{"id":21055,"date":"2026-03-11T10:26:48","date_gmt":"2026-03-11T10:26:48","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/uncategorized\/a-horse-named-pistol-helped-her-heal\/"},"modified":"2026-04-10T06:11:21","modified_gmt":"2026-04-10T06:11:21","slug":"a-horse-named-pistol-helped-her-heal","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/gpbookstore.org\/articles\/positive-living\/friends-and-family\/pets\/a-horse-named-pistol-helped-her-heal\/","title":{"rendered":"A Horse Named Pistol Helped Her Heal"},"content":{"rendered":"

Pistol waits for me by the gate outside her stable. What took you so long? <\/em>I can almost hear her thinking. It\u2019s one of those mornings when the pain in my back, legs and arms makes me not want to even move. She nudges at my front pocket, at the peppermint puffs I\u2019ve brought, her favorite treat. Practically my whole life, I\u2019ve lived to be riding a horse. After the accident, the thought of never again knowing that feeling, that oneness, nearly killed me. I had lost so much: my job, my marriage. I had no idea then that it would be a horse who\u2019d save me.<\/p>\n

It started with such a small thing. In March 2003, getting out of my car on my way to work as an administrative assistant for the New York State Police, I\u2019d slipped on ice, fracturing my left elbow. I had surgery and went on short-term disability for eight weeks while trying to care for three kids\u2014ages 10, 8 and 7\u2014as a single mom with one good arm. But what was the hardest was not being able to ride. I still owned the horse I\u2019d bought when I was 12 years old, Reba. Ashlynne, my youngest, was learning to ride him with confidence. I loved sharing that bond. My cast came off and I went riding that very afternoon. I thought my troubles were over.<\/p>\n

Two years later, I was driving and rested my left arm against the door. My hand went numb. I shook it to get the feeling back. Nothing. A week went by with no improvement. I went to a neurologist.<\/p>\n

\u201cHas this arm ever had some kind of trauma?\u201d he asked. It took me a second to even remember the fall. \u201cYou\u2019ve had nerve damage,\u201d the doctor said. \u201cSurgery should correct it. You won\u2019t even miss a beat.\u201d<\/p>\n

Perfect, <\/em>I thought. But the night after the operation, I woke, my arm throbbing. I took ibuprofen and spent the rest of the night tossing and turning. By the next morning, my fingers were swollen and turning blue.<\/p>\n

Panicked, I called the surgical clinic. \u201cBe patient,\u201d the nurse said. \u201cIt shouldn\u2019t last more than a couple days.\u201d Within a week, my arm felt as if it were on fire. Finally, I told the guy I was dating, Scott. He said, \u201cYou should see another doctor.\u201d He took me to a surgeon at one of the country\u2019s top orthopedic hospitals.<\/p>\n

\u201cWill I need to have another surgery?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cThat wouldn\u2019t help,\u201d the surgeon said. \u201cYou have a condition called reflex sympathetic dystrophy<\/a>, or RSD. Your nervous system is malfunctioning, which triggers pain signals and creates inflammation. The condition likely started with your original injury and then was aggravated by your surgery. There\u2019s no cure. The most important thing is to stay active. If you don\u2019t, your limbs can atrophy and require amputation.\u201d<\/p>\n

I tried to make sense of what the surgeon was saying. The thought I latched onto was: What about riding? <\/em>I needed to have full use of my arms and legs, to be on my horse, not be distracted by pain.<\/p>\n

Within days, the pain spread throughout my body. Even the slightest touch\u2014from clothing or bedding\u2014made me want to scream. I couldn\u2019t shower. The force of the water was like a million pins stabbing me. Pinching my skin hard, digging my nails into my legs actually gave me a kind of relief, refocusing my mind from one kind of pain to another.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t, Mommy!\u201d my kids would yell whenever they saw me doing it. It was horrible. I couldn\u2019t hug the kids or do much to care for them. I felt worthless. They pitched in where they could. Ashlynne took over grooming Reba and her horse, Snoopy. Sometimes, I went with her. But one look at Reba\u2019s big dark eyes, and the sadness would well up inside me. I\u2019d always held fast to my faith. Was this pain my reward? God, how could you do this to me?<\/em><\/p>\n

I went to a pain specialist. He prescribed opioid narcotics. They barely put a dent in the pain. But at least I could sleep. I didn\u2019t take them until the kids got off to school, then spent the day in bed in a stupor. I quit my job and went on disability.<\/p>\n

Through it all, Scott was there for me. \u201cWe\u2019ll get through this,\u201d he\u2019d say. In 2007, when he asked me to marry him, I was so grateful that I\u2019d never be alone. At our wedding, I managed to ride Reba, 28 years old at that point, sitting sidesaddle in my white dress, to where Scott and the minister waited.<\/p>\n

Once we were married, Scott was different. He grew more demanding, less supportive. I felt trapped. In my house. In my body. In my marriage, which ultimately failed. I was 39. For three long years, I\u2019d tried everything: Pilates, massage, acupuncture, yoga, physical therapy. Nothing helped. Nothing. Finally in the spring of 2008, I underwent an experimental surgery to implant devices along my spinal cord to modulate nerve impulses and lessen the severity of the pain. The implants didn\u2019t eliminate the pain, but they made it more manageable.<\/p>\n

Six weeks into my recovery, I saw a notice in an RSD magazine about a 5K charity walk in New York City, a few hundred miles from where I live upstate. The farthest I\u2019d walked in months was the 50 yards from our house to the barn. I showed Ashlynne. \u201cMom, this looks great!\u201d she said. As much as the walking, I was looking forward to meeting other people with RSD. People who understood what I was going through.<\/p>\n

Ashlynne and my older son, Tyler, went with me. I was shocked by what I saw. People in wheelchairs. Others using walkers. Is this my future? <\/em>I wondered. I made it the entire distance of the walk in Central Park, wearing a leg brace and leaning on my kids. I could barely take another step. Every cell in my body ached. Yet there was also joy I hadn\u2019t known in years. I remembered what the doctor had said about my limbs: Use them or lose them. It was true about my faith too: Use it or lose it. Only God could love me through this pain. Not a man. Not even a horse. Besides, Reba\u2019s riding days were behind him.<\/p>\n

Lord, if I could just get off the meds, <\/em>I prayed. I wanted my life back. I demanded my life back. In July, I made a roaring fire and tossed my pill bottles into the flames. By morning, I was in agony. I spent hours in the fetal position, willing my limbs to move. That became my morning routine, literally embracing the hurt, praying, meditating.<\/p>\n

I heard about an autumn charity trail ride a local stable was putting on. Did I dare? Did I? <\/em>The pace would be slow, but still\u2026if I fell, especially with my recent operation, it would be a disaster. I remembered the vow I\u2019d made in Central Park. A choice between faith and fear. I could do this!<\/em><\/p>\n

Ashlynne and I went together. The horse I borrowed wanted nothing to do with me, and the feeling was mutual. Ahead of me, I saw a quarter horse, as shiny as a new copper penny, a young girl atop her. This horse was so gentle, her every step sure-footed, almost gliding. When the horse in front of her started acting out and kicking every horse around, the quarter horse calmly separated from the others, keeping the girl safe. I couldn\u2019t take my eyes off that horse. I began to relax. Before I knew it, the ride was over.<\/p>\n

I hobbled over to a cowboy, one of the trail ride organizers, as he helped the girl dismount. \u201cThat\u2019s a beautiful horse,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cHer name\u2019s Pistol,\u201d he said. \u201cWe were training her for rodeo work, but then she injured her shoulder. She\u2019s for sale if you\u2019re interested.\u201d<\/p>\n

Injured? I stared into her big dark eyes. I\u2019d already spent so much money on my surgery, but my family and I lived simply and the car was paid off. \u201cI\u2019d like to take her for a ride,\u201d I said. A few quick circles around the stable and I was convinced. \u201cI\u2019ll take her.\u201d<\/p>\n

A few days later, she was in the stall next to Snoopy, my daughter\u2019s horse. That morning, I\u2019d spent curled up in agony. But I couldn\u2019t wait to ride Pistol. Ashlynne helped me lift the saddle and cinch it. I put on the bridle, sliding the bit into Pistol\u2019s mouth, as natural as could be. Already my legs, my arms burned. I slid my boot into the stirrup and winced. I swung my braced leg over her with a gasp of pain.<\/p>\n

I steadied myself, the reins loose in my hand, then gently clicked my heels against her side. Pistol moved forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed, almost at a trot. I squeezed my legs tighter against her, bracing myself for the spasm of\u2026<\/p>\n

No pain. <\/em>There was no pain! Not in my shoulders. Not in my arms. Nothing. All I felt was joy. And freedom. Freedom from pain<\/a>. Freedom from fear. A freedom I\u2019d longed for. On my own I couldn\u2019t get there. But Pistol knew the way. As if she were guided. RSD would no longer control me.<\/p>\n

It\u2019s been 10 years now since Pistol came into my life and a lot has happened. My kids are grown, and Reba passed on. Nowadays it\u2019s mostly Pistol and me. I work with her every day. The time we spend together never fails to comfort me, even when I\u2019m not feeling up to riding her. Most likely, I will live with pain for the rest of my life. God didn\u2019t give me pain. He didn\u2019t take my pain away. Yet God is with me in <\/em>the pain. He knew a gentle steed named Pistol would carry me out of despair.<\/p>\n

For more inspiring stories, subscribe to <\/em>Guideposts<\/strong><\/a> magazine<\/em>.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Pistol waits for me by the gate outside her stable. What took you so long? I can almost hear her thinking. It\u2019s one of those mornings when the pain in my back, legs and arms makes me not want to even move. 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