I’m no stranger to “FOMO” (the fear or missing out). Like most horse show competitors, I used to feel it when I was seeing other people ride at a show I couldn’t afford to go to or had to miss for whatever reason, but lately, I have been experiencing a whole new kind of rider’s regret.
I regret all the times I decided not to ride because overtired after a long work week. I regret the days when the weather was beautiful and I decided to just to grab a beer and sit in my lawn chair and watch the horses graze. I regret not getting on my horse’s bareback for just five minutes instead of calling it quits after grooming because I had to vacuum the house or do laundry.
In August, I had a relapse with my Multiple Sclerosis. I was driving the trailer home from an off-property schooling and my vision got blurrier by the minute, and by the time I had unloaded Berkeley back at home, I could only make out large shapes. For almost the entire month, I couldn’t see clearly. I couldn’t work at my day job where I’m a graphic designer. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t even enjoy the time off of work and read a book. My boyfriend had to give me pony rides on Batman, the horse I have in rehab, because he was supposed to be walked under saddle and I couldn’t really see where I was going. After several infusions of steroids, I felt sick, but my vision was finally getting back to normal. I could make out the left side of people’s faces, and even took a lesson on Berkeley. I still had a blind spot but it was getting better everyday. I made horse show plans. I bought a new book. I started riding by myself again.
Then, I was knitting on a Saturday morning. My neurologist called me to check in around 9 a.m. and I told her about how I was so excited to start working again the next week. Less than two hours later I was on the phone with my mom and she asked if I was drinking because my words were slurred. Slowly I lost the ability to use my right hand, then my arm, my leg, and then my entire right side. By noon, I was completely paralyzed on the right side.
I spent the better part of two months in a hospital bed. I was poked, prodded, ultrasounded, infused with more steroids, I was MRIed more times than I can count, and there is still a scar on my arm from where the IV was. My boyfriend, sister, mother, and even my college equestrian coach came to visit me. I would smile, laugh, and joke about how terrible the food was. When they were gone, I tried to be practical. I contacted people to see who would have a good places for my horses to go, since I would no longer be able to give them the life that they deserved—a life where they could continue their athletic careers.
But after I joked with the nurses and smiled as they checked my vitals again or replaced an IV bag, I would cry myself to sleep because all I could think about was my rider’s regret. I thought about the times I didn’t throw my leg over the back of a horse when I could’ve. I thought about the times I could’ve ridden even if I was a little tired from a long work week. I thought about how on those beautiful weather days I should have just gotten on my horse and gone for a trail ride. I thought about how the house chores could have waited for me to just get on a horse and walk around for a bit.
Even now, with the ability to use my right side, I have those regrets. My handwriting is not the same, I have a disability score, and I still have very little feeling in my right leg which makes it hard to stay balanced in the saddle and to cue my horse properly. I feel nervous in a way that I never have on the back of a horse before. I don’t feel secure even when holding onto a saddle horn. I regret those shows that I didn’t go to because I wonder if I’ll ever be able to show successfully again. This rider’s regret is with me every time I see one of my horses, but I am trying so hard to be better and with the help of a great support group (and antidepressants) I am slowly working my way past all the regret. Because in all honesty, they shouldn’t be regrets. The days that my horses spent out in the pasture with their friends just being horses instead of having me on their backs are not regrets for them. They don’t care about shows that we didn’t go to and win a cheap ribbon. They don’t care about me just brushing them because I didn’t have time to ride. They don’t care that I chose to watch them graze and not ride, actually they probably preferred it!
I rode Berkeley for the first time in five months a few days ago. I almost fell off six times, absolutely no fault of his, just my lack of balance and coordination, but he let me grab onto his mane, annoyingly adjust myself over and over again, and listened to endless voice commands. He took care of me. Batman’s rehab is now rehabbing me probably more than him. He has been on stall rest for over a year and still lets me hold on to the horn when I lose my balance repeatedly.
If I’m being honest, I’m afraid. I don’t know if or when this will happen again and if I’ll be able to recover as much as I have this time, so I’m refusing to have rider’s regret. My horses are happy and healthy. I am getting healthier and happier. And being a horseman is not about throwing your leg over the back of a horse and riding around. It’s about having such a great connection with a horse, that they will walk slower with you when you turn them out because you’ve got a little bit of a limp.
It’s about those moments where they nuzzle you when you are crying and make you smile. It’s about the little quirky things that they do that make you laugh. It’s about sharing your life with amazing animals. I would never wish what I went through this past year on anyone, but no matter what happens with you, don’t have any rider’s regret. Be happy for the time you get to spend in the presence of a horse, not just during the time you spend on their backs.