Heidi had given me some drawings for a couple of things she wanted me to make her for her apartment and studio. She needed a six-foot set of shelves with two drawers and another, lower unit – wide and deep – in which she would store poster board and large art projects. I figured I’d get them done for her for Christmas, which pretty much meant I should have started them already.
I went to Home Depot to buy the wood and ended up with a decent associate who cut my 4x8 sheets in to more manageable pieces. I found a piece of clear pine for the shelves, but it had a large chunk knocked off one end. I went to put it back when the associate asked if I’d take it at half price.
“It’s fourteen bucks normally, and if you don’t take it, it’ll keep ending up back on the shelf,” he said.
“Deal,” I said, knowing I could trim 5 inches off the piece and still have what I needed...or use it for the bottom or top where only I would know there was a hunk missing. I love deals.
I cleared the garage out when I returned and pulled out my table saw and table router and began the process of cutting the wood into the pieces I would need to make the two pieces. I’d done all my cuts and was putting the final grooves for the hardware that would hold the adjustable shelving in the side panels with the router, which was mounted to my table saw and on its own table. I reached under and shut it off after putting that last piece through and was lifting the piece from the table when my left index finger met the spinning blade.
I’ve been working with wood and power tools for forty years and I’ve never before had an accident. I suppose there is a first time for everything. I don’t know how this happened, but when I felt the bit biting into my finger and whacking hard against the bone, I knew I’d messed up. I pulled the finger away quickly and looked to see the blood starting to form. I could see torn up skin on the tip of the finger and was sure part of the nail was gone. To get a better look, I put the finger in my mouth and bit away at the skin that was flapping around. It seemed like the thing to do at the time. When I pulled it from my mouth, I had a better view of the damage, though I couldn’t be sure how bad it was. Holly was in the kitchen and preparing a large family dinner for her father’s birthday and I knew a trip to the emergency room was not on her punch list. I walked into the kitchen.
“Hey...I, um, think I have a little problem,” I said, holding my finger.
“Really? Can’t you see I’m a little busy?” she said...used to my minor injuries.
When she saw the finger, she went for the bandages while I ran water over it. I asked her to cut some strips from the gauze and wind it on.
“Don’t you think you should clean it out?” she asked.
“I’ve been cleaning it out since it happened...you know...sucking out the blood and stuff. It’s clean,” I said.
She bandaged it up while wondering aloud whether I should be going to the emergency room and spending lots of money.
“I’m not going to the emergency room. If it hurts like hell or gets infected or something, I’ll go then...and spend lots of money,” I said.
It was throbbing plenty, but I still had some grooves and shelves to cut. Sitting around and thinking about it wasn’t going to make it feel any better, so I headed for the garage and went back to work. I never did do a workout that day, but I did get out of dish detail so some good came of the injury. It was throbbing with each heart beat as I turned in, kind of like your heart is actually located in your finger. I love that feeling. I figured sleeping would push me eight hours closer to recovery. At least I had a plan...and Heidi would have some shelving units.
No comments:
Post a Comment