By Mike Donahue
October arrived last week like a long absent friend. It slipped in at the end of September, just where it was supposed to, some 12 months after it was last seen, although it seems longer.
In my neck of the woods and for many other rural residents it’s a very special month. It generally signals the beginning of autumn in Southern Nevada, however short it may turn out to be; it’s the heavy growing season for fall gardens; the chickens start laying better, and the horses begin to relax as desperately hot summer days begin fade into cooler weather.
And speaking of horses, October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month (BCAM).
Now before you think I’ve lost my marbles linking horses and BCAM, let me explain.
LG, a Moapa Valley resident, is a horse person. For those who aren’t quite as rural as many who read this column, that means she’s really into horses. She raises them, feeds them, shoes them, bathes them, call them names (as well as by name), pampers them, tolerates them and, occasionally, rides them, but not so often anymore.
Some 16 years ago she was the proud owner of Slick, a big beautiful bay thoroughbred. Slick had soft brown eyes, a gentle loving disposition and a number tattooed on the inside of his upper lip from his days on California racetracks.
LG and Slick were a team, practically a couple. He would nicker softly when he saw her and brush her face gently with a downy nose that almost no one else could touch. They loved to spend time together, and that was the plan in 1994.
For decades, the Fraternal Order of Elks in Las Vegas has thrown a huge fundraising party called Helldorado. As part of its annual spring hoedown, the Elks staged a trail ride where for a small fee participants could mingle with other horse people, celebrate their Western heritage and support worthy Elks causes.
In 1994, LG and Slick signed up to go on the two-day Elks trail ride. That year it was held on the dry and largely unpopulated lower slopes of Mt. Charleston northeast of Las Vegas.
Saturday morning, LG saddled her big ol’ Slick and fell in line behind a group that started to thread its way through the cactus, Joshua trees and sagebrush that covers the bottom elevations of Mt. Charleston.
A short distance from camp, Slick all of a sudden began acting like an idiot. He started prancing, dancing, snorting, and charging, something he had never, ever done.
LG did all she could to control him, but that huge horse was beyond reason.
Suddenly, with a scream like a wild banshee from hell, Slick reared up about as tall as a horse can do. Unfortunately, unlike most horses that rear, he didn’t drop back down to his front feet. He just kept right on going backward and in the blink of an eye, that big thoroughbred fell right on top of LG who had been unable to kick completely free of her saddle.
It was dreadful.
With another scream, the big horse rolled to one side, scrambled to his feet and took off down the trail as though he was actually aware of the horror of what had just happened.
It soon became apparent, however, that LG was not dead. Although no one knew it at the time, her arms and legs hadn’t been snapped by the impossible weight of that big horse. The saddle horn had not punched through her abdomen and her spine was still intact.
Nevertheless, she was in agony. It’s not easy to catch and hold a 1,500 pound horse in your lap.
LG was quickly medevaced off Mt. Charleston and flown to University Medical Center Trauma Center where she was x-rayed from the top of her head to the bottoms of her feet.
It turned out that Slick hadn’t come directly down on top of her and, amazingly, there were no fractures from the incident. HOWEVER, something else did turn up; something that turned out to be much worse than a broken arm.
During the astonishingly comprehensive physical, a tiny shadow appeared in a place where there shouldn’t have been a shadow. That shadow turned out to be the most virulent form of breast cancer.
To make a very long story short enough to fit in this space, after surgery, weeks of horrible chemotherapy and an incredible will to survive, LG was pronounced cancer free, which today, 16 years later (knock on wood) she still is.
A lot of the credit goes to Slick without whom the cancer may have gone undetected until it was too late. By the way, the big horse never again acted up, not on the trail, not in the arena. He returned to his normal quiet self until he left to run races on a more cosmic level.
And that’s how BCAM and horses are linked.
Naturally, not every woman has a Slick in her pasture, but there are easier ways to get checked out, which I sincerely encourage. BCAM is certainly a good time to take that first step.
