A Jet Ski Ripped Off My Hand
Saturday 21st November 2009
The salty spray splashed my face as I whizzed across the waves on a Jet Ski.
This is the life, I thought, steering it back towards the shore.
It was the August bank holiday and I was in Torquay, with my wife, Wendy, 50, son, Wayne, 27, and nine more family and friends. One of my mates, John, had brought his Jet Ski along, and I was having a ball speeding through the surf.
An hour later, I couldn't resist another go. This time, John and I rode together, towing Wayne on a rubber ring tied to the Jet Ski with a nylon rope. After half-an-hour, Wayne wanted to go back.
'I'll pull you towards us!' I shouted, coiling the rope loosely and holding it in my right hand. With Wayne and the rubber ring both on board, John powered up the Jet Ski. But just
as we were about to roar off, I saw something out of the corner of my eye.
'Watch out!' I yelled as a freak wave crashed towards us.
Whoosh! It was like being hit by a truck.
The Jet Ski flew into the air and I was thrown into the churning sea. I whizzed around as if I was in a washing machine, but eventually, my life jacket bobbed me to the surface.
'What happened?' I spluttered.
I lifted my right arm out of the water to try to grab hold of the Jet Ski.
But what I saw had me gaping in disbelief. At the end of my wetsuit sleeve was… nothing.
'Where's my hand?' I roared. 'Wayne, I've lost my hand!'
Blood dripped from the black rubber but it wasn't spurting out like it does in films, and I felt
no pain.
Is this really happening? I thought, shock hitting me as Wayne used all his strength to push me onto the Jet Ski.
The rope must have formed a noose around my wrist and ripped off my hand when the wave hit. I couldn't bring myself to look at the stump.
Five minutes later, we pulled up by the harbour. Adrenalin pumping, I bolted towards Wendy.
'Call 999!' I cried, sinking to the ground. 'I've lost my hand!'
She looked utterly horrified.
'Give me a towel,' I grimaced. All I could think about was hiding the terrifying stump from all the kids who were around.
Minutes later, an ambulance arrived and I was rushed to Torbay Hospital.
I kept my eyes shut as they cleaned the wound.
'You're lucky you didn't bleed to death,' the doctor said. 'The hand was severed rather than yanked off, so your veins and arteries closed up.'
They had to operate to pull the skin forward and sew it up over the stump.
'It'll be OK, love,' I tried to reassure Wendy, who was in tears.
When I came round, the stump was heavily bandaged. As I stared at it,
I panicked for the first time. I serviced machinery for a living.
Could I do that one-handed? And what about things like tying my shoelaces, driving the
car, eating my dinner?
I wanted to howl, but I just took a deep breath.
Lots of people are worse off than me, I told myself.
I'm left-handed, so I was just glad it was the right I'd lost.
I wasn't going to let this ruin my life. No way.
Out of hospital four days later, I had to rest and let the wound heal.
'Then we'll see about getting a prosthetic fitted,' the doctor said.
Back at home, I just tried to get on with it.
At first, Wendy had to help me get washed and dressed but I soon learned how to do it by myself.
'I put my own socks on!' I beamed to Wayne one morning. 'Even if it did take me half-an-hour.'
Everyday life was an obstacle course but I refused to give in. My mates rallied round too, always checking on me.
Thankfully I'm self-sufficient again. I'm optimistic my job won't be affected and I'm hoping to get a hand fitted soon.
What happened was an accident, though it does freak me out to think of my dead hand floating around somewhere being nibbled by the fishes!
But even though I've lost a hand, I've gained something too.
I was treated brilliantly in the ambulance and in hospital, and I know how much everyone cares about me. That makes me the luckiest man alive.