Kristine E. Brickey

Cancer.  Yup, cancer, because apparently the Universe felt that in addition to surviving my son's suicide, followed ten years later by my brother's and two other important men in my life, that I needed a new challenge. Honestly, I'm over it already. This year was supposed to be for blasting out my new memoir, Mustang Memoir: It's Not Just About the Horses along with my positive reinforcement equine business. It was perfect. 2026, the Year of the Horse.  Instead, it went kind of like this:      January- new personal bests in multiple Cross Fit lifts, release of my new book      February- sick as a dog on the last night of the Lansing Women's Expo, end up in the ER      March- two hospital stays, goblet cell carcinoma diagnosis, normal life comes screeching to a halt      April- TWELVE HOUR SURGERY that left me with a scar from sternum to the good stuff and the removal of multiple body parts, followed by an emergency, ...

*Intro: The past four days, I have facilitated a Winter Writing Retreat in Northern Michigan at a location that holds a special magic with magical women. Writing. Sharing. Laughing. Crying. Together, we've shared both familiar adventures and new. The snow was deep, almost as deep as the writing we shared. As each woman opened veins with their pen, we were brought together as only writers can be in such a short time together. I love each and every woman who was at this retreat, and as they shared, my rage built against the people in their lives who caused them pain, who made them doubt their worth, and who did their worst to make them small.  On a cold afternoon following a sharing session, I stomped my way down an ice covered path to write in the full-sized teepee. Fire blazing inside. Comfortable seats. Wind blowing against the canvas. Smoke escaped upwards as my rage built inside of me against the specific monsters who have hurt these women, and the monsters currently hiding in p...

Another unexpected hospital stay. Another discharge without answers.  About a year and a half ago, I spent five days as a patient in Memphis Baptist Hospital during what was supposed to be a relaxing visit with my girls. Five days. IV antibiotics. Multiple theories as to what caused the trouble: appendicitis, rare diseases, perforation, cancer-all ruled out. Follow up with my home specialists showed all was well. Decades of training and experience and their best guess was some sort of bacterial infection in my gut.  After Sunday evening's bout of what I thought was stomach flu left me with some symptoms too similar to my Memphis troubles, I went in for a check. Admitted overnight, again doctors were flummoxed. "Are you sure there's no family history of...fill in the blank with a myriad of grasping straw ideas? You're active. Healthy. No falls." My bloodwork and information complicated the puzzle that my pain and symptoms were creating. I was discharged yesterday, ...

The beauty of the sky Wednesday seemed a mockery of Cappy's relapse. Misty pastel hues a backdrop to his staggering back legs, pain accentuated by the awe of Mother Nature's handiwork. I raced into this awful beauty as I drove west to the vet's office to pick up a new round of steroids for Cappy, taking note of the irony. I was worried, but glad that I'd caught the change quickly, and grateful for my vet who made a special Christmas Eve morning drop so I could get my beloved Mustang dosed and back on track. I couldn't imagine what could have happened on Christmas otherwise. But, it happened anyway. As soon as it was light Christmas morning, I headed out for chores, eager to see Cappy's progress, his second dose of steroids hidden inside his favorite German cookie treat. Cappy was lying near the south side of the horse barn. I was relieved, thinking he'd finally been able to rest, until he tried unsuccessfully to stand. His fronts pushed his body up, so he wa...

I really thought this season was going to be different. Last week, I watched a ridiculous Christmas Hallmark movie...and enjoyed it! Our favorite Christmas tree farm advertised their upcoming hours, and I imagined Chad and I trekking through the fir scented rows to find a fat little tree to hang lights upon and place gifts beneath. Dare I say, as the holidays grew nearer, I confidently felt the jolliness that many associate with it all. Yesterday morning, Grief wrapped around me like a blanket. Uninvited, it slipped upon my shoulders, pushing out the previous week's dreams of holiday cheer.  Nothing out of the ordinary precipitated this heavy arrival, yet everything feels different now. Any desire to drag out Christmas decorations, hang lighted garland upon the mantle, jingle bells, or sing carols evaporated.   I can't help but compare this to what's been going on with Cappy, my poor, sweet Mustang gelding who has slid backward in his comfort level after one too many things...

Today began like most others around here. I woke up way too early, spent a couple hours journaling on the couch with Frankie nestled beneath a blanket beside me, and went out to feed the equines before heading to a 9 a.m. CrossFit workout.  Chad walked outside around 9:45 to open what I call the breakfast gate, the one that separates the boys from the girl so they each eat their own portions. Cinder was hanging out in the center area. Cappy roamed over to stand by our visiting bearded collie, Annie. Little Red was standing knee deep in the hay on the opposite side of the fence from Cappy and his canine friend. Less than thirty minutes later, I pulled into the driveway after an invigorating workout and noticed Little Red lying on his side in the pasture. He's been sleeping a lot more the last couple months, so I pushed down the initial panic as I parked in the garage. Tossing my stuff on the kitchen counter, I kicked off my gym shoes and slipped into paddock boots before hustling ou...