Visual narrative draft #2


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Visual narrative draft #2

  1. 1. Kristen M. Sell<br />David DiSarro<br />ENG 103<br />September 22, 2010<br /> June 7th, 2007; this was the day of my high school graduation. Sitting in that over-crowded gymnasium in my bright red cap and gown waiting for my name to be called, I had my entire future mapped out. At the end of the summer, I would attend Bethel College and study Christian Ministry so that I would someday become a missionary and visit Africa and change people’s lives. I would, presumably, marry my on-again-off-again high school sweetheart and my happy little fairy tale would be just wonderful. Sound familiar? That’s because, details aside, almost every freshly graduated high school senior seems to possess their own strategically (or not so strategically) organized plan as to how perfect his or her life will someday be. You might guess that, like most of those other seniors, my plan did not exactly pan out. The only difference being that my huge life changes just could not wait until I got to the real world. No, they started the very next week.<br />I somewhat reluctantly decided to go on “one last camping trip with the family” before college. No big deal, right? At least that’s what I thought. Everything started out like all the other family trips; rushing around to get everything packed, plenty of arguing, and, of course, not leaving by the time we had planned. (Don’t get me wrong, there is a lot of love in my family, we are just a bunch of procrastinators). We finally got on the road. My immediate family, as well as two of my uncle’s families and plenty of horses to go around, were all heading south to O’Bannon State Park for, what was supposed to be, a long weekend of riding horses. Like I said, it all started out normal. We unloaded the horses then unhitched the trailers. We unpacked all of the cooking supplies along with all the other various outdoor equipment. The men and my outdoor-loving-sister raised the canopies and the tents. All of this set-up was accompanied by the sound of bored, heavy breathing horses and country music. Once camp was set up, most of us went on a short trail ride before dark that first day. We headed to our sleeping bags early that night so we could be sure to wake up early for breakfast and head out for the first full day of riding.<br />After breakfast on the second day, each of us saddled our respective horses and set out for our first long ride of the trip in the hills of southern Indiana. This was the first time I had ever ridden these specific trails. I remember being surprised by how the trails seemed to be made up of rocks. This is not characteristic of the parks I was used to. Other than the rocks, it was a usual ride; the eye-catching scenery, no cell phone reception (ah, the freedom of no annoying ring tones), the pleasant chatter between family members, the horses being distracted or spooked by all kinds of little things. <br />My older brother’s horse must have been more distracted than the rest. We stopped in a clearing, for the convenience of the level ground, about five miles into the trail so my brother could more easily handle his skittish horse. The group of us was clustered there waiting patiently for my brother to deal with his current situation. My cousin’s horse that was in front of me, however, was not so patient. I was sitting on top of one of this horse’s barn mates. Maybe we were standing too close behind him or maybe these two had some long standing equine-dispute of which I was not aware. Either way, my cousin’s horse decided to urge my horse to move away. He kicked back at my horse with both of his monstrous shod (he had horse shoes) hooves. My right leg just happened to be in his way. Excuse me, Mr. Horse. His hoof met, quite painfully, with my tibia. I flew from the saddle and must have landed on my right wrist some six feet later. Somehow, I must have scurried away with what later I learned was a wrist full of badly stretched ligaments and a shattered tibia (the larger bone in the bottom of my leg that supports me when I walk). <br />So here I was lying in the grass at least five miles away from the closest medical attention. Luckily, my aunt had cell reception in this clearing. She called 911 and then everyone but my dad headed back to camp to make my mom, who had stayed behind, aware of my misfortune. Mind you, they had to ride down the rest of the trail so this took awhile. I lay there for an hour in that grass, which turned out to be poison ivy, squeezing my dad’s hand and crying. My mom, being the outstanding mother she is, decided she could not wait for the paramedics to bring her to me. She started walking… up a five mile rock-covered trail in her sandals. That is still funny to me. Needless to say, she did not beat the paramedics. When they crossed paths, they allowed her to hitch a ride on the small all-terrain-vehicle they slowly drove up to me. These guys were not playing games. They were like super paramedics or something. They immediately assessed that my leg was badly broken. Not hard to do, since you could see inside it. One of them gave me a shot of morphine while another found a sturdy stick to make a splint for my leg. I rode back down the way we had come up earlier on a stretcher on the back of the ATV while my mom and dad walked down beside me. (I really do have awesome parents). The ambulance was waiting when we got to the bottom. We “rushed” to the hospital. To me, it took forever. <br />I ended up in the University Hospital in Louisville, Kentucky for the next five days. The surgeons inserted a titanium rod and four screws into my leg. Initially, they did not see anything wrong inside my wrist, although it was swollen to the size of my knee. When I got home, I did end up having pins put in place along with a series of casts to make sure the healing of my ligaments went smoothly. This meant I spent that summer with a cast on my arm, sitting in a wheelchair and depending on my family to take care of my every need. <br />June 14th, 2007; exactly seven days after my high school graduation and one of many days that would lend a hand in molding me into the adult I continue to become.<br />