I could not afford to be idle when there was the possibility of securing another job. This I did. I looked and found work in a factory where sheet iron was corrugated. I began to work on Monday and the following Monday I met with an accident.
Another man and I operated a machine holding flat sheets of iron. One person was to hold the sheet and the other person had to hold the opposite end. The sheet had to be fed flat. One such sheet that was at my end needed flattening. I was asked by my partner to “slap” the sheet. As I slapped the sheet, he released the machine…my right hand was chewed by the corrugator.
This accident happened because my partner was still befuddled from the effects of his drinking the prior day.
The ambulance came and I was taken to the General Hospital in Montreal. The week I remained in the hospital was a trying experience. All that was left of my right hand was my thumb and one knuckle of my index finger. In order to preserve my index knuckle I had 48 stitches.
.
I was in a general ward, with about fifty patients. I did not know anybody and I did not speak English. It seemed as though every patient had at least one visitor. I alone had no one. The more I thought about how lonesome I was the more lonesome I got.
I was in great pain and had trouble sleeping in the hospital. When I did get to sleep, I would dream that I still had my fingers, and when I would wake up…I would look, I could feel the pain; but, I could not see any of the fingers- they were in fact gone. One day I was in such great pain that I could not contain myself and cried. The attending doctor exploded, “For God sake, shut your mouth.”
Another man and I operated a machine holding flat sheets of iron. One person was to hold the sheet and the other person had to hold the opposite end. The sheet had to be fed flat. One such sheet that was at my end needed flattening. I was asked by my partner to “slap” the sheet. As I slapped the sheet, he released the machine…my right hand was chewed by the corrugator.
This accident happened because my partner was still befuddled from the effects of his drinking the prior day.
The ambulance came and I was taken to the General Hospital in Montreal. The week I remained in the hospital was a trying experience. All that was left of my right hand was my thumb and one knuckle of my index finger. In order to preserve my index knuckle I had 48 stitches.
.
I was in a general ward, with about fifty patients. I did not know anybody and I did not speak English. It seemed as though every patient had at least one visitor. I alone had no one. The more I thought about how lonesome I was the more lonesome I got.
I was in great pain and had trouble sleeping in the hospital. When I did get to sleep, I would dream that I still had my fingers, and when I would wake up…I would look, I could feel the pain; but, I could not see any of the fingers- they were in fact gone. One day I was in such great pain that I could not contain myself and cried. The attending doctor exploded, “For God sake, shut your mouth.”
The nurse came and tried to console me but she could not supply. I covered my face with a sheet and cried myself to sleep. After a few more days I left the hospital and returned to my boarding house.
Fortunately the surgeon saved my knuckle, as it became very important to write, I discovered that I could write with my right-hand of that very knuckle.
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