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| My right hand as of 2/16/2008 |
Since you've reached this page from my homepage, I'm going to assume you've read the introduction on that page and know about my work. The incident I'm about to relate happened very close to the location of the incident noted on that page. My job was a little different this time, however.
This happened on December 27, 2007. This is always a difficult time of year for many employers as so many employees ask for and get vacation. The line in question was understaffed, and so was the quality department. Our usual inspector on that line was on vacation and they couldn't spare anyone to cover for her. Being probably the most flexible person in the plant, I had to go fill in.
I had already filled in most of the day Wednesday the 26th. This day they finished the 24-inch run they had started the day before and changed over to 36-inch product. So this was a rather wide panel for the line. In addition both metal skins were the thickest we run, 20-gauge (close to 0.036" thick).
The line had stopped for the second time in the 36-inch run. This time it was down for some time as the operators searched for a "ghost" E-stop that was shutting the line down. It gave me time to respond to a computer-out call. Turns out someone had unplugged an IDF (intermediate distribution facility) shutting off the ethernet switch that served those machines. Quick fix!
Back at the line they were just starting. Whenever the line has been down more than a few minutes, there's a fairly high chance that the first panel out of the laminator got damaged sitting there. So I wanted to check this panel to see if it needed to be rejected. The panels are manufactured with the face down. Most are flipped so the face is up as they go past the inspector.
For some odd reason, however, this panel didn't get flipped by the machine. This particular panel was over twenty feet long, and it probably weighed more than 200 pounds. Still, I believed I could flip it by hand, and the saw operator who worked at the other side of the line agreed to help.
When the panel came to us he pushed it toward me so that the edge hung over my side of the powered conveyor. Because of its weight, I had to squat down below the panel so my hands were over my shoulders and I could lift with my legs. I pushed my side up until it stood on its edge, the top edge now more than three feet above the rollers.
That's when I thoughtlessly did one of the stupidest things I have ever done. Thinking to assist the saw operator in lowering the panel, I reached under the panel between the rollers in an attempt to pull the bottom toward me. As soon as I felt the pain I remembered I had tried this before with a smaller panel and gotten my fingers pinched. I was thinking that I'd have bruised fingers that would hurt for over a week.
Instinctively I pulled my right hand back, trying to slide it out from under the panel's edge. Obviously, I didn't finish until my middle finger had gone over the roller. As I pulled my hand loose I thought this one would be really bad because it hurt so much. Then I looked at the hand.
Two of the three fingers that had been caught had been cut short by about a half inch. The tip of my ring finger, the middle of the three, was still there, but I could see the base of the nail sticking out through nasty looking splits in the skin. Blood was dripping all over the floor from the injured fingers.
At that point I was recalling a thought that had been bothering me lately. I used my fingers for many things. Playing the piano, typing, working on intricate equipment, and so on. It would really be a shame to damage or loose any fingers to an injury. But I'd just done it, and while it had taken less than a second, there would be no chance to go back and undo my stupid act. I was now handicapped.
I know, losing the tips of two fingers isn't a very big handicap. But it might have a big impact on playing the piano. Less than a year earlier I had bought a cheap, used spinet and begun practicing regularly. The strange effect of that was that my organ playing suffered terribly while I made what I thought were relatively large gains in piano skill.
I knew I shouldn't touch anything with the fingers. So I just stood there. One man on the line came to me with a paper towel which I put under the bleeding appendages. I then stood there for probably a minute more. Word was getting out that someone had been seriously injured. The saw operator had lowered the panel to the line. But he got squeamish and simply got on the intercom to say someone needed to call for help.
I looked at the floor in front of me and saw my right glove on the floor under the conveyor. I figured I had thrown it there when I pulled the glove off to see how badly my fingers were bruised. The strange thing was, I couldn't remember pulling it off. (I'm now convinced that I didn't, that I had pulled the hand free of the glove before my index finger also got caught.)
Nobody was coming, so I finally decided I needed to walk up front so they could send me over to the doctor's office. Since the paper towel was keeping the blood off the floor now, I started walking around the back of the line. One of our first responders (ironically I'm one of them) met me there and began to escort me toward the front.
As we were walking I told him about the glove and asked him to get it and send it to the doctor's office. I knew the severed tips were in it and I hoped they could be sewn back on.
He saw someone with a golf cart and hollered at him to stop and pick me up. I rode to the front office where word of the accident had already been received and acted on. The human resources leader had a drug screening authorization form for me to sign. I didn't get to sign it however. She apparently looked at my hand and decided I couldn't sign.
I learned later that the man with the golf cart had just seated himself on the commode when he heard the commotion over the intercom. He got right back up and came down thinking he could help in some way. I very much appreciate his willingness and his help.
The HR leader loaned him her keys so he could take me across the street and down the road a quarter mile or so to the doctor's office. Very quickly they were leading me out the front door and getting me settled in the passenger seat. The man drove me to the office and parked at a side door. Someone was there to greet us and I was quickly led into an examination room.
In less than a minute a doctor entered the room, looked at my hand, and stated that I would have to be sent on to a hospital. There was some talk about which hospital I should go to. I suggested the hospital in my home town. It was closer, it would be easy for my wife to visit, and I might even get seen by my primary care doctor.
The doctor had the nurses prepare preliminary dressings for the trip to the emergency room.Then word came through from my employer. I was to be taken to Baptist Medical Center in Little Rock. An ambulance arrived, I was led to it and strapped into the cot when I had lain down. The EMTs hooked up an IV in the back of my left hand, connected me to a machine that checked vital signs, and hooked up an oxygen tube.
They also opened a window to a cabinet so I'd have a place to rest my arm. Now that the fingers were bandaged I was keeping it elevated to lessen bleeding and reduce pain. By now more than fifteen minutes had passed.
During the trip I kept a fairly close watch on the vital signs monitor. I asked about the one reading I didn't understand and was told it was a blood oxygen monitor. It took my blood pressure three times during the trip. It reminded me that I had recently gained a few pounds; the readings were a little higher than usual.
The EMTs told me they were going lights and siren in case the doctors might be able to get the tips out of the glove, which had in fact followed me, and stitch them on. When we arrived the ER was ready. The EMTs pushed me, the cart, and the IV into a treatment room directly from the ambulance.
I checked the clock in the room. It was eleven o'clock, just under an hour since the accident. A male nurse came into the room with us and took the information (with little enthusiasm, I thought) the EMTs gave him. He left the room and came back with a fairly large syringe. He told me it was a pain medication, and he used the IV in my left hand to inject the liquid into my bloodstream.
This had one very predictable result. I became "drunk" in that my speech was slurrerd, my brain was on light duty, and I got very sleepy. I did, however, become aware that the plant's safety manager was in the room. I knew part of what he was there for; He needed an accurate account of the accident. Between naps I told him what I thought I knew.
The nurse was gone for what seemed to me an unreasonably long time. Some clerical staffers came in to attach an identification band. It had an error, so both one clerical person and the nurse attempted to correct the error. At one point an X-ray technician took me from the treatment room to X-ray the hand. This revealed what I already knew—there was no damage to the bones.
When I got back to the treatment room and stretched out on the table the nurse brought in a small curved bowl which he filled with povidone iodine (common brand name Betadine). He had me dip the bloody stubs into that bowl, fully covered by the hospital antiseptic. Since the pain killer had made me sleepy I spent much of the next few hours asleep.
At one point I awoke with a jerk. This pulled the bowl over the edge of the table next to where I lay. Betadine began to spill all over the floor. Quickly I pushed with my hand to get the bowl back upright. There was still enough in the bowl to cover my fingers, so I never withdrew them. I pointed out the mess to the nurse (and later the doctor) but neither one of them attempted to clean up the mess.
Finally, around 2:30, a doctor came into the room and began setting up to work on the fingers. By then the pieces from the glove were too far gone, and he stated that he couldn't reattach them. I remember him injecting novocaine into one finger, but I think I slept through the rest. I was in and out even while he was tugging on the hand to get the fingers sewn up. I remember him straining to cut the bone on one of the fingers, but I don't think I was awake for the other.
My wife and stepson had heard where I was and had driven up from Malvern to Little Rock. But they weren't allowed to enter the room until the doctor was finished. By then I had a massive bandage on my right hand wrapped in an "Ace" bandage. The severed tips were still in a jar of saline when they came in. My wife looked fairly carefully, but my stepson was too squeamish to look.
As soon as I was released I went out to our car. Renae drove me down to my workplace so I could pick up the lunch I hadn't eaten and a few other odds 'n ends from my office. The plant leader met me at the door and escorted me to my office and back. (This WAS a workmen's comp injury, after all.)
The company lucked out in one sense. I had been scheduled to fill in for the inspector for the next day's overtime. But that didn't have to be counted as a day off. New Year's Eve and New Year's Day (the following Monday and Tuesday) were both scheduled holidays. I had my first appointment with a follow-up physician on Monday, and he released me to light duty on Wednesday. So while I was off work for just under a week, it didn't count as a lost time accident.
It is now February 8. I've been writing on this for at least a month and I've finally gotten here. The fingers have mostly healed, but are still a little sore and inflamed. There's still a length of suture in the pinky finger, and it keeps festering, preventing that finger from healing completely. While the fingernails on both severed fingers were yanked completely out, they are both growing back. They'll have to be cut quite short, of course.
My arthritis took advantage of the non-use of the hand to stiffen everything up. I'm working on that every day. I'm now able to make a loose fist, though the fingers press tightly together when I do. The middle finger has curled up and can't quite be extended with the muscles, but I can push it flat. A coworker who had a pinky finger amputated after an injury can't flatten his middle finger. His physical therapist broke a wooden table trying to force it flat!
The tip of the ring finger was not completely severed, and the doctor was able to sew it back on. It healed faster than the other two and there is no loss of feeling. In fact, while it's still inflamed and sensitive I can feel textures with it that the other fingers can't.
I have one final appointment with the follow-up physician on February 27th. After that the workmen's comp coverage will probably end. I've heard rumors that it may involve a one-time pay-out of compensation for the loss, based on a determination of percent disability by the physician.