Another Lesson Learned

I recently posted about the time I shot my friend John (not John Wayne) in the eye with a BB gun, and the response of the parents in the neighborhood. Their choice to buy us all goggles instead of confiscating all our BB guns stands in direct opposition to how society reacts today.

I wanted to share another story about eye protection, in the further hope that my readers would vow to always wear eye protection from the moment they begin working with their guns.

WARNING: this post contains some graphic and disturbing language. If reading about a terrible eye injury makes you uncomfortable, GOOD. THAT’S MY GOAL!

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One Sunday evening, about 15 years ago, I decided to complete a small kitchen project, which required me to install some small pieces of trim around some newly installed light fixtures.

As I prepared for the project, I gathered all the tools and materials I would need.

Now, as I’ve said before, I’m an engineer, the son of an engineer, and I’ve been around projects and tools all my life. And, anyone who has worked in an industry covered by the Occupational Health and Safety Act knows how workplace safety and protective gear are stressed.

So, I had all my materials laid out in front of me, ready to start – a pair of safety glasses, some work gloves, a trimming knife, sandpaper, the wood trim I would be installing, some glue, and some brads.

But first, I noticed that the blade on the trimming knife was a little dull, and I wanted to be sure it would cut easily, since a sharp knife is the safest knife. So, I clicked out the blade on the knife to expose a fresh disposable  blade, and used a pair of pliers to safely break off the old blade.

Only, I inadvertently clicked out two blades.

As I bent the knife blade and broke off the old, dull blade, the fresh section in the middle broke off, too.

And flew straight up.

And hit me in the eye.

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At first, I didn’t know what had happened, because the piece of blade, about 1 cm long, flew directly at me, and so fast that I really couldn’t see it.

But, after a few blinks, my sight began to get red.

And I felt a chill that I had felt only a few times before, one being when I had shot John in the eye.

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I cried out for my wife, who came running into the kitchen. I didn’t even have to tell her what had happened. One look at my right eye and she knew. It was covered with a layer of blood, to the point where I couldn’t see.

I didn’t feel any pain in my eye, and that calmed me somewhat. So, I went in the bathroom and looked and my eye, and I couldn’t see anything, no cut, nothing. And, the blade wasn’t sticking out or anything, so I thought that was a good thing. I cleaned my hands, and took out my contact lens on that eye, and that’s when I saw that it was cleanly sliced, about 1/3 of the diameter of the lens. That was not good.

So, I decided I needed to get to the hospital, right away.

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While I waited to be seen by the doctor, the blood slowly washed away, and I thought I was going to be fine.

First, the doctor checked for what I admit was my worst fear – that the blade had gone straight into my eye, and was floating around in there.

Fortunately, he didn’t see the blade in there, and the cut on the surface of my eye was smaller than the blade had been, meaning it likely hit, made the cut, then glanced off and away.

There was blood in my eye, which meant that the cut had extended all the way through the surface of my eye. That was not good. But the doctor felt that would go away, and I would be fine.

He recommended I go see my optometrist, which I did the next day.

My optometrist, I should note, had done his pre-medical training in Chemical Engineering. He and I frequently talked about safety in the workplace. And his first question to me was “Why weren’t you wearing safety glasses?”

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It turns out that I was very, very fortunate. The blade had made a small cut in the conjunctiva, just enough to either cut through, or cause enough bruising that my eye bled a little on the inside.

Had the blade flown 1/4 inch to the left, it would have hit my iris. That probably would have blinded me or required surgery to correct. And, had it flown in some other direction, it was, as Maverick said, a target-rich environment, full of muscles and blood vessels.

My vision cleared over the next couple of weeks, and I didn’t wear my contacts for about a month while the cut healed over. As it turns out, the healing of the eye is an interesting process. The eye doesn’t normally have enough blood vessels on the surface to support vigorous healing, but, when injured, it will create them. Then, once the healing is complete, those blood vessels cease functioning, and they scar over. This scar then slowly erodes over time.

In fact, the doctor told me that I was fortunate, that I would live long enough for the blood vessels to completely erode and for my eye to return to normal. It would probably take 30 or 40 years.

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Aftermath:

The cut on my eye healed, and I didn’t suffer any vision loss.

Over the next month, the area of the cut became apparent as my eye healed itself. It turned red, and that slowly faded over the next six months, leaving a slightly elevated scar. The location of the scar was such that my contact would slip off the scar, and my vision would go to crap. Then, I would have to rub from the outside of my eyelid to get it back over the scar.

As I have moved, I have told each successive optometrist about the accident, and he has instantly found the scar. But now, as I have gotten older, it doesn’t cause my contact lens to move around near as much as it once did. I guess the scars is eroding, as I was told it would, although it has taken about half the time I was told.

The true aftermath, the reason for this post:

I now put on my eye protection as the very first action of any project, before I even start gathering tools and materials. I’ve had to teach myself to do this, but the memory of how I almost lost my sight makes it easier.

I put on my eye protection as soon as I arrive at the range, if I haven’t worn it on the ride in. And, I make anyone who comes shooting with me put theirs on, and keep it on, as soon as we arrive.

Please, please – wear eye protection, and put it on before you think you need to.

What Is It Worth To You?

I found these questions posted by Ben Stoeger in the USPSA section of The Doodie Project:

What do you guys want to get out of this sport and what are you willing to put in to get it?

Wow. This hits to the heart of this blog, and to me this will take a little more thought and answer room than one post on a forum. Look for my thoughts in future posts.

Meanwhile, here is what Ben’s answers were:

I want to have fun, learn, and compete against the best.

I am willing to make shooting the number one thing in my life outside of eating and breathing.

When someone asked about what his wife thought of this, he clarified:

She knows where she stands. I leave my family behind to go and shoot just like pretty much everyone else on this board, the difference is I don’t pretend to put family first.

Interesting.

More to come . . . .

Gun Control From A Simpler Time

When I was young, probably age 14, the boys in our neighborhood went through a BB gun phase. Prior to this, I had never had any exposure to firearms at all, beyond cap pistols.

I got a lever action Daisy gun, from where I don’t remember. Others in the neighborhood had pump pellet guns, and one guy, the rich kid on the block, had a CO2 powered semi-auto.

In the afternoons after school, we would meet at John’s house, a couple of houses down from mine, and choose sides, the head into the woods to do battle.

Full on BB wars. The rule was, one hit and you were out, and it was on an honors system. Not too difficult to enforce. I can still remember being shot. Ouch.

Late one session, as it was getting almost too dark to see, I was trying to flank the other team’s position, and I heard movement behind me. I turned, and there, probably 30 yards away, through the trees, was the captain of the other team. John.

John was large. That is, while I, at age 14, was probably 5′-8″ tall and weighed 140 pounds, John was easily 6 feet tall and probably weighed over 200 pounds. We all thought he was fat, although we didn’t say that to his face.

But there he was, and he didn’t see me.

So, I raised my gun quickly, and fired.

John cried out, and put a hand to his face.

To his eye.

I almost fainted.

“John.”

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“No, man. You shot my damn eye.”

I rushed to his side, and sure enough, even in the fading light, I could see that his eye was red, although there didn’t seem to be blood on him anywhere.

“We gotta go get you some help.”

So he and I made our way through the woods, back to his back yard, where some of both teams had come to retire, and they could all tell right away what had happened.

“Wow, man, you shot John in the eye!”

“Shut up! Do you want his Mom to shut us all down?”

We took a couple of minutes trying to decide how we were going to handle this. We quickly came up with a plan.

First, yes, this sounds like what happened to Ralphie in A Christmas Story. But we thought of it first.

In the woods we had an old metal sign, and, as dumb as it sounds, we would tape pictures of animals to it and shoot it for target practice. We all thought it was funny when BBs would come back and hit near us, or fly off into the woods. So the story was that the BB had come straight back and hit John’s eye. Easy.

Well, John’s Mom didn’t panic when she saw him, but quickly swept him off to the doctor’s to be sure.

Those who remained, we few, we happy few, we band of brothers, we breathed a sigh.

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The next day, Friday, when we got home from school, all our Moms had some news for us, courtesy of John’s Mom.

The BB had struck John’s eye just below the iris, and had almost penetrated the eyeball. But it didn’t, and that was the good news.

From there, it had skidded along the surface of his eyeball, and gone under his eyelid, lodging up under his cheek. They almost couldn’t find it, but X-rays are a wonderful thing.

They didn’t know if he would have any permanent eye damage, but right now, his eye was full of blood, and he couldn’t see. (Now you see – my image of a fat guy with an eye patch goes back a long way.)

There was no joy in the neighborhood, because we were all sure the BB wars were over, as much as we were scared of John’s prospects. John didn’t want to hang out with any of us, which was understandable, because he had been forced to take the blame for shooting himself.

The next day, Saturday, when all the Dads were home, was sure to be the worst.

Yet, as the day dawned, there were no lectures, no confiscations, no gun raids.

Instead, one of the Dads went out to Sears, and brought back a whole bunch of work goggles, and made sure all we combatants had a pair, and that we agreed not to shoot, anywhere, any time, anyone, without them. And the BB wars continued, at least until about the time a bunch of us got our drivers licenses and discovered girls.

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From that point, everyone in John’s family started calling me Deadeye, and it was then that I knew that John had told the real story. Years later, when I visited the old neighborhood, John was there, visiting his parents, and the topic got around to my nickname, and he admitted it. I asked him why he chose Deadeye, and he explained that I had to be the best shooter in the neighborhood – given the size of his eye in comparison to the rest of his body, that was some fine shooting.

John recovered full use of his eyes, and never held ill will toward me. I guess the nickname did a lot.

And thanks to the calm response of the parents in the neighborhood, nobody got their eye shot out again.

More Political Incorrectness from Adventure Outdoors – Part 2

Nick Wallace with the guns that will be raffled

I reported yesterday about the raffle at Adventure Outdoors, where a Georgia state senator was upset that owner Jay Wallace is holding a raffle to give away a Glock pistol or a Browning hunting rifle.

At the end of my original post, I wrote:

I’m not sure how well the idea will hold up, considering there is a law in Georgia prohibiting anyone from offering money or goods in exchange for voting or registering to vote.

Well, like a dummy, I had forgotten that Jay Wallace took on Mike Bloomberg’s thugs, and won. I never should have doubted.

As it turns out Wallace had cleared the raffle with Georgia Secretary of State’s office before even starting the promotion.

Since I was looking at promotional material I was sent, I didn’t get a chance to read the fine print on the poster at the store, which says that the raffle is open to any person legally allowed to own a firearm in the state of Georgia, whether they vote or not. That clears the raffle, and Wallace has a letter from the Secretary of State’s office as proof.

Once again, a protest against a legitimate gun issue ends up bringing positive publicity.

Well played, sir.

I will let you know if I win.