Human humerus broken by horse
I have had various bone operations in my 71 years. The first was for a greenstick fracture of my right ulna or radius. Others were a collar bone, and both wrists.
But the relevant one here was caused around 1966 by a Cleveland Bay carriage horse on a walking exercise head collar taking off for home. Young, bold and brave, I thought I could hold him. But once he was in a slow canter and I was running as fast as I could, I knew I had to let go and let him go.
Alas, as I dropped the head collar rope, his left shoulder knocked against my right shoulder and threw me to the ground, with my arms outstretched in front of me.
I was in the private land of my employer, on a gravel road that had a couple of feet of grass between the edge of the road and sectional iron fencing. I had been walking the shod horse on one of the grass strips, and, while my left arm and forehead hit the gravel road, by chance my right arm found the grass.
As I lay prostrate, the horse’s left forefoot came down on my right humerus, making what turned out to be a clean break just below the upper neck. Had my arm been on the gravel, I hate to think what sort of a mess some three quarters of a ton of Cleveland Bay would have made of the bone.
The horse cantered back to the stables, and I walked back.
Rather than actual pain, I felt intense heat in my upper arm, and tried to cool it with cold water.
At the hospital, I was put out while the fracture was reduced, and I left after a day or so, with a strap round my right wrist holding it tight against my left shoulder.
I was told that there was no way the arm could be plastered, and that I would have to keep my right arm as still as possible for the next six to eight weeks.
Well, being right handed, I broke that rule fairly soon, if only to record my progress.
By the time I began physiotherapy, I had lost all strength in the arm and could barely lift it forward forty-five degrees from the vertical. I had a beast of a woman physiotherapist who by cajoling and ordering me got me, lying on my back on a mat against gym wall bars, eventually to raise my arm so my hand touched the bars. As I improved, I drove myself in a heavy Rover car to and from the clinic.
It took a couple of years before I could raise my right hand behind my back as high as I could raise my left. But I was working again with horses a few months after the accident.
But not carriage horses - just hunters.