Here I am, standing at my desk infront of an Amada 2510 CNC turret. We were punching parts out for a DaVinci fireplace (by Lopi), but there was something wrong. Aside from my supervisor telling me to run a bigger blank of metal than was recommended on my machine (I’ll get back to that)… it was February 14th. Yes. Valentine’s Day. J was waiting on a call from a Londoner flower shop. The Canadian London… not British. They were to conform the delivery of flowers to “The Girl who Got Away”. She was a beautiful girl, amazing really. We had great times together.
These flowers ended up getting delivered to the wrong address. Fuck me right? So I paid another $70+ international transaction fee to get this lady some damn flowers and a card. She absolutely loved them. The bragged about them in Facebook, it made me feel great. Which is absolutely outstanding, considering I just woke up after sleeping with a cast on that morning. What happened was unfortunate, and an oversight of quite a bunch of things… such as safety, mechanical failures… and prep. We were running a 120" x 36" piece of 20ga metal on a 76" x 45" or so table. At full extension the metal hung off the table. By quite a bit. Well, folks… our tools and dies to set up the next job just happened to be located behind the CBC. This meant getting in the path of the metal. Since I took over this job, none of the guards were up when it was setup. I ran back there and grabbed my tools and upon leaving the area my right forearm was struck by the metal. 20 gauge aluminized steel into my arm, severing my 4 main fingers dorsal tendons and slicing the muscle in half. Instantly in shock, so I dip out of the area. I grab a bolt and push it to my artery on my right upper inner arm and tie the rag as tight as I can. Ghetto turniquet… but my surgeon was glad I did it. I lost a lot of blood, would’ve been even more if so didn’t. Also threw a rag over the wound itself. I rode in my HR directors car to a clinic… which turned me away. Going from Mukilteo to Everett… was a bitch. Traffic everywhere, but we obviously made it.
Worst way ever to remember what day Valentine’s Day is on.
The wound goes around my arm more. The "I’ve was a cut from the surgeon who has to grab my tendons that were knotted up on the top of my hand. Stitches were all internal.
