I cut my own arm off with a mitre saw
Retired headteacher Edryd Jones was cutting wood when he sliced off a huge chunk of his left hand with a mitre saw. Here, the pensioner relives the horrifying ordeal and praises the quick-thinking action of his neighbours and ambulance staff
Having visited my newborn granddaughter the previous evening at Prince Charles Hospital, Merthyr, little did I know that the following morning I too would be indebted to the incredible skill and care of our precious National Health Service.
What started out as a normal morning of some DIY soon turned out to be an extraordinary series of events.
With no-one at home, and no-one else to blame, an accident while using an electric mitre saw completely severed my left forearm inches above my wrist.
Having experienced no pain, initially I was unaware of what had happened until I reached out to retrieve the cut end of a wooden baton.
It was only then that I realised the severity of my situation.
Alone, and bleeding to death foremost on my mind, I made my way, clutching my severed arm, downstairs and to my neighbour’s house.
Unable to knock, I “kicked” the door, and on its opening blurted out what had happened.
On reflection I often wonder how I would have reacted if the situation was reversed.
Snatching a tea towel from the kitchen, a makeshift tourniquet was applied to my upper arm, soon replaced by a belt, provided by a passer-by.
Oblivious of what should happen next, I will be eternally grateful to quick-thinking, level-headed neighbours who became aware of the situation and contacted the ambulance service.
Within no time, the paramedics were on the scene, and knowing one personally, was more than reassured when they said: “Don’t be daft, you’re not going to die.”
My severed hand was still on the bedroom floor with my wrist watch attached.
How Martin, another neighbour of mine, had the stomach to fetch it and remove the watch remains a mystery as he is the most squeamish at the sight of blood.
After being given ice, I was now in the hands of the professionals, and with blue lights flashing was on the first leg of my journey to the Royal Glamorgan Hospital.
My final words on leaving were: “Don’t tell Lynne,” my wife, as if I’d been a naughty child and didn’t want her to know.
On arriving at A&E I was immediately met by the pre-warned trauma team where arteries were cauterised, and X-rays taken and forwarded electronically to Morriston Hospital.
Accompanied by surgeon Mr A Kamal, and a male nurse, the ambulance journey to Morriston was over in no time and I was handed over to the alerted trauma team.
My final recollection prior to being trolleyed off to theatre was that of my navy fleece being cut away.
Lynne, who had by now been informed of my accident, contacted Morriston Hospital and was informed that an attempt was being made to reattach my severed forearm.
The Welsh Centre for Burns and Plastic Surgery at Morriston Hospital is the only one of its kind in Wales – a ‘one-stop shop’ for major trauma, requiring plastic surgery and microsurgery, to repair nerves and tiny blood vessels.
The centre has a team of 17 specialist surgeons along with anaesthetists, nurse practitioners, nurses, therapists and other specialist staff.
In my case, consultant orthopaedic surgeon Andrew Bebbington fixed the bones together, while consultant Dean Boyce microsurgically repaired the nerves, veins and arteries, tendons and skin.
Following a nine-hour operation, I awoke to realise that my hand had been re-attached and with the lightest of movement in my fingers.
My post-operative care was in the hands of the staff and nurses at Pembroke Ward where I was looked after with diligence.
I returned home to Ferndale after an 11-day stay in hospital to almost celebrity status, with the press and media in pursuit of my story.
This I was more than pleased to engage with, but not for any personal acclaim but purely to be a testament to the remarkable expertise, skill and sheer dedication of all the staff in our National Health Service.
Almost three years later, and with visits to the physiotherapy department at Morriston, I am pleased to say that there is very little that I am unable to do that I could previously undertake – apart from the simple task of tying up shoe laces. Who wants lace-ups when you can purchase slip-ons?