Horse Power Page 9

The second chukker was as fast-paced as the first. The playing became more intense, as the student team wasn’t willing to allow the alumni another chance at a goal. Travis was engaged in a battle of wits with an opposing player. Their horses were side-by-side, mallets swinging and blocking. Travis urged his mount forward and broke free from his opponent, whacking the ball down the field toward the goal. Opponents were in pursuit, horses in full gallop with dust swirling at their feet.

  The captain of the other team rode up to Travis’ side in an intimidation pose.

  “Go, Travis,” Shelby shouted, gaze transfixed on the power play.

  She watched Travis reach down to contact the ball. The opponent’s horse reared, contacting Travis’ mount. Shelby watched, as if in slow motion, as Travis lost his balance. His face scrunched up, as if in shock, as he dropped the mallet and tried to steady his mount. For a moment, she thought that he had succeeded. Another hard bump between the horses knocked him off his pony. His opponents moved their horses away, as to not trample him as he fell. As he descended to the ground, his helmet fell off, Gasps filled the arena, as Travis hit the ground with a hard thump. Shelby realized that the loudest scream was her own. She jumped to her feet.

  “No! No!” she screamed, heart palpitating She gasped for breath.

  Penelope, realizing that something was wrong, stood, hands framing her face, as she stared at Travis’s still body crumpled in the dirt.

  Umpires and school staff rushed on to the field. Some alumni, whom she presumed were physicians, came down as well. Shelby laced an arm around Penelope, who was now visibly shaking.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Penelope whimpered. “He’s not dead, is he?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be okay,” Shelby assured, though she knew that falls from horses could have both positive and negative outcomes. Polo was notorious for orthopedic injuries, due to the lack of protective gear for players. A helmet wasn’t enough. As it was, his fell off before impact. It was anyone’s guess as to the extent of Travis’ injuries.

  “Oh, my God,” Penelope shrieked. “What about my wedding?”

  Shelby rolled her eyes. Maybe the woman was just upset. Who would be thinking about a wedding when her fiancé was unconscious, and in obvious peril?

  “Let’s go downstairs to find out what’s going on. You are, after all, his fiancé, the closest person to family here,” Shelby said, trying to gain her composure.

  Penelope nodded. Shelby led her by the hand downstairs from the mezzanine to the main floor, and pushed their way through to the sidelines, closer to Travis. The wail of a siren could be heard approaching. They watched as those surrounding Travis checked his vital signs without moving him. Shelby knew that the risk of paraplegia was high in falls, and any movement could cause irreversible nerve damage. Her heart was beating so fast, she thought that it would hop out of her chest. She had to keep breathing deeply to appear calm. One trembling and crying woman, Pen, was enough. Someone had to remain levelheaded.

  Paramedics arrived, bringing a backboard. Setting down their medical bag, they went to work monitoring his vital signs. After a serious discussion with the others present, they ignored the backboard, and carefully rolled Travis into a multi-person lift.

  Shelby grabbed Pen by the hand and led her out on to the field. “This is Travis’ fiancé. She needs to know what’s going on,” Shelby said, before anyone could object to their presence.

  Pen mumbled, “I need to know if he’s going to be okay.”

  “We don’t know his condition, just that he is stabilized. He’s being taken to Plymouth Memorial. I’m sure the staff would like some additional information that you could provide. You can join him there in the emergency room,” a paramedic answered.

  “Well and good,” Shelby replied. “We’ll go there straight away.”

  * * *

  Shelby led Pen to the nearby parking lot.

  When Pen saw the extended cab pick-up truck, she paused and hesitated. “It’s a truck.”

  “Hey, you said that you flew in, and don’t have a rental. It’s the quickest mode of transportation to Plymouth. I don’t see where you have a choice. Travis is what matters,” Shelby answered, clicking the doors to unlock, and seating herself. “Hop in.”

  Pen climbed up into the cab, grasping her skirt to hike it up in order to get seated. Shelby Just shook her head.

  “Slow down,” Pen, squealed as Shelby floored the accelerator.

  “We do want to get to the ER as soon as possible.”

  “I want to get there in one piece, not as another patient.” Pen was grasping at the dashboard.

  Shelby just laughed.

  “It’s not funny.” Pen grimaced.

  “I’m just trying to make light of a difficult situation. I hope that Travis will be okay.”

  Though she probably appeared calm and together to Pen, Shelby was a mix of raw emotion inside. She had witnessed far too many horse riding accidents in her lifetime. It was one reason why she left the radio circuit. She had tired of burying friends, and visiting others in nursing homes. Travis didn’t deserve such a fate. He had a good heart, and had so much life left to experience. The thought of him experiencing it with her flashed through her muddled mind. Yeah, right. She swallowed hard. Life was so often unfair.

  Shelby was surprised that they made it to Plymouth Memorial without a ticket, yet alone in one piece. She drove like a Wildman. Penelope’s face was as white as her knuckles by the time they parked.

  They rushed into the emergency room, filled out admission’s paperwork, and were sent to a waiting room. Anxious parents, wailing children, and pacing adults filled the space with tense noise, and the scent of strong coffee. For Shelby, coffee wasn’t strong enough. The day had taken turns she never anticipated. Pen followed her like a forlorn child, eyes downcast. They sat in stiff upholstered wood chairs.

  “Waiting is hell,” Shelby said with a sigh.

  “I’m scared. What if Trav doesn’t make it? How could I tell my parents? Um, his parents?”

  “We’re going to think positive here,” Shelby answered, though not believing her words. Wasn’t one supposed to hope for the best, while expecting the worst?

  * * *

  When a white lab-coated doctor emerged from the ER to chat with them, Shelby jumped to her feet, as did Pen. His facial expression was solemn and clinical.

  “Travis’ injuries are beyond the scope of our facility. We feel that he would best be served at a major trauma center, experienced in spinal and brain injuries. Arrangements have been made to fly him to the University of Chicago Medical Center.”

  “Chicago?” Pen asked. “My hometown.”

  “Where they are much more experienced with difficult trauma cases.”

  After the doctor left, Shelby turned to Pen. “Looks like we’re going on a road trip to Chicago.”

  “In your truck?” Penelope stared at her with wide eyes.

  “You know, it’s a new truck, and it’s readily available.” She had purchased it recently, as a company vehicle for her riding center.

  “I was thinking about my daddy’s jet.”

  “I don’t know about you, but time is of the essence. Chicago is only an hour and a half away. By the time you explain the situation to your dad, and make arrangements, we could be at the hospital.”

  “Okay, okay.”

  As they proceeded to the parking lot, the roar of a helicopter engine and the whirl of the rotors filled the evening air. Looking up, Shelby stared at the medical helicopter lifting off from the rooftop helipad. She watched it swoop over the building and disappear into the darkness. In silence, she said a prayer that Travis would be well. What good was meeting someone special like him, only to lose him? Yes, he made her therapeutic riding center possible, but she wanted him to be part of its grand opening. He was as much a part of it as she. Penelope brought her back to reality by touching her arm.

  “Was that Travis?” she asked with a lilt in her voice.

  Shelby no
dded. “I’m sure it was. We’d better get a move on.”

  * * *

  Shelby couldn’t believe that she was on a road trip with Travis’ fiancé. Penelope fidgeted in her seat, hugging her purse like a lifeline with one hand, while her other clung to the dash. As to not scare her further, Shelby reduced her speed to ten miles over the limit.

  “Shouldn’t you be calling Travis’ family to let them know what’s going on? Maybe they would like to be at the hospital,” Shelby asked, thinking how she would feel if a loved one were seriously injured. Actually, she had been in that situation, more times than she wanted to recall.

  “I’m scared,” Pen whimpered.

  “You have to do it. It’s only right.”

  Pen dug into her purse and pulled out her I-Phone. She hesitated and drew a deep breath before dialing.

  * * *

  Travis’ parents, the Harrington’s, met them when they arrived at the University of Chicago Medical Center, in the ICU waiting room. Pen’s parents, the Collingsworths were also present. Shelby observed, as Penelope ran into the arms of her parents, tears streaming down her face.

  As the Collingsworths comforted Pen, Mr. Harrington approached Shelby. “We haven’t met.”

  “Shelby Shane.” She accepted his firm handshake. His steely gaze met hers, as if sizing her up.

  “Thank you for driving Pen here. How do you know each other?”

  “I met Travis while touring the barn at Culver. You see, I run a therapeutic riding center in Michigan. Travis was gracious enough to buy me lunch, where I met Pen. Pen and I were watching the polo game together, when the accident happened. I had transportation, so I drove us to the hospitals.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” His gaze softened.

  “Glad to help.”

  “Is that a Texas accent?”

  Shelby forced a smile. “I’m originally from Texas. Like Travis, horses are in my blood.”

  “What the hell happened?” he asked, as Mr. Collingsworth ambled to his side.

  Shelby explained, while Pen huddled with her mother on a sofa.

  “Damn horses,” Mr. Harrington grunted.

  “Accidents happen,” Shelby said with a shrug.

  “I hope he’s going to be okay. He should’ve left that job years ago.” There was a bite in his voice.

  “Sir, accidents happen all the time. Horses, cars, boats, planes, and in so many other ways. We can’t predict if or when. Things can happen to any of us, at any time. Travis is getting expert care.”

  He sighed. “You’re right. I just don’t want to lose my only child.”

  “None of us want to lose him,” Shelby said, a stray tear escaping from her eye and rolling down her cheek.

  He stared at her for a moment in silence. It was as if he knew that she was more than just a stranger, who wandered into the barn.

  “Harrington family,” a doctor announced, entering the waiting room. Mr. Harrington greeted him, and led him to the area where his wife and Pen and her mother were huddled. Mr. Collingsworth and Shelby followed. She felt like a square peg on a round hole. She wasn’t family, or a family friend. They did, though, have Travis in common. Travis. She braced herself for the doctor’s words.

  “Hi, I’m Dr. Reilly, Head of Orthopedics, and a spine specialist and surgeon.”

  “Jonathan Harrington, Travis’s father. His family and his fiancé ‘s family are here as well.”

  “Travis is unconscious due to the severity of the concussion caused by the fall. A CAT Scan and MRI show spine contusions and some neurotonesis. Luckily his helmet came off, or he would be facing a far serious outcome. The impact was to his spine, and not to his brain. As it is, at L-2, a huge disc ruptured. He is scheduled for surgery.”

  “What kind of surgery?” Mr. Harrington asked.

  “Decompression. We have to open him up to remove disc fragments to reduce pressure on the spine to prevent further damage.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  “What is the prognosis?” Mr. Harrington’s voice was quivering.

  “Right now, he’s unconscious, and will remain for a few days. After surgery, he’ll be transferred to the Spinal Cord Unit for a week or more. Recovery is usually from six-months to a year from this sort of injury. Each situation is unique. Each outcome is unique.”

  “What kind of recovery?”

  “It’s a very slow process. He’ll have to be transferred to a rehabilitation facility. It will involve physical therapy, the use of a wheelchair, braces, eventually a cane, if he progresses. It could take months before he regains feeling in his legs. He could also have some bowel and bladder issues, as well as sexual dysfunction.”

  Mr. Harrington winced. “You have to be kidding. Will this be permanent damage?”

  “It’s variable. I can’t guarantee anything. Only time will tell.”

  Harrington swallowed hard, and drew his hand up to his temples.

  “This is a serious injury. The outcome, however, could have been worse … Quadriplegia … Permanent paraplegia … Brain damage. I haven’t met a polo player who doesn’t have a friend who limps, is in a wheelchair or is dead from an accident during a game. Falls from horses can be quite devastating. ”

  “Damn horses,” Harrington muttered. “When can I see him?”

  “You can come with me now, one person a time for a short visit. He’s not exactly up for company.” The doctor forced a smile. “If the Mrs. wants to join you, she can.”

  Mr. Harrington motioned to his wife, and they accompanied the doctor out of the waiting room.

  “I need some strong coffee,” Mr. Collingsworth said, leading his wife out of the waiting room.

  “Oh, my God,” Penelope slunk into a chair.

  Shelby sat next to her, trying to digest the doctor’s words. Travis was in for a long, frustrating recovery, with an uncertain future.

  “What am I going to do? The wedding is planned for August, and Travis won’t be in any condition to participate. What about the honeymoon … Oh, no … sexual dysfunction? What … what does that mean? Oh no, oh no.” Tears began to gush from Pen’s eyes, and she drew her hands up to her face.

  Shelby reached out and put an arm around Pen’s quaking shoulders. Pen began to rock back and forth, like an upset child. Drawing a deep breath, Shelby rubbed her back to soothe, and offer some comfort. She felt sorry for the woman. Heck, her fiancé just had a serious, life-altering injury. It would frighten anyone. Shelby had been in waiting rooms before with similar, and even worse prognosis. Having friends in the rodeo business had its difficult moments.

  She had to admit that this time, it was different. She had a personal interest in the outcome. Travis was her generous benefactor, and special friend. Okay, in her dreams he was more than a friend. A tinge of guilt gnawed at her. She was comforting his distraught fiancé, for goodness sake.

  13

  Travis awakened from what felt like a serious hangover. Slowly, a dense fog was lifting from his mind. One moment he was on Lancer scoring a goal, the next he was flat on his back in a … hospital bed? He was in a hospital? His gaze perused the scene around him. A beeping heart monitor recorded the diagonal lines of his heartbeat. His respiration rate flashed. An IV bag towered overhead. Panic set in, as he realized that a tube had been thrust down his throat, and his breathing was being assisted by a machine. He couldn’t talk or cry out. When he tried to move, he couldn’t. The bottom half of his body was numb. His legs, feet, toes wouldn’t budge, no matter how much he tried to move them. Fear enveloped him. He slowly lifted his arms and shook his hands. They were heavy, as if held down by weights, but at least he could move them, a positive sign. The IV alarm sounded. He yanked at the breathing tube, trying to dislodge it from his mouth. He wanted to scream. He wanted help. He wanted an explanation. Something was wrong, seriously wrong. He hadn’t any memory of an accident. What the hell happened?

  A team of nurses rushed into his room. One dark-hai
red woman attended to the IV. Another, a blonde, grasped his hand, and drew it away from the breathing tube.

  “Please, don’t fight it. Now that you’re awake, I’ll remove the tube. Just be patient,” the blonde nurse explained, hovering over him, attending to the tube.

  “You’re going to be okay. You will,” the brunette nurse added.

  He stared at the two young women, doubting they were telling the whole truth.

  When the breathing tube was removed, his throat burned, and was scratchy. He drew a deep breath on his own, choked, closed his eyes and drew another.

  “Good job,” the blonde said.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked. Speaking made his throat sore, and his voice was raspy.

  “I’ll let the doctor explain,” she answered. Just what he needed, a noncommittal response.

  “Now that you’re awake, I’d like conduct a few tests, and ask a few questions,” she added.

  She proceeded to conduct reflex exams, including scratching his feet, “Can you feel anything?”

  “No. I can’t feel anything? What’s going on? Am I paralyzed?” His heart was racing. He couldn’t be paralyzed. He needed to walk, to ride, and to function as a healthy, normal person. No, he couldn’t live as an invalid. Not him!

  She continued her tests, as he observed.

  A lab-coated doctor appeared, as if on cue. “You’re finally awake, Travis. I’m Dr. Reilly, Head of Orthopedics, and a spine specialist and the surgeon who operated on you.”

  “Operated on me? What the hell happened?” He wanted answers and he wanted them now.

  “You had a serious fall from your horse, during a polo match at Culver. After being at Plymouth Hospital in Indiana, you were life-flighted here to the University of Chicago Medical Center. You were comatose from a concussion caused by the fall. A CAT Scan and MRI show spine contusions and some neurotonesis. Luckily, your helmet came off, or you would be facing a far serious outcome. The impact was to your spine, and not to your brain. As it is, at L-2, a huge disc ruptured. I performed a successful surgery to decompress the spine, removing disc fragments. You have a suture in the center of your back. When it heals, I’ll have a better idea of your prognosis.”