Presence for Me

It was a beautiful day with the sun peeking out, and the temperature rose to about 50. Richard, my husband, planned to muck out the corrals, so with great anticipation I went out to connect with Saphira, my mare. After grooming her, I walked her to the round pen and took my time watching and taking pictures as she frolicked around luxuriating in her sense of freedom. My husband, watching Shadow in his corral as he ran bucking and snorting, said, "Aren't you full of yourself today!"

As I joined him I responded, "He certainly is. I don't know if I should take him out of the corral today."

"You don't have to take him out, but open the gate for me so I can get the bobcat in."

Entering the corral, I put a halter on Shadow. He stood tall and snorted, looking out at Saphira. Richard opened the gate wide so he could come in with the bobcat. I held onto Shadow, caressing his neck, "You really want to go play with Saphira, don't you," I asked him.

Snorting and tossing his head in response, I looked from him towards Saphira. I noticed a niggling sensation on the back of my neck when I thought of leaving him, so spirited, in the corral with Richard working. Taking a deep breath, I turned to walk him out the gate. For safety, I held a short lead on him as we moved across the pasture towards the round pen. Suddenly Shadow reared up sharply, and I heard a loud cracking as I felt my arm pulled from its socket.

Time stood still in that moment of total shock and in comprehension of what had just happened. Quickly I caught the lead-rope with my left arm, bringing Shadow back to calm as best I could. I realized, as I began to see with tunnel vision, that I was going down from the pain coursing through my right arm as it hung limp at my side. Turning back towards the corral I hollered, "Richard!"

He was on the bobcat facing away from me and couldn't hear! I called out more frantically as I fell to my knees, "Richard! Richard!" Shadow began to rear up again and again, frightened by my desperate energy.

Turning, Richard heard me and came sprinting over, asking with fear, "Oh my God, did he trample you?"

Handing him the lead rope, I answered, "No, he reared and pulled my arm from its socket. Put him back in the corral for me."

I crumpled to the ground in the fetal position as I cradled my arm. I realized I was moving more fully into the state of shock and began to take slow deep breaths, mindfully focusing on this moment in time as best I could.

When Richard ran back to help me up I said, "No, I can't do it! I can't get up! I need something to support my arm." He raced to the house to find something to make into a sling. Feeling dazed I reached for my phone and called Sarah, my empathy buddy, "I need empathy!" I cried and stayed on the phone, receiving sweet empathy until Richard returned.

The walk to the car and the drive to the hospital were excruciatingly painful. Every step, every bump, was nearly more than I could endure. My arm and hand felt as if they were disappearing as they began to lose sensation. Intentionally I focused on mindfully riding the deep slow waves of my breath, in, out, with Richard coaching me. I could feel the terror of panic reaching for me, and with each footstep and bump, I would mindfully return to my breath to stay present with life in each moment. Drawing upon the skill of visualization, I focused on seeing the Shekinah glory of Light, breathing it into my body, sending it down through my feet, and wrapping it like a glimmering silken cord around the center of the earth to ground myself.

Arriving at the ER, Richard gently removed my muck boots, slipped my feet into shoes, and helped me move onto a wheelchair where once again I curled into a fetal position, focusing on my breath. He had to park the car, so an attendant wheeled me into the hospital to wait in the check-in line.

When it was my turn, someone wheeled me forward as I attempted to focus my eyes, yet the sensory information was so overwhelming, I simply couldn't leave them open very long. The nurse asked my birthdate, and it took all my focus and ability to utter a single word and maintain my presence with the warmth and waves within. Thank God Richard arrived and I could sink once more into riding the waves of my breath with the warm, comforting Light. I was rushed back for triage, with each passing moment becoming less able to respond to questions. I asked for something to ease the pain. Feeling myself being wheeled into a room, I heard a nurse, "We'll give you some medicine once we get your blood pressure and IV in. Let's get your coat and shirt off."

As I attempted to stand, I noticed my legs and left arm were also losing their strength and mobility. The nurse took hold of my left arm to take my coat off, and I began to shake in mounting panic. Her touch felt harsh and tone loud in my ears. I spoke up, "Slow down! Just slow down and speak gently please! Don't rush me! Richard, make her slow down!" I don't know what Richard said, but I could hear his voice. It soothed my soul, and the nurse became gentler. I could feel Richard's hands hold me and hear his voice gently encourage me, "Just breathe deep Gloria, we will get through this, just breathe deep." My whole body was visibly trembling and it felt as if my sense of self was contracting. Continuing to bring my attention back to my breath, Richard stayed by my side and we made it through the X-rays and back to the room. Thankfully I got a new nurse who was very kind and gave me a double shot of pain medicine. As I finally began to experience a measure of relief, I could hear the doctor talking to Richard, but he was out of my line of vision. "Would you be willing to move around to the front so I can see you please?" I ask.

He had a kind tone and compassionate gaze as he explained the process that lay before me to return my arm to its socket. There were two doctors, one to regulate the anesthesia and one to attend to my arm, along with the kind nurse, and Richard who held my hand. The medicine, they said, would cause me to fall asleep, and when I woke up it would be all done. Taking a few moments alone with Richard before the procedure, we held hands as I prayed for inner strength, courage, and peace to reside in my heart.

As they sedated me, I remember being asked about my horse, and when I think about my peaceful place, what would that look like? I laughed and said, "Ironically, it's the sunset with my horses!" Next I remember being in this beautiful space that was warm, bright, and so comfortable and comforting. I was describing what it was like, this way of being in the world, and when I opened my eyes, I could see the doctors and nurse were smiling at me and my husband was holding my hand. I asked, "Is it over?" "Yes," the doctor responded, "How does your shoulder feel?" Pausing to check-in with my body I said, "The sharp pain is gone, but I still can't feel my forearm or hand. Did I say anything?" Continuing to smile with warmth, the doctor replied, "You talked the whole time; it was like listening to the Dalai Lama." As I reflect on my experience, I am hit with the powerful realization what a lifeline my mindfulness practices have become to me. Anchoring myself with the shimmering golden cord, while riding the waves of my breath, enabled me to make clear requests and contribute towards some vital needs being met in the moment. When experiencing such an intensely distressful situation, this way of being truly provided a way for me to consciously reduce the effects of being traumatized or powered over by my external environment.