I had a pretty intense experience last Thursday that seems to be interesting to people, so I'm writing it up in detail here and may follow up with updates as they come.
WARNING: This post contains graphic but real footage of a moderate sized wood shop accident.
I also want to be very clear: this accident was entirely my own fault and not due to any design flaw in the tools I was using.
My 17 year old son, Jonathan, and I were spending the day making a very nice looking dueling cane for his birthday. We were primarily using a cool machine called an
ornamental mill that is made by the clever folks at
Legacy Woodworking Machinery. The mill is the offspring of a lathe and a router and lets you run flutes and spirals down a spindle or other round piece of work. Perfect for creating a weapon inspired by a
great fantasy novel.
We'd spent a fun day together learning and creating and we were coming down to the last couple passes on the mill. It was getting on toward dinner time and we had some meetings we needed to get to later in the evening, so I started to rush things a bit more than I should have. I started to get stupid.
The mill has a set of gears on the right side that you turn with a little handle. Those gears run the magic of the mill keeping the router in sync with the rotating shaft of wood to produce the twists and spirals only the best woodturners in the world can do on a traditional lathe. The gears are not really scary under normal circumstances because they only move as fast as you manually turn the handle. Besides, they're only 1/8 inch plate metal and really don't look all that hungry... to the uninitiated in the ways of gears, that is.
In addition to the manual crank, I have an optional package on my mill that motorizes the whole thing. I'll use the handle when I'm setting up a cut or experimenting, but I'll almost always move over to using the switch and variable speed dial when I have things figured out and am in production mode. Generally, I'll switch between the handle and the motor a few times during a project and the process is entirely straightforward. Unless I'm being stupid.
We had just started one of the last planned cuts on the cane and I was running it with the gear handle to start the cut. I'd left the motor controls hanging about half way down the mill and had to stretch out my left hand to get it. I couldn't stop turning the gear handle with my right hand because if the router just sits on one spot on the wood, it will leave a burn mark. So, my right hand was behind my back slowly turning the handle while I stretched out my left to engage the motor. I didn't register the teeth of the gears brushing my right arm until after I flipped the switch.
Suddenly I felt my arm being simultaneously pulled and twisted down into the gears. I'd unintentionally left the motor on the highest setting and the gears had taken off at full speed. It felt like something was peeling my arm, spiraling around like a can opener on a can of tuna. It felt like someone was pulling hard on my sleeve--except I had no sleeve. It felt like something was ripping my arm open and wasn't going to stop.
From the moment I felt the tug at my non-existant sleeve, I had instinctively pulled my arm away from the snag, but in the entire two seconds I'd been trying that strategy, I had only felt the gears continue down my arm, twisting it further behind my back, not at all interested in letting go. I knew I had to do something different or things were going to get worse fast. By this point my arm was twisted behind my back, palm up, kind of like a baseball player halfway through a pitch. Those who are familiar with my athletic leanings know that this position is not one I find myself in very often, but, to continue with the analogy, I'd already performed the windup so I simply followed through with a very solid, adrenaline-filled throw. I literally ripped myself out of the mill.
As my arm swung down in front of me, I saw what appeared to be a half inch wide channel opened up in my arm at least 6 inches long. The bottom of the channel was a clean, smooth membrane covering what I was confident was muscle and tendons. I later learned that I was getting a clear, unobstructed view of my own fascia.
I only saw the fascia for less than a second because I instinctively slid the channel closed with the thumb and palm of my left hand and almost simultaneously tried to wiggle the fingers on my right hand. Being a juggler, cellist, software programmer, and lover of fingers generally, I was immediately relieved (if entirely surprised) that my fingers seemed to be working perfectly.
Continuing the momentum I started with my extraction from the gears, I ran toward the door of the wood shop saying over my shoulder something like the following: "Jonathan, dear, would you be so kind as to turn off the mill and drive me home?"
My wood shop is a short drive from my house and Jonathan did a fantastic job getting me there posthaste, successfully avoiding the mud pits and ruts that I was sure could have left the car stranded. He had called ahead for my wife, Ana, to meet us and to let her know that I had "cut my arm". This wasn't the first time I had come home from the shop needing some attention from my medically skilled wife, so as we pulled up in front of the house, Ana came out with the first-aid kit. She then saw the wound I was gripping shut and said, "I'm driving." Jonathan jumped out, tried to keep his seven curious siblings from seeing too much, Ana jumped in and we sped off to the emergency room.
Fortunately for me, I was the most interesting thing happening Thursday night at the emergency room so I got in pretty quickly. I was entirely lucid throughout and was handling the pain well enough to joke about it so I think it came as some surprise to most of the professionals at the hospital each time one of them got their first look at what I'd done.
Everyone treated me very well and very quickly and I was fortunate to have one of the best pairs of hands the hospital had to offer stitch me closed. It was a significant enough wound that they pulled out one or two procedures many people in the ER hadn't ever seen. That, combined with the rather spectacular wound itself, gave us a steady stream of curious visitors throughout the evening. I don't know how many people work in the ER, but I'm pretty sure I met most of them. Didn't shake any hands though.
I mentioned to the doctor who was stitching me closed that I was anxious to know when I could juggle again and he said that juggling would actually be excellent therapy but that I should hold off on the 10 pound balls I periodically use. I should keep the bandage on for 72 hours and not do anything with my arm until it was off.
Friday, Saturday, and Sunday were uneventful and I didn't take any of the pain prescriptions they gave me. The morphine and local anesthetics I had in the hospital had the nice advantage of taking away the pain, but that was more medicine than I'd taken in all the preceding 20 years combined. I don't like drugs. Besides, I really didn't feel like I was in that much pain. I got a bit woozy Friday midday but I probably overdid it a bit taking the kids to a
rock and gem show for the morning. Other than that, I felt very normal. My arm stung if I pulled it in the wrong direction, but I learned my limits fairly quickly.
Saturday Jonathan and I went back to the shop and surveyed the damage. We were amazed at how little blood we found (the ER doc told me that when a blood vessel is sliced, it bleeds profusely, but when it is ripped as in my case, the two ends pinch off and much less blood is lost) and how little gore was on the gears. It looked a bit like someone had taken a fried chicken leg and rubbed it around the gears leaving a few bits of flesh and a good helping of grease.
After a bit of cleanup, we (carefully) finished our remaining few cuts and brought home the finished cane. Although he got it a couple days later than he originally expected, Jonathan is very pleased with his birthday present.
This morning, bandage free, I attempted my first juggling workout (sans 10 pound balls) and was astonished. Not only could I do all the basic patterns in front of my body, I was able to do all the behind the back catches and throws I wanted and was even fine doing the five and six ball exercises.
The human body is an amazing machine and I'm going to be much more respectful of mine. I've abused it through thoughtlessness and it has repaid me with an incredibly fast recovery.
And now for the pictures:
I'm twisting my arm to keep the wound closed.
Here, I'm twisting my arm to open up the wound (for a better look-see).
If you look closely, you can see the tendons and muscle move.
Having my first bath.
The device they are using is pumping saline into the wound and then sucking it back out.
Over 60 stitches later.
All better. I'm amazed at the artistry of the doctor. He didn't use a single surface stitch and he pulled the two sides of the wound together without any pinching or puckering.
Going back to the shop on Saturday, this was the only significant blood at the scene, thanks to those super, retractable veins.
Those two smallest gears are the ones who did the deed. I didn't think they had it in 'em.
Here you can see the chicken grease and some bits of me.
And here are those bits.
But, I think the finished product was worth it.
Monday morning without the bandage. Looking pretty good. Almost no inflammation.
The scratches on my wrist normally would have gotten at least a little sympathy, but they're kind of being overshadowed at the moment.
And after only three days, I have full mobility.
But I'll wait a bit longer to take these back up.
I'll post some more pictures as the healing progresses.
KJH
