Recently I mentioned that I had an
accident last year where I lost a bit off of my left pinkie finger.
This was quite a significant event in my life and I thought just for
posterity's sake, maybe I should put the experience down in writing.
So with no further adieu, here is the story...
It happened on October 21st 2013. It
was around 4pm or so. I have 94 Chevy truck with bald tires. They
weren't bald when I bought the truck, but they are now. The problem
is, the truck has a lift on it and so the tires are bigger, and
expensive to replace, a fact that didn't seem to bother me when I
purchased the truck. The tires have needed replacing for a good
three to four years, but I have been putting it off and putting it
off, unwilling to fork over the dough to get new tires. It's never
been that pressing since I don't drive the truck very often, just the
occasional trip to the dump or to help someone haul something big
somewhere. Funny how when you own a truck, it seems like every man
and his dog needs a favor. But I digress.
It just so happened on this beautiful
Fall day my wife and I were taking a load of our neighbor's leaves to
the dump. It was my first day off from working the night shift at
work and I was running on about three hours of sleep. It was a warm
day and I had my window down as we drove down the country road that
led to the dump. A few miles from home I began to hear a sound, psst
psst psst psst. The sound was
in sync with the rotation of my rear tire. My first thought was that
there must be a small rock trapped in the tread of my tire, until I
suddenly realized I had no tread – not enough to trap a rock in
anyway.
It didn't take
long to realize the sound was air escaping from my tire, and it
wasn't long after that we were pulled off to the side of the road and
walking home. I did not have a spare or tools in the truck.
Luckily a good Samaritan neighbor saw us walking and gave us a ride
home. Shortly thereafter my wife and I returned to the scene with
tools and the spare. I remember commenting to my wife on the way
there, that this would be a good opportunity for her to learn how to
change a flat. Boy was she about to learn a thing or two about
changing a tire!
I had two jacks, a
bottle jack from our Suburban, and an old-school bumper jack, like
the kind that used to come in cars from the 70s.
The evil bumper jack
Against my better
judgment it was time to resort to plan B, the bumper jack on a cinder
block to give it some height. I recall that as I was setting up this
sketchy looking improvisation there was a voice inside of me telling
me to WALK AWAY. I didn't have the right tools for the job. I
should go buy the right kind of jack or call a tire store and let
them come out and take care of it. But no, that's not me. I have
kind of a problem solver in my make up, always looking for a way to
accomplish the task. And that brought me to my situation: a ¾ ton
truck jacked off the ground by the rear bumper, on a bumper jack,
sitting on a cinder block.
I had the tire off
– that voice in my head practically screaming at me to stop – and
was trying to get the spare on, but needed to jack the truck up maybe
just one more inch to line the holes up with the bolts. I grabbed
the jack handle, and I am not exaggerating when I say I had this
inexplicable feeling of terror as I ratcheted up the truck one more
notch. I couldn't figure out why the apprehension. Everything at a
glance seemed to be right. I had changed tires before... why was
this different? Another click as the jack cranked up one more notch,
the rear bumper of the truck creaking and groaning under the enormous
weight it was supporting.
I
remember thinking, One more aught to do it.
CLICK!
At that moment I
realized why the scary feelings, why the voice inside... too late. I
had made a fatal mistake, something I should have known, something I
should have seen. I blame it on the fact that I was running on so
few hours of sleep. For those reading this who don't know, a truck
is rear wheel drive. That means when you put the vehicle in park,
it's the rear tires that are in park, not the front wheels. The
front wheels remain free to spin.
Well, by raising
the rear of the truck that last little inch, I had lifted the back
wheels off the ground, leaving the front wheels free to roll forward.
In my memory, the first movement seemed so subtle and small. I
could see the truck just barely beginning to roll forward off the
jack. Instinctively, I reached out with my left hand and grabbed the
jack, hoping to stop my truck from falling off the jack and landing
on the bare, exposed wheel hub and axle. I'm here to tell you, that
once a ¾ ton truck starts to move, you ain't stopping it with your
arm. It's gonna go, and you had better get clear!
Unfortunately for
me, there was no time to second guess my actions. As soon as I
grabbed that jack, WHAM! My left pinkie was trapped between the
bumper of the truck and the jack. I could also feel, as the truck
began to fall, the jack rolling up my hand and pinching my next
finger as well. I knew this was very very bad, and chose at that
moment to just jerk my hand free, before any more of it wound up
trapped between steel.
The truck made an
awful sound as it banged hard on the ground with a big crash. My
finger was stinging, but didn't hurt too bad – I thought for a
moment that I had escaped serious injury. Then I saw my wife's face
as she looked at mine, and I knew something wasn't quite right. In
fact, I learned later from her, that what she had seen from her
perspective was a bunch of blood splatter my face as the truck fell,
like someone had whacked a tomato with a hammer nearby.
Reluctantly, I
brought my hand in front of my face. And there was my poor mangled
pinkie finger, pulverized, the torn flesh hanging and bleeding around
the exposed bone!
WARNING GRAPHIC PICTURE AHEAD
In the ER. That dark triangular shape is my
finger bone. yuck!
If you have never
had the chance to see one of your own bones before, let me assure you
that it has a shocking effect on the system. In fact, as my wife was
driving me moments later to the ER, I passed out in the car from
shock. I passed out one more time in the ER as the doctors and
nurses were fiddling around with the injury... there's something
about having a cold, saline-soaked gauze pad dropped roughly on
exposed bone that causes me to pass out as well.
I should finish
this up, as this is already a really long post. So, to make a long
story short here's how it ended. The ER doctor told me that I was
going to lose about half of my finger. But, a plastic surgeon who
just happened to be hanging around came and looked at it. Since I'm
not a smoker, he was able to perform a procedure where he sewed my
finger to the palm of my hand. If I had been a smoker, this
procedure would not have been possible due to constricted capillaries
and not enough blood flow.
I ended up having
my finger sewed to my hand for about six weeks, and I'm happy to say
things went about as well as I could expect. I am still recovering,
but I still have use of the finger even though it's a bit shorter now
and can be sensitive to certain things, like cold and it hurts now to
use my pinkie to try to play chords on the guitar.
In the end though,
I am just thankful I wasn't injured more seriously, or even killed.
I walked away from what could have been a very serious or deadly
accident and I feel so blessed to be able to say that. And if I've
learned anything it's to listen to that inner voice next time when
it's trying to warn you. If you are experiencing feelings of terror
while performing a task, there's probably a reason! Use the right
tools to do the job, and if it's a big job where a mistake could mean
injury... wait until you've had some sleep and you're thinking
clearly!
And now you
know... the rest of the story.
Over and out.
After the first surgery, my finger
stitched to my hand
After the 2nd Surgery to release the finger
This picture shows how much of my finger I lost...
maybe a quarter of an inch