And that was that. Seven weeks went by, and my hand healed. The pins came out on Tuesday afternoon, I rode Elvis—the one of my animals I trust not to be strong or feral or both—Wednesday morning. Farm holiday party Thursday morning, followed by packing-palooza Thursday afternoon. “Christmas” dinner with my partner and his kids Friday night. And then hopping in my truck with most of my stuff and the best dog ever for the two-day drive to Welly-world.

I can’t say that the time has “flown by.” It’s been tedious and frustrating. My hand hurt, a lot, for a long time. I felt like a baby for not be

ing able to push through; forget wanting to ride, I just wanted to be able to do ANYTHING, and any activity that got my heart rate up was a no-no, because of the pain and the swelling. So my very fit and trim, eating great and riding five to six horses a day and going to the gym four days a week self, had to be basically sedentary for the duration of my healing. I’m heading to Florida with a body that feels like a ton of bricks; a right hand that, while liberated from the pins, is stiff as hell and filled with awe-inspiring swelling; and more than a little frustration.

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Whenever I go through a crisis, I always ask myself, “What can I learn from this experience? What can I do better?”

I’ve learned a few things from my recent broken hand experience: that horses are silly, that hands are fragile, that appropriate pain medication is wonderful, and that good people are even better.

But I’ve also learned a lot about health care, and how phenomenally expensive it is in the United States. This is not new information to me, but I’ve been so fortunate as to not really have anything go exceptionally wrong in my adult life as far as my health is concerned. As a self-employed person, I get my health insurance through the ACA exchange, and I have an extremely high deductible. But since I rarely see a doctor more than twice a year, just for routine care, I hadn’t really given it a thought.

And then this: The surgery to insert two (removable, thank goodness) pins from my hand cost me more than $3,000, cash upfront. The bills have not yet begun to roll in for all of the other visits with specialists, therapists and follow-ups, but I can’t even begin to imagine. I’m sure that they will get close to, but not actually touch my massive deductible. Which means I’m on the hook for the whole hog.

This could have been a phenomenal strain on my resources, something I’d be paying off for a while. And I’m lucky that this is such a minor thing: What if I had done my pelvis, or my spine, or my brain? What if I’d required an ambulance ride or a hospital stay?

But I have something called a Health Savings Account, or HSA, and I think that everyone should have one, especially all of my wonderful 20-something horse girls who should start saving right now, because the reality is that in this business, it’s only a matter of time.

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In my center desk drawer in my office at the farm, I keep a rejection letter from The Dressage Foundation. It was from the first time that I’d applied for the Carol Lavell Prize, and it went to two other people that year. I keep it because of the handwritten note from Carol herself on the letter: “High performance means never give up, never give in.” I’ve applied for her grant three times, and for other grants ranging from small to $25,000 at least 10 times at this point, and I have yet to receive one.

I celebrate each rejection.

Not because I wouldn’t like the money. Of course I would; it would be awfully nice to get a little help in this expensive sport. But each time I am told no, each time I am told that I am not good enough, that I lack the qualities they’re looking for, it only strengthens my resolve to prove them wrong.

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While my broken hand changed my plans regarding the U.S. Dressage Finals, it did not cancel them, because I had two students qualified in the amateur and open Grand Prix divisions. And when you have students at that level, you go, broken or not!

In addition to being exceptionally good riders on wonderful horses, Abe Pugh and Jenn Drescher are also some of my favorite humans, and getting to spend time with them is always a pleasure. And my favorite thing about big shows like national championships is that everyone from all over the country gets together in one place, so it’s an efficient way to see friends from everywhere and catch up.

The finals are just a splendid horse show. They get to pull from all of the A teams from show management and volunteer crews around the country: the best show secretaries, the best ring stewards, the best technical delegates, the best press corps and media coverage, the best of everything. It means the show runs like a well oiled machine, and that is always a joy.

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I had this plan.

My friend and coach Ali Brock was scheduled to come to Aleco and Sandra Bravo-Greenberg’s gorgeous Rutledge Farm, just a short hike away in Middleburg, Virginia, for a clinic as part of their Rutledge Farm Sessions clinic series. The clinic was not only a chance for me to get some lessons on Elvis, who is 2.5 weeks out from the U.S. Dressage Finals, but also an opportunity to get some nice press coverage of my wonderful horse who is, ahem, owned by a syndicate with shares still available.

And then, as Ali would be stopping at her Virginia base for a few days before returning to Florida, I thought I’d seize the moment and bring Puck down to her, to have lessons in the privacy of her own farm on my horse who’s not always ready for public consumption.

Swell plan, right? I even had a blog in mind touching on the differences between riding in a public symposium versus a lesson in private.

What I didn’t plan for was the broken hand.

Read the rest at The Chronicle of the Horse!