| General Fiction posted October 22, 2024 | Chapters: |
1 3 -4- 
|
I survived a bull attack.
A chapter in the book I Survived
How Are You Still Alive?
by davisr (Rhonda)
The author has placed a warning on this post for violence.
| Background This book is a multi-authored collection of survival stories. |
"911, what's the emergency?"
Wayne sobbed into the phone, his words barely discernable. "My wife was kicked in the head by a bull."
"Okay, is she breathing?"
"Yes, but her eyes are rolled back and she's bleeding out of her mouth."
"Is she responding to you?"
"Sort of. She's answering my questions, but she can barely talk."
"Sir, is the bull still running around?"
"No, Ma'am. He's in a trailer."
"What's your address?"
Wayne read it off. They transferred him to another operator. He repeated his story. They transfered him again and again. It was 20 minutes before anyone responded to our remote farm Southeast of Dallas. All that time, I remained on the cold gravel driveway and waited for help.
Every professional who saw me that day and for months afterward, would lead with the same question. How are you still alive?
To be honest, I have no more answers now than then. I remember hearing my jaw and neck break. I watched the world spin around me and I remember telling myself to stay awake, to fight back.
~~~~~~~~~
It all started a pretty normal day. My husband, Wayne, and I had gone to church, then out to eat. I don't remember what we ate since the day was, as you might guess, shrouded in a painful mist.
Wayne and I were loading a yearling bull on a trailer to take to a man I worked with. He was destined to be his pasture bull, which meant he wasn't going to slaughter. Good for him he was pretty tame, and I liked him... then.
We loaded his mother first. She was easy and a personal pet. The bull had been separated from her all night as we had penned him for easy loading. Understandably, this made him angry... angry as a bull. It was then I learned an important lesson. Even tame bulls are still bulls.
Wayne was on one side of the trailer and I was one the other. As big as it was, we were out of sight of each other.
Once he loaded the enraged bovine, Wayne pushed a board between mom and son and reached through the slats to close the door between their compartments. No problem, but bully boy was angry, so he had to move fast.
Once the gate was latched, he called out, "Pull out the board."
I pulled, but a splintered part caught on something and it wouldn't slide through. He yelled again for me to pull the board. I tried to explain the situation when the bull decided enough was enough. He kicked and hit the part of the board still in the trailer.
It flew part-way out of the slat and slammed into my chin. That was the first break.
For some reason, I still held the board while the world swam around me. The bull kicked again and the slat slapped me on the right side of my jaw. That's when I heard the second crack.
This time, the board and I both fell. In the shadowy world I found myself in, I continued to fight to stay alert. I took one fist and put under my chin, and the other under my neck. Stabilize, I said, stabilize and stay awake.
I heard Wayne shouting for me, felt him drop to the ground at my feet and heard him calling my name. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear.
I heard the call to 911, his cry to the dispatcher, and felt the terror in his voice.
When he was finished, he leaned over, stroking my face and repeating my name. Through clenched teeth, I asked him to call our pastor to pray. He had to use my phone because 911 had his locked. He couldn't get hold of Pastor Glenn, so I told him he'd have to do it himself.
I heard him put down the phone and take a deep, jagged breath.
I know now that the Lord can hear your words, even through sobs, because a warm sensation enveloped my neck and grew in intensity. I felt something in my neck shift, like when a chiropractor adjusts your neck.
My eyes, which had been rolled back, returned to their normal position. A fuzzy image of everything around me appeared. I could see Wayne's reddened face and the neighbor across the street standing over me.
"Hi," I said, again through clenched teeth. "I've had an accident."
"Yeah, I can see that," Larry said. "Please don't try to talk."
I blinked my eyes in acknowledgement as I dared not move my head.
Moments later, a fire truck showed up from the neighborhood Volunteer Fire Department. Wayne's cousin jumped out and ran over to me. Through sobs, Wayne told his story yet again. Bennie and his companions came over and knelt beside me.
They did a few silent assessments, including looking in my mouth for broken teeth. They asked several questions, like what the date was, my name, who was President, etc. I knew most of them, and faked the others. I swear I heard Bennie chuckle.
"Okay, cousin, hang in there. The ambulance will be here soon."
I blinked my response.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Weeks turned into months, and months into a year before I could move my head without pain and sleep all night without excruciating headaches.
I went through 3 major surgeries and countless hours of therapy, rehabilitation and prayer. The neurologist originally wanted me to go on permanent disability. I had an injured carotid artery that was all but ruptured, a vertebrae that had slipped within millimeters of being broken, which I knew an inside story on, a traumatic brain injury that kept me from walking unaided, and eyes that still wouldn't focus well.
Months later, I had to go to him to get a release to return to work. He put me through every test known to man. When finished, he said, "I can't explain it, but you've been healed."
He signed the paper. To be fair, I still have a weird eye thing going on where if I focus on tedious tasks, my eyes start darting back and forth.
I also have mild Auditory Processing Disorder, or APD, which means there's a bit of a delay between someone speaking to me and my response. The noisier the room, the more difficult it is for me to process what people are saying.
How is it I'm still alive? Like with all the intestinal surgery I went through the very next year, I don't know. I can merely say that in both instances, I learned what it meant to suffer and how to be compassionate to other people's distress.
I also figure I owe God a few favors.
Wayne sobbed into the phone, his words barely discernable. "My wife was kicked in the head by a bull."
"Okay, is she breathing?"
"Yes, but her eyes are rolled back and she's bleeding out of her mouth."
"Is she responding to you?"
"Sort of. She's answering my questions, but she can barely talk."
"Sir, is the bull still running around?"
"No, Ma'am. He's in a trailer."
"What's your address?"
Wayne read it off. They transferred him to another operator. He repeated his story. They transfered him again and again. It was 20 minutes before anyone responded to our remote farm Southeast of Dallas. All that time, I remained on the cold gravel driveway and waited for help.
Every professional who saw me that day and for months afterward, would lead with the same question. How are you still alive?
To be honest, I have no more answers now than then. I remember hearing my jaw and neck break. I watched the world spin around me and I remember telling myself to stay awake, to fight back.
~~~~~~~~~
It all started a pretty normal day. My husband, Wayne, and I had gone to church, then out to eat. I don't remember what we ate since the day was, as you might guess, shrouded in a painful mist.
Wayne and I were loading a yearling bull on a trailer to take to a man I worked with. He was destined to be his pasture bull, which meant he wasn't going to slaughter. Good for him he was pretty tame, and I liked him... then.
We loaded his mother first. She was easy and a personal pet. The bull had been separated from her all night as we had penned him for easy loading. Understandably, this made him angry... angry as a bull. It was then I learned an important lesson. Even tame bulls are still bulls.
Wayne was on one side of the trailer and I was one the other. As big as it was, we were out of sight of each other.
Once he loaded the enraged bovine, Wayne pushed a board between mom and son and reached through the slats to close the door between their compartments. No problem, but bully boy was angry, so he had to move fast.
Once the gate was latched, he called out, "Pull out the board."
I pulled, but a splintered part caught on something and it wouldn't slide through. He yelled again for me to pull the board. I tried to explain the situation when the bull decided enough was enough. He kicked and hit the part of the board still in the trailer.
It flew part-way out of the slat and slammed into my chin. That was the first break.
For some reason, I still held the board while the world swam around me. The bull kicked again and the slat slapped me on the right side of my jaw. That's when I heard the second crack.
This time, the board and I both fell. In the shadowy world I found myself in, I continued to fight to stay alert. I took one fist and put under my chin, and the other under my neck. Stabilize, I said, stabilize and stay awake.
I heard Wayne shouting for me, felt him drop to the ground at my feet and heard him calling my name. I couldn't see anything, but I could hear.
I heard the call to 911, his cry to the dispatcher, and felt the terror in his voice.
When he was finished, he leaned over, stroking my face and repeating my name. Through clenched teeth, I asked him to call our pastor to pray. He had to use my phone because 911 had his locked. He couldn't get hold of Pastor Glenn, so I told him he'd have to do it himself.
I heard him put down the phone and take a deep, jagged breath.
I know now that the Lord can hear your words, even through sobs, because a warm sensation enveloped my neck and grew in intensity. I felt something in my neck shift, like when a chiropractor adjusts your neck.
My eyes, which had been rolled back, returned to their normal position. A fuzzy image of everything around me appeared. I could see Wayne's reddened face and the neighbor across the street standing over me.
"Hi," I said, again through clenched teeth. "I've had an accident."
"Yeah, I can see that," Larry said. "Please don't try to talk."
I blinked my eyes in acknowledgement as I dared not move my head.
Moments later, a fire truck showed up from the neighborhood Volunteer Fire Department. Wayne's cousin jumped out and ran over to me. Through sobs, Wayne told his story yet again. Bennie and his companions came over and knelt beside me.
They did a few silent assessments, including looking in my mouth for broken teeth. They asked several questions, like what the date was, my name, who was President, etc. I knew most of them, and faked the others. I swear I heard Bennie chuckle.
"Okay, cousin, hang in there. The ambulance will be here soon."
I blinked my response.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Weeks turned into months, and months into a year before I could move my head without pain and sleep all night without excruciating headaches.
I went through 3 major surgeries and countless hours of therapy, rehabilitation and prayer. The neurologist originally wanted me to go on permanent disability. I had an injured carotid artery that was all but ruptured, a vertebrae that had slipped within millimeters of being broken, which I knew an inside story on, a traumatic brain injury that kept me from walking unaided, and eyes that still wouldn't focus well.
Months later, I had to go to him to get a release to return to work. He put me through every test known to man. When finished, he said, "I can't explain it, but you've been healed."
He signed the paper. To be fair, I still have a weird eye thing going on where if I focus on tedious tasks, my eyes start darting back and forth.
I also have mild Auditory Processing Disorder, or APD, which means there's a bit of a delay between someone speaking to me and my response. The noisier the room, the more difficult it is for me to process what people are saying.
How is it I'm still alive? Like with all the intestinal surgery I went through the very next year, I don't know. I can merely say that in both instances, I learned what it meant to suffer and how to be compassionate to other people's distress.
I also figure I owe God a few favors.
A special thanks for the marvelous artwork. Leon - Heathrow Airport by avmurray on FanArtReview.
Some of you have heard some of this story before, to others its new. It happened in January of 2017. I've only told parts, which is what I've done here. I've left out a lot, but you get the picture.
Please share your stories here as well. I'd like to know what you've survived. Thanks to Sally Law, Mike and Ulla for their contributions.
Pays
10 points
and 94 member cents
(and maybe more). Some of you have heard some of this story before, to others its new. It happened in January of 2017. I've only told parts, which is what I've done here. I've left out a lot, but you get the picture.
Please share your stories here as well. I'd like to know what you've survived. Thanks to Sally Law, Mike and Ulla for their contributions.
Artwork by avmurray at FanArtReview.com
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