can get.

We all tend to forget what horses are capable of but it is that potential which should motivate us to do right by them. Any horse has within it the ability to unleash the beast seen in the film. While this particular animal had a contributing physical factor, its behavior and that of the two other attempts by horses to kill humans I have witnessed were man made. Only two attacks I saw were purely instinct and one of those was lethal.

Still it is easy for we humans to tell ourselves "it will never happen to me" so we condone behavior that sets the horse up to fail in the society we expect them to live within or we tune out or miss clues that tell us we are in over our heads.

The horse is not the only loser when that happens. Buck
asks us to see the impact across the board. We all pay for the societal impact of improper horse management even if we don't realize it.

I have to commend the film maker and Buck Brannaman. In our time of politically correctness and the far reach , and sometimes excesses, of the animal rights groups, laying this subject matter out there was quite brave. The spoiled horse is a highly dangerous animal but rarely as obvious to spot as the one in this film. Yet the outcome for this horse is not sugar coated.

Interestingly, the mare that tried to kill Harvey Jacobs was the preferred mount for a child. The only issue her owners were aware of was she would not take the bridle. To my way of thinking this mare was more dangerous because her killer intent was not obvious. Even Harvey had not seen it until she attacked him.

Potential killers are more common than we choose to believe. I know that because I have not gone out looking for them. They have found me in the course of my ordinary life. True my life with horses is an active one but only two of these experienced with horses trying to kill were on my farm(one of which was a horse trying to kill a dog chasing him and the other a jealous gelding killed my mare), one at a horse show Ghosts of Horses Past , one in my childhood, and then these two situations in a clinic setting.

If you add to that the danger I found myself, and my horse in, when a spoiled stallion was stalking Legs in the ring at horse shows, my concerns about the jeopardy we all face from spoiled horses is well founded. Hopefully Buck will help those who create the risk see the jeopardy and change their horsemanship in ways that make all of us who love and cherish horses safe.

What about you? Have you witnessed the potentially lethal force of a horse?

To be continued....

Rope Work

I just realized I have forgotten to add the link to the story about the stallion that was stalking Legs in the showring. I didn't write about this as it's own story but included the events as they happened at the different horse shows. I have not located the first incident but this will pick up at the next major one that happened and go on through. I will try to find the first major crash where the horse ran into Legs and add that link if and when I do.

Buck and Harvey

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Mon, 03 Jun 2013 01:01:00 +0000

Right from the first work with horses in Buck I noticed how much the man's method was much like Harvey Jacobs. Both men give credit to Ray Hunt and it is easy to see how their work is built on that basis. Both worked on cattle ranches as kids and each are humble cowboys. Maybe that explains the similarity in the evolution of each man's methodology.

Having seen a number of the first generation Ray Hunt protege, I see obviously strong similarities to each. There has been a uniqueness about those clinicians I have most appreciated that has set them apart from those who have used their gift solely for financial profit. Still the two most alike in their progression has been Harvey and Buck Brannaman. The common thread between those two has been in how each has utilized his rope.

It is their rope work I envy most. I will talk about that in a later post since first I need to address another commonality between Harvey and Buck. That is I witnessed both men working with renegade horses.

Only six times in my life have I witnessed a horse trying to kill. Three of those a human was the target. The look is chilling, unmistakable and terrifying.

I knew immediately when I saw the stallion in Buck
that this horse was beyond dangerous. Then the description of its history clinched it for me. I didn't have to see the horse in the pen to know how bad this could get. The only question in my mind was how would it play out.

Believing an attack like this is coming and actually seeing some kind of sign just before it happens can be two entirely different things. In times past I have witnessed the attacks but didn't "see" it or even think it was a possibilty until it was a full blown assault, with the exception of the stallion ravaging a mare. (That one time I came in on the assault in progress.)

Watching this documentary I had the benefit of those past experiences, a knowledge of the importance of reading equine body language, an opportunity to see the owner to form a perception, and a thorough understanding of the dangers of indulging orphan foals to tell me this was the animal to watch. I didn't know when it would come, only that it most likely would, so I watched closely knowing that this would be anything but typical.

To be continued.......

The Face of Spoiled Horses

More on Buck

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Sat, 01 Jun 2013 02:08:00 +0000

I guess I should say for those who don't know, the documentary was really about the man, his life. Unlike other horsemen, Buck has chosen to expose those things that have made him who he is despite their dark origins. His life ended up intertwined with horses and the people who bring them to him so the film encompasses all of that.

It is a compilation of video from his childhood, interviews with people he has touched and footage from several clinics and includes pieces with Buck and his family talking about his life. It goes together in a surprising, interesting way that effectively draws in even a non horse person. I can see why it earned the coveted Audience Choice Award.

Coming from a similarly dark childhood, I get Buck's motivation to want better for the horse. That thinking has always drawn me to seek out kinder training methods.

A woman in the film suggested "tortured souls" might be those most driven to be creative in the endeavor of making the world better for horses. While her remarks made me laugh because I doubt the man is tortured anymore but I also felt there was validity to her words. People who have seen extreme pain can become individuals with great empathy. I think it is empathy for the plight of the horse that fuels the movement for gentler training methods. The man openly talks about how his past has affected his journey with horses.

Buck Brannaman sees the path of improving the a person's relationship with his/her horse using the methods based on Ray Hunt's teachings as one where people who choose to follow that course not only help their horses but change their own lives as well. This belief is supported by other respected authorities in both human and equine healing.

The man also believes that horses mirror the souls of their owners. Over the years I have seen that to be true. Understanding my horse was reflecting back at me my insecurities has been a useful tool in both problem solving and building my confidence as well.

Those beliefs and how they are validated in the film definitely add an unexpected dimension to Buck. Part of my interest in studying this piece was to more closely observe both owners and their horses.

For me one of the most interesting aspects of this was in the unspoken language of horses and humans alike. I found I had matched up the appropriate pairs without actually seeing them together utilizing those principles.

Buck, the man, is brutally honest. So is Buck, the film. Horses suffer from neglect in many forms and the I could write volumes on the things horses must endure because they were not taught how to be good citizens. There would be even more volumes covering the human toll, not to mention the economic one.

There are varying degrees to this type of neglect and many horse people do not see it or understand it unless it presents itself in its very extremes. I think it is one of those dirty little secrets of the industry but presented it at its ugliest. Kudos to them!

To be continued.......

Buck and Harvey

Some Thoughts on Buck

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Fri, 31 May 2013 01:48:00 +0000

Buck, the documentary premiered at the Las Vegas Film Festival in 2011 before I got sick.
While Story commented she must be the only horse blogger to have seen the film, I had read several posts about it. If I recall correctly I also had information about it showing up on my Facebook page when the buzz about it first hit. Between those sources I was definitely intrigued.

The movie did not play anywhere near here that I know of so for me to get the opportunity to view it required waiting for it to become available on DVD. As sick as I was, every time Dave would ask me if he could get me anything from the store, Buck was the only thing that came to me. My normal response is "not that I can think of" but the desire for this flick was ingrained enough that Dave now had it on his radar as well.

I can't really tell you when Dave actually located it. All I recall about that time was being riddled with pain and being so sick I didn't know what day it was and I was still sleeping most of the time. Watching the film was only a temporary diversion. As much as I had impressions swirling in my head, I just was not in a place where I could actually get those thoughts together in any discernible way.

While I am still riddled with pain, I am much stronger than I was then. I am now able to focus and organize my thoughts without feeling like my brain is turning to mush. I think this change affected how I viewed the movie this last weekend as well.

I had not expected the many layers of this work but then I don't know how anyone could without knowing something about the man and his story first. From everything I read, I had expected another piece on horse training and Buck was a whole lot more than that.

There are so many layers to this documentary I wouldn't presume to say I even get them all. It is definitely not a training video but I imagine there are people who don't get there are useful training tips woven between those layers. Gleaning whatever morsels there were was part of my motivation for watching it over and over but I had other motivations too.

Personally I was struck by the similarities in our stories. While timelines vary and experience levels with horses too, the motivation for his receptiveness when confronted with a better way and conclusions drawn along the journey were uncanny to me. I think part of my rewatching was to verify I was not projecting something that was not there.

Let me say I am used to encountering childhood victims of abuse who are horse people too. They tend to talk the talk of compassion for horses but normally their unresolved issues interfere with their ability to walk that walk. Because of that I have begun to realize that horses will mirror the issues of their owners and trainers too.

It has taken me a while to realize that my ability to read people complete with their issues gives me a method to identify trainers, and potential buyers too, who might utilize training methods not in tune with what is truly good for the horse. It is a tool I have yet to test but the movie reinforces maybe I should start.

While I have known for many years blaming horses for training issues and attributing human mechanisms to explain their behaviors is inappropriate, it has taken me much longer to realize that people who do such things are more likely to engage in abusive behaviors. One more tool I have not used.

Once the dishonest behaviors of Tommy Garland were exposed and the rose colored glasses came off, it was much easier to see the man was more interested in self promotion than he was in what is right for the horse. Then contemplating a comment Buck made in the documentary about parroting Ray Hunt and not having an original idea of his own when he first began giving clinics made me realize that Garland brought nothing new to the table. With all his celebrity the ideas he renamed as CPR for the horse are nothing more than regurgitated horse whisper 101.

I don't point this out to continue my rant about the man but instead to express I see that recognition as yet another tool. Those "horse whisperer" types I have seen who are genuine in their concern for the horse all have their unique twist to the basic Tom Dorrance, Ray Hunt teachings.

Some of them have built that into big money and others have supported themselves more modestly so money alone isn't a measure of sincerity, nor is it a measure of competence. It seems to me the variations these people have learned along their journey might be a key to the true value of their worth to the horses. The honest man will not willing harm the horse. The dishonest one doesn't really care about the horse in the first place so he has not made the effort to evolve his methods into something genuine.

What do you think?

To be continued......

More on Buck

A Little Change of Pace - Decisions

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Thu, 30 May 2013 03:27:00 +0000

I don't know about you but I can use a break from the darkness of this series of posts so I have decided to take a brief respite from the telling of my story and focus instead something else.

This past weekend we had issues with our cable and boredom was driving me crazy. I had the forethought to have Dave set up the DVD player and show me which buttons to push (since I can't read any of that tiny print and don't use the thing often enough to know). Then I was good to go with the small stack of DVDs that are of interest to me.

I was torn between watching training material I have from Bobby Hart, Tommy Garland and then my assortment of horse movies. I have studied extensively the Hart material but I have never removed the shrink wrap from the Tommy Garland stuff since I lost all respect for the man with his treatment of my client and Rhythm.

Considering the man is dishonest and exploitative, how can I trust the material on the DVD series? I have a lot of money tied up there but who's to say it's anything more than smoke and mirrors.

I know plenty of horse trainers with talent who took shortcuts behind closed doors at the horse's expense. While Tommy Garland obviously had a lot of talent he is not the young, eager trainer I respected 18 years ago when Dandy was young. There was a huge difference between that first clinic I attended than that one just a few years back. The first had been about helping the participants with their horses while the second had been about promoting Tommy Garland and selling those DVDs. If I had seen that at the time, maybe Rhythm and his new owner would have been saved from the destructive course they ended up on.

I will probably always kick myself for not seeing what was right in front of me. I paid big money for him to help me with two of my horses that weekend. He used my time and my horses to pitch content on his soon to be released DVDs. He did literally hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars in advance sales that weekend and I did not learn one single helpful thing with either horse but didn't even see it until the glow of doing a clinic with RFD-TVs latest star had dimmed and I realized what he did with my horses was unrelated to the issue I had requested assistance with.

That seeing the red flags after the fact is one of those things I am hoping to put behind me but just the memory of this whole thing with Tommy Garland was enough to settle the discussion I was having with myself about which DVDs were worth watching. Those by Garland are still in their shrink wrap. I opted to watch Buck
instead.
....and I watched it over....and over.....and over.

Hopefully I will be able to put into words what I saw.

To be continued....

A Return to the Journey of 2011... ...The Verdict........

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Wed, 29 May 2013 00:53:00 +0000

Part 1

I can still see the vision of my husband precisely cutting the strip of medicated material to the exact size necessary to reach completely to the bottom of each wound with the width going to but barely touching both sides without causing pressure. Dave held up each finished piece declaring his belief it was right to the approving nod of the wound nurse. Then he carefully inserted each cut down into the wounds.

Both fit perfectly and each was positioned with equal precision. Even with the weird contortions of the lower wound, Dave never once dinged the edges or caused me pain. His methodology was the best I had experienced to date in all aspects of my wound care. I really had no complaints about any caregiver who had tended to those wounds before him so it wasn't that the bar was low. He was just that good at this task I had asked of him. It was obvious the wound care nurse was as pleased as I.

The doctor arrived soon after Dave had placed the medication into position. With both wounds still exposed the surgeon carefully inspected the condition of each wound and the medicated strips. Then he moved on to reading the label on the packaging of the treatment as the nurse once again explained the damage done to the skin around my ostomy because of all the flushing which indicated the need for this change.

With the reminder of the byproduct of his treatment plan, the doctor looked back to my andomen to see exactly what the nurse was complaining about. I winced as he probed the area with his fingers but if he noticed, he did not acknowledge the discomfort he had caused. Instead he nodded to the nurse declaring he was comfortable with her choice of medication.

From there it was decided I could go home once my pain medications had been changed from IV to oral, as long as Dave committed to daily dressing changes. In addition I needed to have home health care service set up with a nurse, a wound care nurse and a dietitian. I also needed to have appointments in place for the coumadin clinic and the surgeon. If all of that could be arranged I could forgo the nursing home.

The appointments and services would all be set up by a hospital social worker as long as financial approvals could be met. The orders just needed to be entered for all of this to even start the wheels in motion.

The wound nurse figured maybe one more day and I would finally be home. Then the real craziness would start.

To be continued.......

Getting Home with Baggage

A Return to the Journey of 2011... Dave's Tests...Both Present and Past.........

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Tue, 28 May 2013 02:32:00 +0000

Part 1

While we waited for the doctor to arrive the wound care nurse went in search of the product she intended to use instead of wound flushing. I don't recall specifically what it was, only that it was something specific to her bag of tricks that the doctor didn't understand. That is why he was coming to see her solution for himself.

Once she had returned and the doctor had called to say he would be there shortly, the nurse decided it was time to begin Dave's instruction on how to care for my wounds. I still think the nurse was expecting my husband to not be able to handle the situation because he had no type of medical training but she didn't let on. If he was willing to try, she was willing to give him the chance.

I remember Dave was all business as soon as he knew the task was at hand. As the nurse began to put on her gloves, Dave asked her where he might find bigger ones and then easily donned those she indicated.

He had a focus about him I rarely see. He studied each movement the nurse made as she began laying out the supplies she expected to use. Next thing I knew he was peeling off the large dressing protecting the two large wounds that dominated the middle of my abdomen.

The nurse talked Dave through each step of caring for each wound. She described in detail each wound and its complexities, as well as warning signs to watch for.

One wound was right in the middle where my belly button should have been. It was about the size of a plum laid out sideways and it was deep. The second one was down farther, right at the end of the incision but above my pubic bone. It was smaller, but it was deep and it had caverns that went underneath what looked like healthy skin.

In actuality the second was far worse than the first. It had the potential to go south quickly and for such complications to go unnoticed so she explained to Dave how to find the hidden caverns and how to check for the development of new ones, as well as what to do if that should occur.

Dave worked his way through this process with determination and confidence. There was a surety in his movements that surprised even me. I found myself wondering where he had gotten it. Then it dawned on me.

Dave was in the Air Force during the Vietnam War. He has always claimed not to be a veteran of that conflict but I never believed him. He has always had the classic signs of someone with PTSD but he insisted he was stationed elsewhere.

As he worked, I asked him, "When you were in the Air Force were you flying support for the war,

Without even looking up the man confirmed my suspicions and I asked him the second part of my question, "Did you end up helping them treat the patients or anything like that?"

"Uh huh," he responded, still not being specific so I point blank asked why this mess that was my abdomen didn't seem to phase him at all.

"This is nothing compared to what I saw then," he responded without any change to his voice but the magnitude of what he said was not lost on me or the nurse.

I finally had an explanation for those PTSD symptoms I've witnessed over the years. God bless this gentle man who gives me all he can.

To be continued.....

The Verdict

A Return to the Journey of 2011... A Discovery

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Sun, 26 May 2013 03:05:00 +0000

Part 1

It was the wound care nurse who was the first of my caregivers to realize my ostomy was being compromised by the wound flushing. Of course she had no idea what had caused the problem but she immediately saw there was one when I exposed my abdomen to her and Dave for his lesson in how to care for my open wounds. She was the nurse who had initially given me such grief because I could not deal with my ostomy. She was convinced I was just behaving like another spoiled patient, pissed off at the world for life's latest curve ball. When she learned I was actually experiencing a strong, crippling response at the very sight of the ostomy and that I was still trying despite it, her opinion about me changed and her approach softened. Now as she saw the red skin around the seal of the ostomy bag, a concerned look crossed her face. She probed the site with her fingers and I winced with pain so she inquired about the source of the irritation. Upon learning about the doctor's treatment plan, she shook her head in disbelief. Then she called the surgeon immediately, not even bothering to leave my room before making the call. It was clear from the conversation she intended to change the doctor's mind and would settle for nothing less. The doctor was on his way to actually she what she had up her sleeve. Dave's lesson on dealing with my wounds was tabled until the surgeon could get there. This nurse was not allowing anything to be over done on her watch.

To be continued......

Dave's Tests...Both Present and Past....

A Return to the Journey of 2011... More Mistakes.....

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Sat, 25 May 2013 07:19:00 +0000

Part 1

I could tell from the wound nurse's reaction to my suggestion Dave could care for those two large holes in my abdomen that she had serious doubts but I think she realized there was no point in arguing with me about it. Her solution was to tell me he would need to come to the hospital to be taught what was necessary and the final decision about whether he was up to this task would be hers so I called him and an appointment was made. She may have thought this was over but I knew it was just beginning. Dave would handle this for me, I was sure of it.

While waiting for him to arrive I was once more sent off to the shower. That meant one more time my ostomy bag was compromised. The only difference this time was the nurse dressing my wound and replacing the bag was teaching a student as well. When the bag was placed on my skin this nurse pushed around the seal without checking the placement first and the position was off. Deciding it should be perfect she peeled it off, despite my protestations, and broke out another new bag.

This made five times in about thirty hours the thing was been changed. My skin was beginning to show the strain of too many changes. This nurse didn't seem to notice or care but I was definitely feeling it and the redness spread beyond the outer portion of the seal.

This was the first time I would experience someone in a teaching capacity do something that compromised my care but it would not be my last. The part that concerns me is the fact this nurse didn't even see the harm she caused and that has appeared to be a theme throughout my story which suggests up and coming doctors and nurses are getting some unfortunate advise. so what is the next generation of health care providers going to be like with careless teachers like these?

To be continued.......

A Discovery..........

A Return to the Journey of 2011... Consequences....

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Fri, 24 May 2013 03:04:00 +0000

Part 1

I managed to make it through that first shower despite the fact I was exhausted enough to fall asleep while waiting for the nurse to bring the chair. However, I knew I was pushing myself well beyond my limits so I actually rang for the nurse before I was finished.

I figured it would take her some time to get there so I pulled the cord to summon the nurse when I was just finishing up with the wound flushing. Then I would have plenty of time to dry off, cover my wounds and dress before she arrived. No way was I allowing her to see me naked again.

I was so exhausted at this point i struggled to raise myself out of the chair to dry off my back side. I nearly fell as I tried to stand long enough to place a dry towel on the wet seat but I refused to admit I could not complete the simple tasks facing me.

By the time the nurse arrived I had managed to finish. I even got on my socks and slippers keeping them dry in the process but I was totally spent. I had to resign myself to being wheeled back to my room.

Once there, the matter of my ostomy bag had to be addressed. As I feared the seal has indeed been compromised by the method I had used to clean my wounds. The bag had to be removed and replaced with a new one.

The only one who seemed to be concerned with this was me so twice more in that day the whole process was repeated. Each time, no matter how the bag was protected or what I did trying to keep it dry I ended up with the same result.

The next morning when the surgeon arrived, he was thrilled with the improvement in both wounds. He decided I could be discharged as long as the treatment of flushing the wounds three times a day was continued.

The only question was where would I go. Patients are rarely discharged to home with open wounds, instead they are sent to nursing homes. The only exceptions happen when there is someone in the household who can perform the necessary care.

I didn't learn of these restrictions until the wound nurse came. She was there for final instructions about my ostomy and talking about what I needed to know when I got to the nursing home. You can imagine how this hit me. I had no plans of going to any nursing home, no way, no how.

We ended up in an emotional discussion. The nurse was trying to convince me why a nursing home was best and I was arguing my perception that such a place would be detrimental to my mental health. The nurse insisted I needed someone to change my dressings everyday.......and I once again volunteered Dave.

To be continued.....

More Mistakes.........

A Return to the Journey of 2011... Getting Through....

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Thu, 23 May 2013 02:00:00 +0000

Part 1

As big a wimp as I am about blood and guts, I have always managed to put that queasiness aside or at least manage it if I absolutely had to. This shower was definitely an exercise in managing my physical revulsion at my wounds. I had to focus on what I needed to do without dwelling on what I was seeing, nor particularly easy for me when I am well, let alone in this kind of condition.

The whole purpose of the plastic over the ostomy bag was to keep it and the surrounding skin dry so the bag would not loosen. The difficulty on that was its proximity to the wounds needing to be flushed. With a mere two inches between the incision and my ostomy there was little, if any chance, the wounds could be flushed without getting water all over the area of the ostomy and it sure didn't look to me like this makeshift barrier could possibly keep things dry.

The shower was fitted with one of those handheld shower heads but it did not have a choice of settings. There really wasn't much of an adjustment for pressure either. Flushing these wounds without getting water underneath the plastic protecting the ostomy didn't seem possible.

I really has gotten no more instruction than to flush with warm water for fifteen minutes. Now looking at the condition of the wounds I figured my best course of action would be to treat it the same way I had the hole in Lilly's chest.

I tried to keep the stream of water angled away from the location of the ostomy. I had to gauge how close I held the shower head based on how the water deflected so it wasn't splashing too forcefully onto the area that needed to be protected. At the same time I knew there needed to be enough pressure to remove all debris from both wounds.

It was an exercise in futility and in addition to that it was darn cold. Keeping the water on that small portion of my body left the rest of me exposed to the cool air of the room.

I had concerns about using the water to keep me warm because of the possibility of exposing my wounds to something far worse that could be hanging out on these hospital bathroom walls. That was the last thing I needed.

To remove everything that appeared to be abnormal from my wounds I had to abandon my plan of keeping the water turned away from the ostomy. It took turning that nozzle any and all directions to thoroughly cleanse both wounds, despite the fact I knew doing so was probably compromising the integrity of the seal on my ostomy bag.

This was the flaw in the surgeon's plan that no one noticed and I would be the one to pay for that oversight. I just didn't know it yet.

To be continued......

Consequences

A Return to the Journey of 2011... Realizations....

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Wed, 22 May 2013 02:19:00 +0000

Part 1

With the sound of the door closing behind the nurse, I turned my attention toward the task at hand. Just like I would have done at home, I began with washing my hair so the conditioner could sit while I doing everything else.

I really hadn't thought about how long that approach would leave me sitting with a wet head when it was time to turn my attention to flushing the wounds that brought me to the shower in the first place.

I have been a practitioner of a five minute shower ever since my boarding school days when the whole process had to be completed in under that time or else cold water would come flying over the wall, projected there by an angry student waiting in line for her turn. That means I am rarely in the shower long enough to experience getting cold so it never crossed my mind in these circumstances despite the fact that I had learned getting cold caused my pain levels to go through the roof that I should be thinking about how I would stay warm through this process.

My shower started off pleasant enough. There was a conglomeration of plastic and tape over my ostomy bag to keep it dry and the area of my incision was still covered with a dressing. I decided upfront I would let the water loosen it so it would not pull like it usually did when it was removed. These two thing being covered meant I did not have to look at the two most stressful aspects of my body until the end.

Words can not describe the pleasure I felt as I experienced the warm water flowing over my body. Never in my life have I appreciated a shower as much as I did in those initial moments. I closed my eyes and the world seemed right but it was not to last.

I was jolted to reality when I proceed to wash under my arms. The washcloth literally disappeared into the void that was my armpit. The muscle wasting was so extreme even my long fingers could not touch skin at the bottom of that hole.

If I had denial left about the reality of my condition, it was quickly disintegrating. By the time the water washed away the dressing on my abdomen, I was already reeling. I was totally unprepared for the two gaping holes that overshadowed my surgical incision.

Only one other time in my life have I seen such a distressing wound and that happened to be on one of my horses. At least the hole in my mare's chest had not been formed by disease but how I had dealt with it definitely inspired how I would deal with my own wounds. While this whole idea might have been a good plan, there was definitely an important side effect of it that had not been considered.

To be continued.....

Getting Through

Note: I want to remind my readers my reasoning for going into this detail is that it is the groundwork for what has followed. I believe it will be easier to understand how some things happened and where I am today and hopefully it will help someone along the way avoid some pitfalls that I stumbled into.

A Return to the Journey of 2011...Vulnerabilities

noreply@blogger.com (Rising Rainbow) — Tue, 21 May 2013 01:34:00 +0000

Part 1

As I sat there on the commode, my mind wanted to race but I was too exhausted even for thinking. My eyes closed. My focus waned. My normal hyper vigilance in unfamiliar places could not be maintained. I slept.

The opening of the bathroom door startled me awake. Fear coursed adrenaline through my veins as I turned to face who or what had awakened me.

In the doorway stood another nurse as startled at discovering me as I was by her intrusion on my unplanned nap. Apologizing while quickly retreating she was gone in an instant. The door was once again closed leaving me with only enough charge to be concerned about my vulnerability lest the next intrusion be not so benign.

When the door opened I was not startled at all since my eyes had not left its surface since its last closing. This time it was my nurse carrying my shower chair which she quickly placed in the cubicle. Then she proceeded to lay out in convenient order all the supplies she'd previously carried before turning her attention to adjusting the water's temperature for the perfect warmth for me.

With everything ready the nurse assisted me in removing my hospital clothing and then getting me from the toilet to the chair. With the surge of adrenaline from the earlier intrusion I actually had the strength to move from one perch to the other.

Age has certainly relieved me of any comfort I might have had with my body at one time. Yet even in days past I was never comfortable around others naked so I had no intentions of an assist with showering.

It did not take much for to convince this nurse. She easily let me close her out with the curtain but only after being certain I saw the call button. Standing on the other side of the flimsy barrier she really wanted to stay but I would have no part of that. I wanted privacy.

Only once I agreed I would ring when finished, did the nurse depart. My privacy from a nurse I actually trusted was more important than the jeopardy of once again being left alone, now naked and all the more vulnerable in a place and circumstance I never would have continued safe under normal circumstances. It may not have been clear to me at the time, but I was definitely making decisions I was no longer qualified to make. If I was not harmed by such it was only because no one who might be trolling for such opportunities happened by my door that day. That would not always be the case.

To be continued.......

Realizations.......