Today, a bit of a bind: A-
ttacked by a mad angle-grinder;
Jumped out of my grip
To go for a trip
With a cord-round-left-leg winder.
It viciously bit inner thigh –
Just glad it did not go more high! –
Though missing my scants,
It ruined my pants,
Which I threw in the bin bye-and-bye.
And then it tried slicing my ankle,
Which did very thoroughly rankle!
I stopped it just due
To chew up my shoe,
And still at the fullest of crankle.
The doctor said, ‘Never mind stitches,
The scars will not show under britches,’
Then jabbed me for tet.,
And anti-bi’s. set,
To stop all infection-type hitches.
The blade, then, replacement was needing,
And when I resumed I was heeding
The warning that grip
Must never let slip,
Unless one likes copious bleeding.
Two minutes before the incident, I remarked how dangerous a tool an angle-grinder is. Nevertheless, a sudden kick-back while cutting a shape in a tile took me by surprise and resulted in the machine becoming a whirling dervish. My thumb was not firmly on the release button part of the switch, it appears. I have had far more practice with a chainsaw than with a grinder.
Then, after my return, the dressing came off and interrupted work again. Couldn’t find a bandage, but used an old stocking to secure it, which is what I had used to keep a swab in place when I drove to the doctor. Now I must go and re-do the dressing before bed, using a bandage kindly supplied by the lady next door who heard the saga when we took her out to supper.