Each New Day.

It has been approximately three weeks now since I found out about Hillary's eyes, and there isn't a day that goes by when I don't think about it. I have lots of questions about her future that seem to hang over my head, and I feel incapable of helping her.

I am not angry so much (although sometimes I can be), rather I feel a sense of gratefulness that we have these moments together, and although I wish that I had never had my problems, and therefore missed out on so much time with her, I am very aware I can do nothing but try to make it right.

During the week, I went out on a hack with a few friends. This was my first hack on Hillary since finding out about the cataracts. Halina takes her out on hacks a lot and this balances the amount of work in the school that I do. At the moment, I am so grateful Hills can still hack out; to be restricted to just the menage seems very dull and boring. She may be able to hack out for many more years, but these issues are the things I think about every day at present, and they sometimes drive me mad.

I squashed myself into my body protector (a must now for hacking), and got on with some much needed help from Gaynor, as I couldn't move properly in it. We then set off up the track into the hills. Naturally, I was trying to see everything that could bring on a spook so that I could prepare for it, but the worst we came past was a large plastic sheet replacing a missing garage door. It made noises in a wind, and I could feel her tense up, but I rubbed her neck, and she walked on. She felt fresh and sprightly, and proceeded to overtake every other horse we were with, but I did not feel worried by her quick step and the fact I had to hold her back. Instead, I felt as though she was enjoying the ride; she seemed to be having fun.

When we arrived back at the yard, I felt so proud of her. I do not know what she can see, or how far, but I know that she tries her best to please. If I say 'go' she will do her best to trust me and follow as I say. I can't express in words the way that makes me feel, to have a relationship with this animal based upon trust and a desire to please.

Every day, I tell myself that my horse has cataracts; that she is medically incurable, and that she will never be the same again. I tell myself that her vision is lessened, and that the best we can hope for is that progression is slow. I am a person who needs something to look forward to and strive towards, and before this, it was growing a super relationship with Hills that allowed us to do new and exciting things. That vision, once clear and inviting, is now blurred and dark, and I cannot see through it. I have noting concrete to hold onto, and the only thing I have now is now; these moments, these memories, this feeling of adoration and admiration and the desire to do right by her, no matter what. Sometimes, it seems,no matter what we aim for and how hard we try, the best we can hope for is the grace to accept the unchangeable that comes our way.

Looking ahead

So, we are up to date now, and so my writing on here will change slightly in that rather than looking back in  way that is well reflected upon over weeks and months, it will be much more immediate and fresh.

Hillary's cataracts look the same; her pupils are a hazy, dazzling blue. The only thing I have noticed in terms of changes, is that she seems to be more snappy and less liking of a fuss. Whilst she has never been one for lots of fuss, and just kind of gets on with things, tough as old boots (I have never had to worry about her in the field), she has never, ever tried to bite me, and in the past few weeks, she has become more short-tempered in the stable. Some people have suggested that it may be due to her feeling more vulnerable because of her loss of sight. I don't really know what I think about that.

Because I can't do anything else, I adopted a 'look forward' approach to start with. It began with feeling glad obviously that she is still here, and that I can still ride at all. I felt grateful for her just being her, and felt that despite her ongoing problems, she still gave her all when we rode. However, this forward thinking, positive approach was short lived.

I have gotten so much more positive and grown so much more confident, that I want to do something with it. I don't want to spend the rest of Hillary's working life going in the menage, and round the same route on the hills, but at the moment there seems nothing else I can do. This has led to moments of real grief and sadness. I wanted to spend many more years with this fantastic bond growing as it has been, but if I'm brutally honest, it feels as though everything I wanted has stopped.

As it's now late January, I am aware that Hillary will have her first cataracts check up in about 6-8 weeks. I feel that if her condition hasn't deteriorated, I will still try to sit a dressage test with her. If it has deteriorated, then I won't, and it's as simple as that.

I feel as though I am running alongside a time limit; as though I need to keep riding as much as I can. This obviously means that when the weather isn't appropriate for riding, (windy conditions) I get extremely frustrated. I feel as though what I want to do has been taken away from me. I don't want to get another horse, because I wanted to move forward with Hillary. In all, at present, it is fair to say that I feel very mixed up.

Whilst I am grateful for everything I have, and in particular, every single time I ride, I am also harboured with a deep feeling of sadness. Hillary is everything to me, and I can't believe what has happened. I wanted so much; even to start jumping again, because I know she loves jumping. But I can't, and there is nothing I can do. I feel empty; whereas before, even just two months ago, I had visions in my mind of what we would do in our future. Now I feel there is nothing; what we do have is so limited, I feel she will get bored.

Today I rode in the wind. I didn't want the weather to stop me riding. I feel as though I have achieved something by doing this for me, but it does seem rather pointless. I am angry, not with anyone, but my bizarre dreams suggest that somewhere, deep down, I blame myself. Not for her condition, but for me being so weak as to allow myself to suffer this anxiety. This makes me feel angry and frustrated.

I will continue to ride when I can, but I know that the things I wanted to share with Hillary, I now can't. Generally I am a positive person, and I feel as though I will be more positive again in a few weeks. I think that for now though, I probably am feeling quite a lot of grief as I try to come to terms with it all. I know and accept that it might seem meaningless to other people, but to me it isn't. It means everything. I just hope that the coming weeks brings lighter nights, and more settled weekend weather. More riding time, so I can spend as much time with Hillary as possible.

Baby Blue Eyes.

I don't know when I first noticed it exactly, but it must be some 2-3 months ago from the date of this post. I had noticed a slight blue tinge to Hillary's eyes, but looking in other horse's eyes, I realised that there were some horses who also had blue tinges. So I put it to the back of my mind.

By this time, I had done so well that I had even had a couple of lessons going over some jumps. An aspiration of mine was for Hills and me to go to Somerford to do the cross country there when I got confident and competent enough. So I wanted (with a really large degree of nerves) to have a little practice. Hills is from Ireland so I believe, and has a wicked jump. She leaps everything with a huge enthusiasm, and even after a lunging session and a lesson, her ears still prick up when she sees a jump being set up. In truth, I really wanted to start jumping again.

One evening, I was talking to Olivia, who was showing me a 'likit' that her horse Ryan was enjoying. They are full of nutrients, and so I was keen to find out whether they would be suitable for Hillary as she remains on a strict diet. Olivia gave the treat to me to show Hills, and she found it so tasty, she nearly pushed me over licking it. I put the treat (in a large bright orange box) on the floor. Hillary put her head down, but didn't seem to be able to locate the box, despite it smelling of treacle. It was only when she put her hoof in it, that she realised where it was; she continued licking it. Both Olivia and I thought it was weird. I showed Olivia the blue in her eyes, and at that point it was decided to get the vet up. Luckily, one of the others was due their jabs soon, and so I asked if it would be possible to tag along to them to share the call out fee.

The problem was though, that it was niggling away at me, and so the next time I saw Gaynor, I got her to have a look. Between the three of us (Olivia, Gaynor and I), we guessed it would most likely be cataracts. However, we didn't really have a clue, and so, impatiently, I pushed for the vet to come sooner.

Cataracts was ruled out straight away. The vet shone the light in her eyes and decided that although there was a definite blue looking opacity, there were no cataracts. He gave me some drops, suggesting an inflammation of the eye ball. They were to be administered three times a day, and I was to call in two days to let him know if the cloudiness had subsided. It didn't.

Again, he recommended some drops, this time a steroid medication with the same dosage instructions. This made a little difference, but nothing major, and a blue line had began to line the edge of her eye. The drops made the cloudiness move away from the iris and more into the pupil. She looked as if someone had blown cigarette smoke into her eye. It was a sort of blue cloud. I rang the vet again, and he recommended that he'd better visit again.

I brought my mum up to this visit for support, as I'd been told that the likely problem was equine recurrent uveitis, which is a regular flare up of the eye. It is painful and requires medication. I felt sick thinking that this terrible condition had befallen my horse. The vet was there when I arrived and had brought an eye specialist.

"It's cataracts." The specialist said. "Medically, they're incurable."

I felt floored to be honest. I was relieved she wouldn't have to have medication, and that she wasn't in pain, but I felt absolutely floored. She has cataracts.

The vet, after a long examination, explained that Hills already has a degree of loss quite significant to the lower peripheral vision, which was the reason she couldn't see the bright orange box. We can no longer do any jumping or even pole work, and hacking out is only safe if every precaution is taken. I can still school, but whatever I do, I have to be aware that she can't see well, and that her sight is deteriorating.

Hillary has to be checked every three months; the first check up will be March 2012. She will never be better, but we can't say as yet how long the cataracts will develop. Many horses develop cataracts in one eye, and still live normal lives, some even eventing. However Hillary has them in both, her left eye being less affected than the right.

I felt like a huge blow had been delivered.

I had heard that my friend's horse had gone into the animal hospital for tests. She was a beautiful animal; a picture of health, and the most loving, kind personality you could ever imagine. I text her owner to see how she was getting on. The reply was swift; she had an incurable brain tumour, and was about to be put to sleep. I sat in my car in tears.

I don't know why things seem to happen to the nicest kindest people and animals. I will miss her, Georgie, and will always remember her with a sense of peace remembering what a beautiful creature she was. There is an old saying that 'heaven is seen in the space between the ears of a horse.' I'm absolutely certain her owners knew this with Georgie.

I have to look forward with Hillary, and know that although she has cataracts, and is going blind, she is still here, with me. I cannot possibly ask for more. She is my Blue-Eyed Disco Dancer, and I am grateful for every second.

RIP Georgie. Missed and loved, always, Sarah and Hillary x x

Days for smiling.

Hillary and I were definitely building a great relationship. Things were looking up. I even started hacking out, mostly thanks to Halina who when I felt nervous, just kept talking to me, about anything . I even went on a few hacks with some of the other riders on the farm, who whilst being aware of my problems, had no idea really how bad I had felt. I still got pangs of fear, but I managed slightly better to hide them.

I decided I wanted to 'show the world' how great Hillary and I were, so I decided to go to Mottram show. Mottram show is a county show held twice a year in our local area. I always, always went to it, even travelling down from Lancaster on a 70plus-mile journey just to go and look round it. I had always dreamed of entering in it, but up until now, had only entered the dog show part in 1993 with the beloved and much missed Candy. I still have the rosette. The last show I had entered with a horse had been a Pony Club show held at the farm I  rode at as a child, where I broke my thumb in the absolute beginners class riding another of the ponies owned by the wonderful family that had owned Sugar. I cleared the round and did the jump off, before doing the jobs and going home for tea. It was sometime later that I went to hospital. I don't know how I managed to break my thumb.

I deliberated again and again over taking Hills to Mottram. I hadn't done a show for over ten years, I didn't know whether she had done any, my family were away, and so the only 'groom' I had was Ric, who even now, knows nothing about horses. Eventually, I remembered Gaynor saying to me that sometimes you have to  "live by the seat of your pants." I sent the form off, and this became the centre of my thoughts for the next few weeks.

Olivia helped me sort out Hillary's mane and tail, which were long and rather scruffy, and lots of people lent me different things. One person even give me a bit, as I had given her a couple of head collars some time before, for her foal. Some people even went as far as setting up mock show rings in the menage for me, and gave me advice on how to do the class. I felt so excited. The day before, my friend spent an hour plaiting Hillary's mane, and by the end of the long day, she looked amazing.

The day was a blur. It was a brilliant experience although we didn't come anywhere, and Hillary was impeccably behaved. I don't think I have ever slept so well though, as I was exhausted. It was a super day. Ric even managed to look after things well, carrying everything he could physically lift.

The lessons were going well too, and Olivia started mentioning doing a dressage test. I never thought I would be capable of sitting a dressage test at any level, and so the idea was a huge confidence boost. I felt as though I was on top of the world once again, and even felt as though I was a fairly competent rider. I felt amazing, beyond anything I could possibly write in words.

I began riding in the menage on my own, which was something that I never thought I could do. In the menage, I would work on whatever Olivia had set for me as a target, and I would work and work on it, each time being more confident and able than the next. These truly were days for smiling.

Friends.

My mother always told me that if I didn't understand something, or couldn't do something, I must ask for help.  So when my confidence dropped, I did just that.

Once I started riding again, I began joining the weekly farm lessons, run by Gaynor's daughter Olivia. The lessons were (and still are) brilliant, because Olivia knew my weaknesses, and just how far she could push me in my confidence loss. Originally, there were a few of us on these lessons, all with our own horses. I went along to every lesson, getting there an hour early to lunge Hillary, and mentally prepare myself. Although I was riding now, I would still feel physically sick, and found that if I had to rush anything, I would end up feeling stressed, which made the whole thing much worse.

Along with taking everything very slowly when preparing for a lesson, I also took to whispering to Hillary, something that I still do now. When I tack her up, or when I get on her, I whisper to her. For some reason, this makes me feel better, as I feel, in a strange way, that she is listening to me.

These group lessons did not last long. There was a man joining in the lessons who was a very novice rider, riding a very sprightly Welsh Section D. Although I get on well with this person, and absolutely adore the pony, I have to be honest in admitting that when he joined us in lessons, I found it harder to cope. The man had no sense of control over the pony, and it got to a point where, even knowing he was in the lesson, made me feel worse.

This maybe selfish of me, and I completely understand, but I have to be completely honest and admit that the only thing that mattered to me was getting back on my horse, and getting over my own fears. I decided that I would stop these lessons, as they didn't seem to be helping.

I had a few private lessons, but again, this didn't work for me. The only feeling Hills had to go off was me, and because I was a bag of nerves, she became so too. The worst lesson I had, Hills had a bad spook, and I couldn't calm myself down. I ended up riding round so rigidly, that my back seemed to be screaming out in pain. I had tears rolling down my cheeks, and kept brushing them away. When I got off, my partner Ric, who had come to watch me tried to console me, but I felt beyond help. Even if I physically could get on, how could I ride? I couldn't hack out (the thought physically terrified me), I couldn't join in group lessons, and I couldn't have private ones either. I felt terrible. It was as though I had got through something major, to find that what was on the other side was purely another set of problems. I was exhausted.

At the time, Guinness, a lovely black cob, was stabled next to Hillary. I had taken him out on a hack right at the start of my problems because it was thought he'd be quieter than Hills. Even then I'd felt afraid, but I'd taken him out with a group of others, and had come back having achieved something, even if it wasn't with Hillary. Guinness is the horse on the right in the picture at the top of this post. He is a real gem.

At the time, Guinness needed exercising, and a lady came to see him. Because I am the kind of person who loves to chat, I got talking to this person. When she next visited, the same happened. She made me feel at ease somehow, and I got talking to her about my problems. Between us, we decided to see if we could have a lesson together. That way, I wouldn't be on my own, and I would also know the temperament of the other horse. It sounded perfect.

The lady's name was Emma, and we have ridden together ever since. Emma makes me feel as though I am teaching her something. This in turn, makes me feel competent, and thus boosts my confidence. Our lessons are great. There is an atmosphere of calm and focus, but with a lightness that means we can laugh when things don't go to plan. These lessons are undoubtedly the highlight of my week, and I know that if the weather is not good on the day of the lesson, I find it very hard to give up and not ride. I think that I perhaps find it harder than most now; I will always try to ride if I can and if it's safe, and I know that if I can't ride, the frustration I feel is not only difficult for me, but also difficult for Ric, who has, rather graciously, always had to bear the brunt of it.

Emma (pictured at the top of this post) I hope will be a friend and riding partner for a long time to come, along with the other people who have helped me move forward. From Gaynor and Olivia who have been my teachers and advisors, to Halina who is always there for a good natter, and who is a constant support, I have a network of friends who I am grateful for, and whom I know that without which, I would not have got my relationship back with Hillary. When something means as much to you as she does to me, there is are no words that can describe the way support makes you feel. So for everyone that has been involved with us, in any shape or form, thank you.

The Problem of Poise.

The way you sit when riding plays a large part in how you ride. This is obvious, and the seat is one of the most important aspects of riding. I was riding with a rubbish seat, due to my fear. Instead of being aligned through the head, shoulders, hip and heel, I was tipped forward above my hips. I held the reins tight, desperate to maintain control, and I was afraid to use any proper leg, in case she shot forwards, and unseated me.

When I rode in this manner, my spine, still fragile, would lock and I would be plagued with a searing pain in my lower back. Riding was painful and in some cases, felt unbearable, but my determination meant that after a minute of rest, I would try to continue. The first few weeks were painful, and I found myself submerging into a deep bath to try to loosen the knots that had set into my back. I even developed lumps in my back, where the muscles became inflamed, leaving me with an intense, creaking pain.

Hillary has always tried her best to look after me, and to make sure that I was safe. I firmly, truly believe that I could not have ever found myself a better horse to be with than her, and I am sure that no matter how many horses I ever own in my future, there will be none like her, and no other that I love anyway near as much.

Olivia, through her regular teaching, began to make me straighten up; to find the centre of gravity, from which to ride. I felt as though she was asking me to lean backwards, and I felt very unsettled, but looking at photographs of me riding proved to me that I began to look more relaxed and 'proper'. I began to come interested in dressage, and was kindly given a test to practice. Olivia picked up on this interest and started to build it into lessons. Before long, I was thinking about this way of riding every second- I even decided to buy my lovely dressage saddle when my old one came up for a change. As previously mentioned, my parents came up with the money for my beautiful saddle, and it was worth every penny.

I also began working towards having light hands. My hands and arms were so tense that every time Hills even tripped, I pulled on her mouth harshly by tensing up. One of the most successful things I have learned (although it took a lot to actually do) is to keep my hands light in such a way that if I see something that might make Hills spook, I push my hands forward, making my reins slack. I talk to Hills, and rub her neck, but my hands are light and loose giving no tension in the bit. This relaxes her and she very rarely spooks now.

Those first months, when I was battling to continue to get on and ride were truly Hell, and there were so many times when I felt like giving up. But slowly, with time, patience, determination, and a lot of tears, I began to feel that passion come back. It took a lot to get it back, but now it's here, I hope it will never, ever leave again.

And.... breathe

So...Hillary and me. Back on track. I had hugely high hopes, but the tension and anxiety was horrible. One of my favourite horse films is "The Horse Whisperer," based on the book by Nicholas Evans. In it, Grace, who has suffered a terrible accident with her horse Pilgrim, overcomes all her personal difficulties by finally being able to get on his back once again. Then come the credits. And, usually, a couple of tears from me (yes, I'm that sad).

But in truth, confidence isn't like that at all. Yes I'd got on Hillary's back again. Yes, I'd managed to ride again, but I was far from better. Every time I thought about getting on, I still suffered the nausea; I still shook with fear, and cried. I still tortured myself and made myself consider selling her to somewhere where she would be better looked after. This was the start of our journey, not the end, and it was exhausting.

Anxiety makes your body uncontrollably tense. You become hyper sensitive to your surroundings. This constant awareness makes you very tired; the body cannot cope with constant over stimulation and adrenaline. I was exhausted. I couldn't believe how tired feeling this way made me. For me, it was facing your fear again and again every day. Going through that  terror every day. If you've never experienced it, it must be hard to imagine. But it is very real. Mental health issues are something that I never gave enough consideration too. I feel different now.

As I mentioned before, I went to see a psychologist on the NHS to be assessed for some help. This was in April. I'm still waiting, but I told myself that whether I had help or not, the main person who had to work was me, and so I made myself put in the effort anyway.

But it wasn't always easy. One strategy for improvement, was for me to have lessons, and I had these off Gaynor's daughter, Olivia, who has now become a most trusted friend. Every Sunday morning (even now) I can be found at the yard having my lesson. The first lesson, my family came to see. I gave them my mobile to take pictures on- i have a few, plus one of my dad's welly for some reason. Olivia has had a hard job teaching me, as everything about the way I was riding was in order to self preserve due to my fear. She had to start from scratch, and although at times I must have been the most annoying pupil, she has always shown the greatest amount of patience.

Because of my fear-induced riding style, Hillary was able to feel the exact tension I felt. This made her spook. It was entirely my fault, but I didn't see it- you can't when everything in your body is telling you that you are in the safest part of a bad situation. But although my body didn't want to change the way I rode, and felt as though it was completely and entirely wrong, I tried to trust Olivia, and believe in what she was saying. It took me a hell of a long time, but eventually, I began to relax. And when I relaxed, Hillary did the same.

New Beginnings.

I was determined after the cushings news that things had to change. I couldn't yet sit on Hillary, but I wanted to make sure that I could exercise her in other ways. The first thing I had to do was learn to lunge her. Through lunging, I would be able to exercise her from the ground, and this, backed up with Halina's regular hacks up the hills, would enable us to work on Hillary's fitness. However, Hillary was incredibly fresh and sprightly, and so I had to learn how to control her, and my nerves. 

One person who was instrumental in this was the farm owner, Gaynor, who knew how I was feeling. She showed me how to lunge Hillary, what equipment to use, and how to make sure I stayed safe. At first, Hillary would tear round the menage, and I would feel afraid, but after a while, I learned how to watch her movements to try and predict what she would do, and I also learned how to use my voice to help direct her in what I wanted her to do. Over time, lunging became one of the most fundamental parts of my confidence growth. Lunging took the pressure off me to ride, and so I didn't feel as guilty as I had done. Also, when I eventually started to ride again, lunging allowed me to gauge how Hillary was feeling. I could watch her on the ground and decide what sort of mood she was in and how much 'fizz' she had. Lunging is fab, and I'd recommend it to anyone with issues like mine.

Despite how even the thought of riding made me feel, I was sure I still wanted to do it. I knew that I was suffering with a mental 'blip,' and knew that I wanted to get over it. I wanted to ride so much, and yet it was like being faced with a brick wall. I often cried about it, and got incredibly angry with myself. It's hard for people to understand what you're going through unless they've been through it, and added to all the pressure and frustration you feel, is the nagging feeling that other people think you are making it up too. My family were a strong support, especially my younger sister, Jess, who has not only taken my mind off my feelings by being a chatterbox, but who also modelled all my behaviours when she began riding, allowing me to see how my behaviour affected Hillary. My mum always told me to keep trying, and to think positive, but my dad was a little less sympathetic. In his mind, I'd spent all this money on a horse I couldn't ride. Though he frustrated me, I think that actually, his matter of fact way of seeing things helped me to think more positively and helped to give me a sense of determination.

My parents did, however, help immensely by making sure that if I needed something to help me, they'd make sure I got it. They took me to get a top of the range body protector, and even lent me the money for a dressage saddle- riding with a longer leg makes me feel more secure. I am lucky to have parents who ensure that I have what I need, and who have never questioned me about it.

I remember the first time I managed to sit on Hillary again; five seconds of not breathing and sheer terror. I slid off and my legs nearly buckled. I couldn't help but repeatedly hug and kiss Hills, and I even cried as I rang my mum to tell her about it. This getting on and sliding off continued for days until i managed to take a few steps forward. Hillary was very accommodating about it,and behaved impeccably.

One day, whilst lunging in the menage, Gaynor joined me riding her lovely horse Olly. She worked round me while I lunged, and eventually stopped and said: "Right, get on." I was terrified, but I didn't want to look stupid, especially as it seemed she was about to give some of her time up for me. I scrambled onto Hillary's back, and, heart beating wildly, began to follow Gaynor round in little twisting lines. She didn't stop moving, and kept talking to me all the time. We weaved round the menage again and again, and eventually I began to relax. Then we moved into trot. By the time I got off, I was a whirlwind of excitement and emotion. It was this excitement that over ruled the fear and what kept me going in the first stages, although we were a huge way off. 

Cushings warning

One of the most significant factors in getting me back in the saddle was indeed a warning from the vet. Google if you will: equine cushings syndrome.

Hills has always been a chunky character; a farrier once told me (only days after I'd got her) that if I carried on feeding her the way she was being fed, I wouldn't get a girth to fit her. I felt worried about this, although I didn't even legally own her at this point. I followed his advice about a feeding regime, but Hillary began to realise that outside in the field there was more food than in her stable; she began not to be caught. It is so frustrating to literally be run circles round by a horse, and I began to think at that point, I didn't want to buy her, but luckily things have changed.

So Hills has always been rather large; she even pulls faces when she doesn't have food available straight away after finishing her last lot. It was suggested by the farm owner that Hills could have hay instead of haylege. The  difference is in the way that it is packed. Both start out as hay. Haylege is packed in plastic wrapping in which it sweats, and hay isn't. The result is that hay (the more expensive of the two) is less calorific, and therefore better, for horses like Hills, than haylege. Hills switched straight away.

Then something rather peculiar happened. A friend of mine, with a lovely mare, found that her horse was laminitic. Laminitis is very painful, and is characterised by a 'leaning back' look, where a horse seems to be resting on it's heels. My friend had the vet out to her horse, and the reason it was laminitic was due to 'equine metabolic syndrome' which is apparently similar to type two diabetes in humans. It is extremely important to note that I am in no way experienced with equine conditions, and so my rather simplistic explanation of them comes from my simplistic view, rather than scientific understanding. If I'd understood science then maybe I'd have done better at A-level biology.

The rather peculiar thing is that, for some reason, this got into my head. I wasn't riding at that point, and my relationship with Hills was at an all time low (being nervous around a flight animal isn't helpful). Hills was putting on weight, and although I was aware of it, and wanted to change it, I found it hard. I work full time as a primary school teacher, and it was hard to come home and want to go through the stress of riding where my anxiety levels rocketed. For some reason (unbeknownst to even me,) I decided that Hills had to have this metabolic syndrome too. Despite being on hay, and being exercised at least twice a week by my excellent friend Halina who loans her three times a week so I can work, Hills wasn't losing weight. It couldn't purely be down to me not riding.

I admit that I felt a little stupid about having blood tests done for a horse that seemingly had nothing wrong with it. Hills was never lame (she wasn't even lame when she fell through a fence in the field and had seventeen  different cuts on her legs), and never seemed to be sick or sorry. I did feel that maybe I was looking for something to be wrong, and that people wouldn't take me seriously. But I did it anyway, and kept it to myself so that if there was nothing wrong, I wouldn't feel stupid.

Despite the obvious amount of money that it could cost, I rang the vet to do a blood test. I can't remember now how I put it to them, but it must have sounded odd. I suppose that I felt that if I didn't have the test done, I'd worry about it. It was just a gut feeling I had.

The bloods were taken, and I felt nervous waiting for the call back. Finally, it came earlier than expected. Hills  didn't have EMS luckily, but there was something not quite right. One of her blood levels was quite a bit higher than it should have been. This was due to Hillary's weight, and what it meant was that Hillary was borderline Cushings. If it continued to develop, with Hills not losing any weight, she would end up with the condition.

That was all the vet said, and I didn't know anything about cushings. He gave me some advice about what to do with her hay to further reduce calories, and then he went. Luckily, there happened to be a vet from a different practice up at the yard. I told my friend the news about the blood test, and she asked the vet. His reply was simple. "It's a swelling on the brain."

I felt as though my legs turned to jelly. My friend gave me a hug, and I admit that with that blow, I just had to get my jobs done and leave the yard as quickly as possible. At home, I slumped against the radiator (where I am sat now writing this) and looked up cushings on google. That was the worst thing I could have done. Its awful. I sobbed until I could sob no more, with an intensity that made me ache the next day. I knew that it was my fault. I knew that because my brain was messed up; because I was a failure who couldn't ride, I was going to do this to my horse. It was a really difficult time, and sadness turned very quickly to anger. But looking back, it was that pain and guilt that made me want to get back on. I couldn't let myself do this to Hillary.

Problems arise

When I first bought Hillary I had no idea what was about to happen. I was a mix of dread, having not ever experienced responsibility like it, and enjoyment, buying new things and setting up my stockpile of everything I needed for a new horse. I suppose some people want children, and would go through similar emotions, fears and hopes. Although one day I may have children, I feel that Hills is the accumulation of everything I wanted. I've no desire to rush into anything that may take this away from me.

At first, I loved riding, and rode as much as possible, just like I'd told myself I would do. But then, as work took up time and energy, I became more and more reluctant to ride. At first I told myself  'tomorrow'. It was always riding another day. After all, Hillary was mine now, I had all the time in the world.

It never occurred to me that I was losing my confidence. I felt so whimsical about the whole thing. One day I simply didn't fancy riding; the next I couldn't.

The symptoms were obvious; it would occur whenever I imagined riding, but particularly when I thought I was going to attempt to ride. I would feel incredibly sick, suffer shakes, and have (for want of a better expression) an upset stomach. Palpitations and a tight chest would also happen. For a total of three heart wrenching months, my feet stayed firmly on the ground. I could not even sit on my horse.

The mental torture was horrific. The best way to explain it would be for a person suffering arachnophobia having to hold a spider all the time. I know that I was short tempered with my family and loved ones for this period. Standing in front of Hillary, and considering getting on her back was like considering to jump off a cliff.

Luckily, my family tried to understand. I think looking back it was a combination of things; I had left a long-term relationship, moved house, changed job, and lost my grandfather. I think that the pressure of my new job, and the fact I was a 'teacher' meant that I felt more responsibility. I also continued to feel responsibility for Hills. All this meant that in my mind getting on that horse was insane.

At this point, I have to reiterate, I was suffering extreme anxiety. Eventually, I went to the doctors, broke down, and was referred to the mental health service. When I was finally seen, I was labelled (after a further breakdown) as being a 'severe 9' out of ten for anxiety.  I was told that I needed cognitive behavioural therapy (CBT) but as yet this has not been given.

I felt like a bad owner. I felt that I encompassed everything wrong with human kind. It sounds a total over reaction, but if you have experienced it, then you will know that it's not. To tell how bad it was, I put Hillary (everything I had ever wanted) up for sale. Realising I couldn't sell, I opted to have someone loan her long term. It got to the day before she was due to go, and again, my fantastic parents stepped in, and I didn't let her go.

By this time, my confidence was so low, I couldn't even handle her. It took a few lunging sessions off the farm owner (who is a wonderful person and very good friend) to get Hillary to behave in a way that wasn't going to make me think she was about to kill me, and eventually I began to be able to handle her again.

It was to be the start of a long journey.

Hillary.

Hillary was born in 1997. So she was twelve when I bought her. She spent eight years on a riding school; three years of which, I believe, she was living out. She is a 16hh warmblood X cob type, although I don't actually know anything of her breeding. She is a dark bay with three white socks, often covered in mud, and a lovely wide blaze. Her tail is thick and wavy, and her mane grows quickly with big kinks. She is not very fine, and yet not too heavy; she is perfect.

When I bought Hillary, I remember the specific feeling: dread. Not happiness, or excitement like I'd always imagined, but dread. Suddenly, this magnificent animal was my responsibility. If she was ill, it would be my responsibility. If something happened, it was down to me. I was terrified. I often felt awkward about not feeling excited or happy. I know that my parents went through a lot to lend me the money, and for a long time, I felt as though I was ungrateful. But when I look at Hills now, I feel a sense of achievement, a pride and love that I have never felt. I think that in the early stages, I had built up so much expectation of what it would be like, that I was overwhelmed. I knew that I had to repay my parents, and look after a horse all by myself. I was entering the unknown and didn't know what to expect. I was simply being cautious, and I'd rather be that than end up losing her by throwing caution to the wind.

I originally kept Hillary at the riding school while she was on a trial with me. The facilities there are great: indoor and outdoor schools, a horse walker, a cross country course, solarium etc etc. Super. However, I soon realised that whenever I rode her, or did anything with her, everyone knew her and had something to say about it. Since owning Hills (which is not long at all really), I have come to accept that owning horses is something of an ambiguous thing- different people look after their horses differently. There are, and always will be, people that think their way is best. I have never been one of those people. I always want to help people, and make their lives easier, but I never imagine myself to be someone who knows more than anyone else.

Needless to say, the day the money for Hillary exchanged hands, I emptied her stable, and moved somewhere else. A place where people would look at me and Hillary as we are, rather than judging us. This place, Thorncliffe, on the outskirts of Manchester, is a place I have come to love, and a place where hopefully Hillary and I will always be. It is here that I have laughed and cried, made and lost contact with friends. But more importantly, it is a place that Hillary feels comfortable, and where the routine suits her down to the ground. I work full time as I always have done, and at the end of a difficult day, this is the place I long to be. We are both happy here, and hope that we will continue to be for many years to come.

The Fall.

On the 5.4.2009, I had an accident which, although I didn't own Hillary at the time, had what was to be a profound impact on our relationship.

In November 2008, I began riding again, after the eight year gap mentioned in my previous post. I was living in Lancaster at the time, where I was studying to be a teacher on a PGCE course. I was a smoker and wanted to quit. I decided that for every week I didn't smoke, the money I saved, I would spend on a riding lesson. I wanted to get back into riding so much- my PGCE would last eighteen months; after that, I would get a teaching post and be able to buy a horse!

It took ages to find a place to ride, and eventually I happened upon a little place in the hills above Lancaster. It was a forty minute journey each way, but once I'd been once, I didn't mind the journey- if anything, it was a  great time to think, and the scenery is second to none.

I had high hopes. In my mind, everything I now did was in preparation for the moment I would own my own horse. The moment I excitedly arrived at the farm for my first lesson however, I became instantly disappointed (although it was short-lived), because I was immediately faced with a 13.2hh woolly fell pony called Minnie. I had envisaged myself riding a 16hh warmblood rather ignorantly, and this fell pony, with her long mane, and chunky little legs, was not what I was expecting. The riding instructor was wonderful, and really helped me re-learn the ropes after the long break. She also allowed me to do things such as groom and tack up Minnie (who I ended up adoring) before the lessons, and also muck her out afterwards. To anyone not horsey, this probably doesn't seem like a valuable thing, but to me, it was like reuniting my adult self with my childhood dreams, and I loved it.

Minnie was a little star, and I enjoyed riding her, however, I longed to ride something bigger. I have always been an admirer of bigger horses and so I knew that when I bought my own, it would be around 15-16hh. There is an argument about the power of ponies, and about how bigger isn't necessarily better, but I did, and still do, admire larger, taller horses.

I persuaded my instructor to change horses and I began to ride another one. Eric was a 15.3hh arab X thoroughbred. I also got my other wish which was to begin jumping. This was my childhood passion, and I had actually broken my thumb jumping at a show; continuing to do another round with a black and swelling thumb, before deciding it probably needed seeing to.

One day, whilst riding Eric, who was quickly becoming something of a favourite, my instructor set out some canter poles. These were going well. About two minutes before the end of the lesson, we went down the line again, and Eric put in cheeky buck. Although this unseated me a little, and I lost a stirrup, I wasn't really worried. I continued down the line of poles with one foot loose, when, just at the corner, Eric tripped, and shot sideways. I remember seeing the ground come to meet me. Occasionally, I still dream about this too.

I hit the ground, and for a moment, took in the idea that I had fallen off. This had not happened in a long time. Then the pain began; a pain that I can still remember now. I was lay out flat on my front, and I wanted desperately to bend my spine; the pain was entirely there, and it made me feel sick instantly. I remember wanting to know if Eric was OK. He was, and strangely people wanted to know about me. Although it hurt, and hurt a lot, I felt as though I'd be OK.

I tried to get to my knees, but my left leg gave way. I ended up being helped to the fence at the side of the menage; a ten metre journey that felt like hours with the pain. I had no feeling except a strong pain in my left leg. A chair was brought for me to sit on (I couldn't drive home) and I waited to be picked up by my partner at the time.

I was taken straight to the Royal Lancaster Infirmary in a state of shock. Luckily I had my partner at the time who was a great support beside me, and after several x-rays, I was told I had fractured my hip. Since then, due to continuing pain in the area, I have been informed it was my spine that was fractured and not my hip, but to be fair it's irrelevant now. All I know is that I am left with reduced movement in my right leg, and pain that happens most days, particularly when it's cold. I cannot sit in one place or stand for a long period of time. But the biggest way my accident affected me was with my riding.

Not long after my fall, I returned home to Manchester, where my mum was recovering from an operation. She was instructed that walking in flat places would help her recovery, and so I tried to help by taking her to different places for short walks. One of those places turned out to be the riding school where I had ridden as a child (suggested by my youngest sister). Whilst there we took a relief break to the toilets next to the office. On the window of the office was an advert: "For Sale: Hillary." Regardless of the extra information, I knew it was her. Hillary, that mare from years ago. Mum persuaded me to call, and the next thing I knew, I was riding her with a view to buy.

My job was coming to an end of a contract, and so I didn't say anything about her purchase. I applied for some jobs, and eventually got an interview. The job was mine, and thanks to my wonderful parents, so was the horse.

Hillary and Me - A Background.

I have owned Hillary (Little Miss Sunshine) since 15.08.2009. As will most likely become apparent if you were to read this, she is my absolute everything, and so as a result, this blog is written as a means of sharing my experiences with her, and both our trials and joys as we face them. 

I first sat on a horse before I learned to walk. My mum jokes that, as it was my dad's choice to sit me on this pony, it's his fault that I then became absolutely obsessed with horses. I don't obviously remember sitting on this pony, but I do remember seeing the picture that captured the moment. Whether that particular moment was the spark that ignited my obsession or not, I don't know, but I do know that ever since, I've been hooked. 

My parents could never afford a pony for me, and definitely didn't have the time or experience for me to have one. But they did however, know someone who had a pony available for loan. She was an elderly welsh pony standing at 12.2hh. Her name was Sugar, and I learned so much from my time with her. I am eternally grateful for the family that owned her, as they probably saw more of me in that time than my own family did, and treated me no different from their own children. People like that are a rare special thing, and I owe them a huge amount. Unfortunately, when I was ten, after around eighteen months of looking after Sugar, she became ill, and had to be put to sleep. I remember the last time I saw her; my mum let me wear my best clothes to the yard to go and spend time with her. I just brushed her for about an hour. I didn't want to go. 

I continued to ride for probably another five years, before I became engrossed with my GCSEs. I suppose that because I didn't have a pony of my own, I didn't need to ride. I had decided by that point anyway, that if I wanted a horse of my own (which I definitely did), I would have to earn the money to keep it myself, and so for the next eight years, I threw all my efforts into becoming a teacher, in the hope that in that career, I would have both the time and money to reach my goal. 

Hillary was a horse I first met when I was around fifteen. She came over from Ireland as I remember as a four year old, and became a riding school horse on the yard where I rode with Sugar's family. I always found her stunning (just look at her picture!) and even got to have a ride on a lesson. I don't remember much about the ride, except for that she was a fresh, sparky thing, but I was besotted. To now get to see her every day is a blessing, and how I actually came about owning her makes me a pretty firm believer in fate.