'Way up in the riding ring, my horse's girth strap broke while I was, apparently, cantering her in tight figure eights. They tell me that I caught the horse, gathered up the saddle, draped it on her, and walked her all the long way back to the stableyard, about a half mile. They say I explained that it was not her fault-- she had previously dumped me on the trail, purposely, many, many times-- and that they should not discipline her this time. Although they say they thought I was making pretty good sense, they tell me I suggested that perhaps an ambulance had better be called, and I would not be talked out of it. I came to myself much later that night, in the hospital, endlessly reading and re-reading a note my frustrated mother and sister had left, explaining to me what had happened..... because I had asked them to 'splain it to me numerous times, and after each retelling I said, "Oh. Hm! .... What happened, why I am I in the hospital?" It wasn't until morning that the words in the note began to stick, and I could sort out whether I had already read both sides of the note without turning it over to start again. They tell me I'd been pretty entertaining when they brought me in, too. Cooperative, and not nasty, but using a lot of truly colorful language! :~) I have no memory of that experience, myself, or the other events of the day, or the night before, leading up to the fall.
Later that year, having already had several other nasty falls from nasty horses, and having had a variety of concussions from them, did I hesitate one day to climb up on a wobbly milk crate to mount a horse in the stableyard while there all by my lonesome?
Of course not! And of course the crate wobbled at the wrong moment and I went flying crash-boom onto my head.
I came to some time later, grateful that the gate to the driveway (straight shot to the road) had been closed, so the mare was happily nibbling grass under the fence, keeping me company till I could rouse myself to take off her saddle, etc.