Post by Bill on Aug 19, 2018 12:37:00 GMT -5
Hey folks, Bill here. Some of you may know that I once suffered from an accidental self-inflicted gunshot wound. Well, here is the story.
About three years ago, I became interested in black powder weaponry. Reproductions of antique weaponry, I discovered, are relatively cheap and easy to obtain. Being something of a history nerd, I elected to acquire some of these arms. The one that particularly interested me was this one:
The 1851 Colt Navy 7 1/2" in .36 caliber, by Pietta. About $260. Not bad, right?
So I got one for myself around Christmastime in 2015. Shot it fairly frequently, but as it is a pain in the rear to load, I didn't run a lot of lead through it. First you have to carefully pour black powder in each of the six cylinder bores, then place a lead round ball on top of each bore, use the built-in lever ram rod to seat the ball in the bore, top it off with some greasy bore butter, and then to shoot you need to put a cap on a tiny nipple on the rear of the cylinder. More on those pesky caps in a bit. So, it's quite a process.
Cap, ball, powder.
Anyways, it was fun, when it worked. Fouling from the black powder was a problem; it required a lot of cleaning. But it was neat to shoot something that was designed ~160 years ago. One of the first revolver designs. Caps getting stuck in between the cylinder and the frame was a big problem then. And now, as I was soon to find out.
One snowy Februrary day, a few months after I bought the gun, I was lounging around next to the fireplace. indulging in cups of neat brandy. Well, I got a hankerin' to fire off my pistol. Sure, why not. I felt comfortable enough with the firearm to be safe. ::rolls eyes:: So, I'm out in the woods on the property, and my ol' pops shows up to fire off a few rounds himself. Sure, Dad, let me just finish off this cylinder. Second to last round, something's wrong. The hammer won't go back to full cock (get your mind out of the gutter). Sure enough, a cap has wedged itself in there. I hold the gun at a weird angle (read: pointing it at myself) ...with my finger unwisely on the trigger. I give the loaded weapon a shake or two, and then BANG!
At first I didn't realize that I had shot myself. My right upper thigh, it just felt like something was squeezing it, as it seized up from the shock. Then a few seconds later, it was like someone had stuck a red hot iron rod through my leg. I drop the gun on the snow, and I see the red flowing upon the white. My old dad goes, oh SHIT! We need to go to the hospital! Great quick thinking on his part. The property is miles out in the middle of nowhere, 45 minutes to the nearest hospital. So we jump in the truck, well, I hobble on one leg with the assistance of my pops. Looking down, the blood is pouring, soaking everything. That's when I notice, I have a hole on top of my leg, then a bigger hole on the side, where most of the blood is coming from. I'm in fear for my life at this point. There's traffic on the road, I wave with my bloody hand in a futile attempt to push the traffic aside.
Eventually we arrive at the hospital. I recall bursting through the ER doors on a wheelchair, and the faces of all the people waiting inside. Shocked at this bloody sight. They wheel me into some kind of operating room, and cut off my pants. They stick an IV in me, and then I don't remember much til some hours later. I awake and they tell me that the bullet went through my thigh and left a 8" hole, .36 caliber. Missed the femur, missed an artery by fractions of an inch. If I had hit that artery, I wouldn't be writing this story today. If I hit the bone, well I probably wouldn't have a right leg today. The only surgery they had to perform was to wash out the hole. I spent a few more nights at the hospital, liberally using that morphine button.
I was back at work 9 days after the incident. I had a limp and some pain, but most of that was gone after a month had passed. Now, I don't feel it at all. Goes without saying, I was one lucky son of a bitch. Plus, now I know how it felt to be shot in the Civil War! There's always a bright side. Nowadays, I don't touch the brandy, as that was definitely a contributing factor. I still shoot firearms but tend to stay away from the handguns. They just make me a little nervous. Actually, the incident doesn't really trip me out these days. When I think about the few times someone else has pointed a gun at me, that trips me out a bit. But let this be a lesson; firearms are dangerous as all hell. All it takes is one split second, one stupid little mistake, and something worse than this can happen. You think it could never happen to you. Bullshit, yes it can! So be careful. That's all. Here's a few pics of my wounds. FYI a .36 caliber ball in that revolver is something like a modern .38 special cartridge, depending how much powder you use. I loaded them hot that day!
About three years ago, I became interested in black powder weaponry. Reproductions of antique weaponry, I discovered, are relatively cheap and easy to obtain. Being something of a history nerd, I elected to acquire some of these arms. The one that particularly interested me was this one:
The 1851 Colt Navy 7 1/2" in .36 caliber, by Pietta. About $260. Not bad, right?
So I got one for myself around Christmastime in 2015. Shot it fairly frequently, but as it is a pain in the rear to load, I didn't run a lot of lead through it. First you have to carefully pour black powder in each of the six cylinder bores, then place a lead round ball on top of each bore, use the built-in lever ram rod to seat the ball in the bore, top it off with some greasy bore butter, and then to shoot you need to put a cap on a tiny nipple on the rear of the cylinder. More on those pesky caps in a bit. So, it's quite a process.
Cap, ball, powder.
Anyways, it was fun, when it worked. Fouling from the black powder was a problem; it required a lot of cleaning. But it was neat to shoot something that was designed ~160 years ago. One of the first revolver designs. Caps getting stuck in between the cylinder and the frame was a big problem then. And now, as I was soon to find out.
One snowy Februrary day, a few months after I bought the gun, I was lounging around next to the fireplace. indulging in cups of neat brandy. Well, I got a hankerin' to fire off my pistol. Sure, why not. I felt comfortable enough with the firearm to be safe. ::rolls eyes:: So, I'm out in the woods on the property, and my ol' pops shows up to fire off a few rounds himself. Sure, Dad, let me just finish off this cylinder. Second to last round, something's wrong. The hammer won't go back to full cock (get your mind out of the gutter). Sure enough, a cap has wedged itself in there. I hold the gun at a weird angle (read: pointing it at myself) ...with my finger unwisely on the trigger. I give the loaded weapon a shake or two, and then BANG!
At first I didn't realize that I had shot myself. My right upper thigh, it just felt like something was squeezing it, as it seized up from the shock. Then a few seconds later, it was like someone had stuck a red hot iron rod through my leg. I drop the gun on the snow, and I see the red flowing upon the white. My old dad goes, oh SHIT! We need to go to the hospital! Great quick thinking on his part. The property is miles out in the middle of nowhere, 45 minutes to the nearest hospital. So we jump in the truck, well, I hobble on one leg with the assistance of my pops. Looking down, the blood is pouring, soaking everything. That's when I notice, I have a hole on top of my leg, then a bigger hole on the side, where most of the blood is coming from. I'm in fear for my life at this point. There's traffic on the road, I wave with my bloody hand in a futile attempt to push the traffic aside.
Eventually we arrive at the hospital. I recall bursting through the ER doors on a wheelchair, and the faces of all the people waiting inside. Shocked at this bloody sight. They wheel me into some kind of operating room, and cut off my pants. They stick an IV in me, and then I don't remember much til some hours later. I awake and they tell me that the bullet went through my thigh and left a 8" hole, .36 caliber. Missed the femur, missed an artery by fractions of an inch. If I had hit that artery, I wouldn't be writing this story today. If I hit the bone, well I probably wouldn't have a right leg today. The only surgery they had to perform was to wash out the hole. I spent a few more nights at the hospital, liberally using that morphine button.
I was back at work 9 days after the incident. I had a limp and some pain, but most of that was gone after a month had passed. Now, I don't feel it at all. Goes without saying, I was one lucky son of a bitch. Plus, now I know how it felt to be shot in the Civil War! There's always a bright side. Nowadays, I don't touch the brandy, as that was definitely a contributing factor. I still shoot firearms but tend to stay away from the handguns. They just make me a little nervous. Actually, the incident doesn't really trip me out these days. When I think about the few times someone else has pointed a gun at me, that trips me out a bit. But let this be a lesson; firearms are dangerous as all hell. All it takes is one split second, one stupid little mistake, and something worse than this can happen. You think it could never happen to you. Bullshit, yes it can! So be careful. That's all. Here's a few pics of my wounds. FYI a .36 caliber ball in that revolver is something like a modern .38 special cartridge, depending how much powder you use. I loaded them hot that day!