Mercury in Retrograde: Part 4

 

7 years ago in PA

Friday morning I was greeted by a nice grey horse. She was eating methodically, and otherwise seemed ok. She stood quietly while I did medical stuff, flushing her line, rinsing the cut on her lip, checking her vitals. She quickly ate her grain and bute, then back to her hay. All good things, but completely devoid of personality or a spark. 

Less than 24 hours since her last seizure, maybe I should chill out. The bedding in her stall looked extra rumpled, but like she had struggled to get up, rather than something more sinister. Later that day, when Dr I came out for a check, she agreed. She was still very sore, and possibly had difficulty because of the catheter in her neck. Fair enough. I forgot to mention in my last post, but the day of the seizures, she listed hard to the right when walked. She had been unable to walk straight at all, instead pulling hard to the side. Today, she was able to walk straight. She was still hesitant to put her hind feet down when moving, but not as bad, and Dr I felt that was due to soreness, more than a neurological issue. 

She passed all her facial checks, and generally was a-OK physically. We did some bloodwork, which came back unremarkable. There was no hint as to a cause, but also she hadn't damaged anything in the process. 

Dr I was pleased with her progress, but I fretted over her missing personality. She reminded me it had only been a day...give it some time. I mulled over what my therapist had asked me the day before: what would it mean if Truby didn't come back? What would it look like?

And I guess not much would change. I certainly wouldn't get rid of her. I would keep and care for her like always. I would still love her. But I would mourn her. It wouldn't be the same, and my life would be a little duller, a little less. But I would still remember my friend, and hope she might return. I had thoughts about changing her name. Also...it had just been a day, I could try being patient and wait for her. 

She was cleared for normal horse life. I would just keep on eye on her and hope for the best. I decided to use the word "hiding". Truby wasn't gone, she was hiding. It was hard to think that she might be lost inside her mind, or that what had happened was so traumatizing she needed to hide away. But that word was easier for me. Hiding was easier than 'lost' or 'gone' or 'vacant'. Hiding meant she could come back when she was ready. 

Pink Swat: universal sign for 'I know my horse has an injury'