Content warning – minor body damage pictures below.
In May 2015, I was installing a sun shade on my house in Phoenix. This involved standing on a step ladder, drilling pilot holes into the fascia board at the edge of the roof, and putting a hook in. I was using a small B+D screw-gun, and I would drill the hole, set the driver on the roof, then twist the hook in with my bare hand.
Unfortunately, the roof was sloped, so every time I set the screw-gun down, it would slip and fall off the roof. I’d reach out and catch it, then hold it between my knees or whatever, screw the hook in, and then get off the ladder, move it a few feet, and start over.
And yeah, every time I got back up on the ladder and drilled the hole, I’d set the screw gun down right back on the sloped roof again and it would slide off and I’d have to rescue it again. Until maybe the fifth time, when the drill slid down, and I lunged out to snag it, and cradled it to my body like a baby (or a football). The movement was swift enough that I just jammed the bit straight into my forearm. Luckily it didn’t engage the motor, and didn’t screw into my arm or do any twisty damage, but it buried over 2 inches of hard metal bit in my squishy bits.
I am not embarrassed to admit that when it was first sticking out of my arm, and I was looking at it kinda shocked, I considered how best to remove the thing. My first idea was based on my excellent tool-use skills. A drill-bit was embedded in something that I wanted to pull it out of, so the best course of action would be to put the drill in reverse.
It took mere moments of considering that for me to decide against it. The drill spinning would probably spin faster than I pulled out, which means it would chew me up pretty good instead of just backing out. Obviously!
So my next idea was only marginally better. Yank it out without spinning the bit. It already went straight in – probably no worse to come straight out, right?
That idea didn’t last much longer. Instead, I decided to go inside and show my partner. They were immediately the voice of reason – and we went to the hospital!
I sat in the ER for a few hours as a steady parade of staff were brought in to gawk (and several took HIPAA-less pictures on their personal phones). Finally they actually made time for a surgeon, who came in and sliced my arm deep and wide (but carefully and sterilely) to be able to pluck the bit right out without causing added harm.
When I first posted these pictures on Facebook, a high school friend I hadn’t seen in years was quick to criticize the “ugly” mattress stitch the doc used.
Once the sutures came out, I did months of physical (occupational? I’m still not clear on the distinction) therapy. The drill hadn’t actually caused so much damage – I missed all the arteries and the bones – but the removal procedure required a fairly serious cut into the meat of my arm.
The occupational therapist did wound-care in addition to the rehab, and evidently THE thing to do is debride the flesh and then pack the hole with medicinal honey. She got mad at me when I licked it but then was curious how it tasted… it was sweet like honey.
After maybe six months of rehab, I was as healed as can be. Now, 8 years later, the worst part of writing this post is how wrong my hand looks with that many fingers.
Today (the image below) the scar is still visible but actually hard to photograph unless you are better or more patient than I am.
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