“Your grandmother has stomach cancer,” my mother told us. “She will be in the hospital for a while.”
The house was different—quiet, without any aromatic smells coming from the kitchen. We no longer heard the angry clanking of pots and pans. There was no more bickering between her and my grandfather. And all of the dogs that previously had tailed her with purpose everywhere she went, now wandered around the house aimlessly.
My mother was at the hospital most evenings and weekends. She insisted that I call my father for rides to the farm, and also Sandra, my sister’s classmate, who had a horse at the same barn.
My father, surprisingly, did show up occasionally to take me to the farm.
“Hi, Dad,” I said.
“Bonjour!” he said as he donned his beret and driving gloves. He was in his eccentric mood, I recognized. Good, this means he’s playful.
“Nice outfit,” I teased as I scanned his plaid blazer with elbow patches, corduroy pants, black beret, and gloves.
“Are you jealous?” he smiled.
“So jealous,” I joked.
Good thing you’re not a woman, you’d be broke with all your crazy outfits and jewelry, I thought. I never saw him in the same outfit twice, and he seemed to have a different get-up for every occasion. Today was his Saturday driving day, so he was in his Saturday driving outfit.
“Is that a new necklace?” I asked noticing the gaudy gold chain strangling his double chin.
“Yes, it is! Do you like it?” He was elated that I noticed his new jewelry.
“Amazing,” I said sarcastically. My sarcasm never bothered him if I was paying him a compliment.
“But you’re still poor, right?” I asked, annoyed he could buy himself new outfits and wear obnoxious gold jewelry, but always declared how poor he was and that’s why he couldn’t afford child support, or help with school tuition or Moonshine or my sister’s figure skating.
“It was a gift!” he exclaimed.
“From who? You have no friends,” I replied.
“Very funny, you know everyone wants to be my friend, that’s why they are always buying me these nice things!”
“Right,” I said. “So, can you pay Moony’s board this month?”
“Nope.”
“Half?” I bargained.
“Not possible!” he said gleefully.
“Can you at least pay for a lesson? It’s sixty dollars.”
“Too much money!” he let out, as he turned up the music. Unlike my mother, who couldn’t stand my taste in music, my father actually let me listen to my favorite radio stations, maybe because he learned that it sometimes kept me quiet. But today I turned it down.
“OK, well if you’re so broke, why don’t you pawn your gold chain? I’m sure it’s worth something,” I stated.
“This was a gift from a friend!” he gasped in horror.
“Is it more important than me?” I asked.
“You are a child, you cannot possibly understand,” he stated, as he usually did when he had grown weary of being asked for money.
“I’m not a child, and I think the problem is that I do understand.”
“Oh, really?” he was amused.
“Yeah, really,” I said, getting angry. “I understand Mom is struggling to pay off the house, to pay both of our tuitions, and to pay for riding and figure skating. I also understand that you pay for nothing, you never pay for board even though I always beg you to, and you haven’t paid child support since I was eight!”
“Enough! You are making me crazy!” he cried out.
You’re already there, you selfish fucking pig, I seethed.
__________
When we arrived at the farm, I leaped out of my father’s car, happy to escape his miserable company. I walked into the barn to find Kim, the barn manager, holding my horse still in the barn aisle, while the vet, Dr. Sheila Danberry, was examining Moonshine’s left front leg.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I approached Moonshine and petted his nose.
“Good, you’re here. Here, take your horse. I have to get back to work,” Kim said gruffly, handing me the lead rope.
“Kim called me this morning because Moony was lame on his right front. It’s not terribly serious,” the vet said when she looked up and saw my face.
“Moony just has a condition called Navicular Disease,” she said.
“What’s Navicular Disease?” I asked.
“There are two bones down here, by his ankle, that are separated by cartilage. But when a horse has Navicular, that cartilage disappears, and the two bones start to wear against each other,” she said.
My eyes widened at the horrific image of two bones grinding away at each other.
“You can help Moony by adjusting his shoeing. Instead of regular horseshoes, I would recommend that the farrier put on bar shoes, which look like full ovals, so that he has support on his heels. You should also ask the farrier to put rubber pads between the hoof and the bar shoe, to give Moony more support on the front legs. The hind feet can still be shod with regular shoes, since he only has Navicular in the front. However, you should also keep an eye on the hind legs, since he has arthritis back there,” she advised.
Great, he has no good legs, I thought. Like I needed another challenge.
“I’m going to prescribe a medication called Isoxuprine, he’ll need twenty pills a day—ten in the morning, and ten in the evening.”
Twenty pills? That’s so much! I can’t believe it’s that bad! I thought.
“Thanks so much, Dr. Danberry.”
I went to the office to cancel my lesson. I waited for Carol to come in from teaching so I could tell her what was going on.
“Hi Carol, Moony’s lame,” I said when she came into the office.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“The vet says he has Navicular Disease.”
“Oh, ok. Did she leave you Isox?”
She knew about Navicular Disease. I was comforted.
“Yeah.”
“Great, start him on it, we’ll give him the week off, and see how he is next weekend.”
__________
The following weekend, Carol was her usual chipper self.
“Hey there! How is Moony feeling?” she asked.
“He’s not lame!” I exclaimed. I had been nervous all week.
“Always a good starting point,” she joked. Then she got serious, when she noticed my feeble smile.
“Look, it’s not a death sentence. We just have to watch it. If he starts feeling ouchy, then we’ll back off. He’s a strong little horse, he’ll be OK.”
“What about the arthritis in his back legs?” I asked.
“That makes things tricky. With arthritis, exercise helps, but with Navicular, the more he’s worked, the more the bone degenerates,” she explained.
“Great, so I have to work the back legs and not work the front legs,” I stated.
“Basically, yeah,” she agreed.
“How do I do that, cut him in half?” I was growing frustrated.
“No, we’ll just keep doing the dressage. As you guys progress, you will start to collect more, which means Moony will start rocking his center of gravity from the front half of his body to his butt. That will take more weight off the front legs, and rotate it back to his hind legs.”
I was thrilled that she had a solution. I adored her for being able to make the best of this situation that I feared would be career-ending.
“Thanks, Carol,” I looked at her and smiled.