PROCESS(ING…?)

Tragedy makes you so much more grateful for things that you had grown accustomed to. 

I will be the first to admit that I have been fortunate enough to have grown up in a bubble. Not necessarily a bubble that protected me from the world but more so one that allowed me to create a different definition of real life than most. 

But that all changed in May. My entire world was quite literally dumped out and broken into a million pieces in front of me; my bubble was stabbed and I was thrown into the real, harsh world head first (too soon?). When the decision was made by my team of doctors that it is in my best interest to no longer ride for the University of South Carolina equestrian team, the world I had grown accustomed to and schedule I had learned to love were gone in the blink of an eye.

I had spent my entire high school career working my ass off to be recruited by a top SEC school. Even switching to online school to accommodate my crazy competition schedule. That hard work paid off and I was South Carolina bound. What I didn't expect was to have my dream ripped from my hands during my second year. Now, I know that sports are not everyone's identity, but they were mine. Horseback riding was(/is?) my world, with goals that I lived to accomplish. My life goals surrounded horses, my college decision surrounded horses, my jobs surrounded horses; it was all I knew. 

But all it takes is one day, and that one day is still a blur. I had my life turned upside down and shattered in front of me, and I couldn't do a single thing. They decided I couldn't safely ride, and I was bench bound with my hands tied. 

I had never felt grief prior to this. My bubble has protected me from so many feelings and emotions that I lived in a state of ignorance. I went through the stages of grief over a couple weeks, just trying to understand what this really meant. I was extremely close to my athletic trainer at the time, and thank God for her. She pulled me out of a scary, dark place and helped me understand and process everything. 

By the time I had grasped what was happening, it was time to go home for the summer. Now, was I supposed to ride? Not exactly. Did I anyway? You betcha. But the most important thing I did over summer break was process. I was at peace for the first time in months. I understood the risks, accepted it, and made the decision to ride. My mental health needed horses. Even just the small amount that I rode over the summer was so healing. I could not just get up and walk away from horses. So I decided to buy a horse to have in South Carolina. (boy will my doctors be thrilled when they find that out.)

When I got back to school, it all became so real all over again. Except this time there were actual changes that were going to be made. And I found myself in our team doctor's office yet again. 

Warning: Scatterbrained rant found in paragraph below

I've found that doctors use these words, such as options, to create hope in their patients. I struggled with this sort of bedside manner because the eternal optimism became suffocating. I'm a realist, I would rather be told black and white what is wrong and what to do. I am not capable of a glass half full perspective in the moment; I'm up front and speak my mind. Listening to countless doctors list the possible treatment options became deafening. These “treatments”, first of all, arent treatments. There is no cure for brain injuries, at least not yet. And secondly, each doctor listed out probably close to 10 options. Can you imagine how overwhelming that is? But you can't get anyone to just tell you which one to try first because no one really knows what actually helps TBI’s. We were trying to treat something that isn't yet treatable. I began to feel like more of a lab rat than a patient. 

I'm sure some of you are sitting there thinking ‘it could've been worse’, or ‘it’s just a sport’,  and you’re not wrong. But in that moment, that was the end of the world that I knew; this sport was my world. I was in denial throughout the first few months of this process and it wasn't until I was sitting with my doctor that it all became real, all at once. The conversation switched from possible therapy options (like in our several other meetings) to my ‘options’. As one of the most indecisive people on this planet, ‘options’ is something I never want to hear. But this time, these options were my worst nightmare. 

 In this specific appointment, the use of ‘options’ included  everything but riding. If we are being honest here, I did not start truly listening until I heard the words Medical Retirement. Right then and there it felt like everything had become so inexorably real, all at once, all over again. There was no more pushing through or denying the facts, it was happening and it was all happening right there in front of me. 

I would not be able to ride at all for the team, so then the decision was in my hands: Do I stay on the team and support however I can, but only from a far? Or do I leave the team and venture into a life less built around horses? 

After the first week of team activities, I had my answer. I couldn't sit there and watch 40 other girls live the dream that I put my blood, sweat and tears into. Not because I was lazy or didn't want to do the work; I was just simply not mentally strong enough to handle that. I decided that leaving the team was the best choice for me. This would keep my mental health in check but it also came with the weight of feeling like I let my entire team down. Luckily, they were nothing but understanding and supportive. 

The past few months have been a blur that I am still trying to process. I hope to have a reflective blog post up soon that offers my perspective on this entire process, but I cannot complete that until I let myself accept that I'm actually just a normal person now. 

Until next time,

Cam

P.S: I'd like to share a quote that has been my consistent mantra over the past 6 months. Maybe it can help or offer you a chance to look at a situation from a different perspective. 

No rain, No flowers.