Besides her significant speech delay, sensory issues remain Katie’s greatest challenge. Furthermore, the two issues are intertwined. In addition to autism, Katie probably has what is called speech apraxia. Her brain has difficulty coordinating the 250 moving parts that are required for speech. So in a sense, her speech delay is caused, at least in part, by her sensory challenges. Which is why when Katie jumps on the trampoline, she talks more. Put her on a swing, and she talks more. This also explains why adaptive horseback riding for the disabled is so beneficial. Riding a horse is like swinging is three directions—front to back, side to side, and up and down—simultaneously.

About the time Katie started speech therapy, my friend Barbara Soules began to dream of establishing an adaptive riding center. She pestered me to enroll Katie in her pilot project, but back then I didn’t understand how sensory issues were tied to speech. I was busy learning sign language and shuttling Katie from one therapy session to another. I was distracted, and didn’t really listen to what she was saying.

Plus I’m not one of those women who grew up wanting a horse. I’m a small animal person. Dogs and cats I can handle. Horses have always intimidated me.

But Barbara was persistent. She pestered me for months. Despite an autism diagnosis and a separation, she managed to convince me. Finally I agreed to try it—one time—not expecting much. I told her Katie already had far too much therapy and I wouldn’t make her ride if she didn’t enjoy it.

We had to drive a long way into the country to reach the ranch where Hoofprints on the Heart Adaptive Riding Center was located. We walked into the covered arena and the instructor held out a helmet for Katie to wear. I could barely keep Katie dressed at that point in her life. The helmet was a deal-breaker.

Katie studied the horse, a blonde mare named Summer. Then she grabbed the helmet and jammed it on her head. She marched up the four steps to the mounting platform and allowed a stranger—a total stranger!—to lift her onto the horse. Summer took a few steps, and Katie’s face split into a huge grin. She loved it!

I would have continued to bring Katie for riding lessons for that reason alone. But ten minutes into that initial lesson, a miracle happened. The instructor, Peggy James, stopped Summer and then signed “go” to Katie. She wanted Katie to make the sign. Katie did, but she did something else as well. My nonverbal daughter said her first word: go.

Six years later, the memory still chokes me up.

So of course we went back. Every week while riding Summer, Katie added several new words. In two months she had a spoken vocabulary of 25 words. In four months, she had 50. For several years she continued to use sign language in conjunction with speech, but from that point on, she was verbal.

I’d waited three times longer than the typical parent for those priceless words. I became as passionate about Hoofprints on the Heart Adaptive Riding Center as Barbara, and volunteered in any way that I could. I gave my time as a side-walker, helped with PowerPoint presentations, wrote grant proposals, even served as the MC for the Open House when the organization finally found a permanent home at the historic Hagemann Ranch located in Livermore, California. I still can’t tell you exactly how adaptive riding works. I only know that it does. For a child like Katie with sensory issues, adaptive riding has been the key to unlocking her potential.

While Katie has reached many milestones with the help of her evolving equine team—Summer, Hershey, Danny, and Ahote—nothing can compare to that first day. I would have been grateful for one word, but as she was slipping down off of Summer, at the end of her initial lesson, Katie patted Summer’s neck and said her second word: bye-bye.

I looked at Barbara with tears in my eyes. She grinned and said, “I think everything’s going to be fine.”

I didn’t know if I believed her then. I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure.

Six years later, I do.

Whatever happens in Katie and my future, everything’s going to be fine.

Until next time,
Cynthia Patton