This time I did nearly die.
I recently wrote an article asking, “Was I close to death?” The article explained I wasn’t.
This article is about when I did nearly die.
I was inspired to write by Rachel A Fefer who has written about the time she did die.
My story is not as dramatic as hers, but I am going to tell you anyway.
Some years ago, I was mowing my lawn using an electric mower. I was also using an extension lead. To keep it clear from the mower’s blades, I hung the lead on a bush.
When I had finished mowing, I casually reached to the connecting plug to bring it down with the intention of disconnecting the mower from the extension lead. (Are you still with me?) I did this without looking.
It was when I grasped the plug, I received a massive electric shock.
All I remember is being shaken violently and staring up at the bright blue sky.
Now I have been told when people are facing life-threatening situations all their life flashes before them. I asked Rachel A Fefer if this happened to her. She told me it did not.
I can confirm my life did not flash before me. All I remember seeing was the blues sky and thinking ‘if the sky goes black, I will be dead.’
Obviously, the sky did not turn black, and I didn’t die. Although when I told my brother, who was an electrician about the incident, he told if I had not been wearing the shoes, I was wearing I would have been killed. (I don’t remember the details of my footwear on the day.)
All of this drama only lasted a few seconds, and I thought it all happened in silence. This was not the case.
Apparently, I had let out a blood-curdling scream and had been thrown a couple of feet away from the offending plug. This disconnected me from the plug and may have saved my life.
My scream had alerted my wife and two young children who rushed out, fearing the worst.
By the time they got to me I was on my feet and telling them to stay away from the lead and lawn mower, fearing a major electrical fault somewhere.
But there wasn’t. The back had fallen off of the plug I grasped. I had closed my hand over exposed wires and screws.
One of the screws had burned a small hole in one of my fingers. (I still have a small scar to remind me of the power of electricity.)
However, panic over life had to go on. It was Sunday, and the pubs were open. I had a shower, put a sloppy plaster on my wound and went down the pub.
I obviously told all and sundry about my ordeal. One of the people listening was a trained NHS nurse. She looked at my pathetic attempt at dressing my wound in disgust.
Bandages and plasters were produced from behind the bar. My damaged hand received a professional dressing.
This illustrates the strength and diversity of the British pub.
You can obtain alcohol, food, friendship and first aid.
What’s not to like?
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More from me.
Do you think I should be ashamed of what I did?
How I got free drinks and snacks courtesy of the Sheriff’s office.
Tales of school days, a good friend and smoking tea leaves and bus tickets.
