Hard Lessons Learned

It was 6a.m. on a Saturday morning in October in Tempe, Arizona, where I live. My wife, along with my daughter and grandson, were out for the day. The only thing on my weekend schedule was my weekly radio show about car repair on KTAR, but that wasn’t for another five hours.

With time on my hands, I decided to go for a ride. I saddled one of my horses, a 4-year old, black and white Paint stallion named Splash. He has two focuses in file; girls and workin’ cows.

When I first climbed in the saddle he pinned his ears, shook his head, and bit the toe of my right boot. He obviously didn’t want to go for a ride as much as I did. I got off, checked to make sure all my tack was properly adjusted, and that I didn’t have a scorpion between Splash’s back and the saddle blanket. I couldn’t find anything wrong, so I climbed back up. He still resisted but, being the boss, I pushed him forward with my spurs, reined him to the right and said, “Let’s get going, good buddy.”

And that’s when my spur of the moment Saturday morning ride turned sideways. Splash shook his head, stood up on his back legs, rolled over backward, and planted me in the ground. The back of my head hit the ground first then my horse’s head hit mine. The saddle horn meanwhile, was driven into my chest.

I’m told I wasn’t breathing or awake when the ranch hands found me and called for help. I heard later that Splash stood up, did a do-se-do on my chest and groin then danced off to another pen.  I remember nothing from the ICU except being told, “NO,”  I couldn’t  get up and I couldn’t walk around. Soon my 52-year old body began to stiffen from being in bed so many days. Almost worst of all, I wasn’t even allowed to get up to go to the bathroom or take a shower.

I was miserable and didn’t have a lot of faith in the medical care I was receiving.  Finally, I decided Spalsh wasn’t the only one who could part ways with the person at the reins. I told the doctor I was leaving and, against his protest, I did just that, eight days after the accident, wearing  the finest looking paper jammie’s you’ve ever seen.

I was home for two days before my bride of 35 years,  Ranae,  conspired with a well-respected hospital administrator and a bunch of my old police-buddies to deliver me to a different hospital. They planned an “intervention,” which is nothing less than a legal kidnapping.

They took me to a different hospital where I had a quiet room, shower privileges, food worth eathing and great nurses and doctors.

Three days later, I returned with the doctor’s blessing, new medicines – better, happier and somewhat healed. I was told my hurt head and brain would need six months to get back to “normal,” a word my wife has never used to describe me.

If you’re like most people hearing this story, you’ve got three questions at this point: How’s the horse? Just fine, thank you, and still the apple of my eye. Turns out he had a abscessed tooth, and while I knew to check his mouth in a situation like that, I simply forgot that day. This wreck was all my fault – he warned me twice he didn’t want to go riding, and I simply wasn’t paying attention.

Why weren’t you wearing a helmet? Heck, a helmet wouldn’t have made me any smarter. I’d still have forgotten to check Splash’s mouth. But, I understand the question  and have no good answer for it, except that all my cowboy buddies would’ve laughed at me if I ‘d had a helmet on – just as they did when they saw me in my hospital jammies.

What lessons did you learn? I learned to check my horse’s mouth if he doesn’t want to go riding, listen to his warnings (and get off if need be), and to find a good hospital in the first place.

It’s now been six months since my wreck, and I just now got a clean bill of health. After giving me 15 cat scans, the neurologist says he things he sees a speck in my head that may one day grow into a full service brain. I’m back at work, but my wife says I’m not allowed to sue the word “normal.” I’m also back to riding Splash and we’re still best buddies.

Oh, yeah … I now own (and am happy to wear) a brand – new large, sandstone,  Troxel  Sierra Western Helmet, courtesy of my wife and kids.

And you know what? It looks a lot better on me than those pink paper jammies.

By Mark Salem

Mark and Ranae Salem own Salem Boys Auto in Tempe Arizona. There, Mark enjoys time with his family, grand sons, and eight “cow smart” Quarter Horses.  Mark is part of “The Motrin Gang” – a group of older cowboys who, he says, work cows (just like our dads and granddads did) for food, drinks, fun and a warm fire.