How I became one handed. (Including pictures)

January 1, 2007 12:01 a.m. (age 24) A large Roman candle firework acquired in Tijuana approximately 3 days earlier malfunctioned and exploded in my right hand, effectively ruining a New Year's Eve party and blowing my hands to smithereens. Approximately 3- half metacarpals remained attached to the
1. wrist bones. (see attached photo if you have the stomach for it.)

When I looked down at my hand, it didn't seem real. My hand felt tingly, but it certainly didn't feel like it looked. I yelled out for someone to call 911, and upon realizing that my fingers were gone, asked my friends if they would look around to see if they could find them. There is no way to ask this question without laughing. It's just not a phrase that you ever expect to use in your lifetime.

The adrenaline and shock were kind to me. I didn't feel very much pain at all, and I found myself thinking extremely clearly. I started asking specific people to do specific things. We made a tourniquet out of the belt, made sure everyone else was alright, looked for fingers, called my parents, and had my friend start her car to take me to the ER. Time seemed to slow down for me, and everything was clear. I felt very levelheaded.

Once we were in the ER, I was absolutely amazed at the raw inefficiency of the hospital. After they made sure that I wasn't bleeding profusely, they gave me a Tylenol and had me fill out paperwork and wait for the next hour and a half. I figured that the better it that I cooperated, the faster we would go, and the better chances of saving my hand we would have.

The other effect of the adrenaline and shock were that I became much more funny than normal. I was joking with my family and friends as well as the doctors and nurses from the moment we entered the hospital. The medical report from the ER actually says, “Mr. Decker is a very pleasant young man who has recently blown up his hand with a firework. He appears fairly atraumatic, considering the circumstances.”

They eventually gave me a large dose of morphine, and offered me as much more as I wanted. It was still painful, but less painful than a toothache I had earlier that month. They told me that I didn't have to be brave, and I responded that I wasn't brave. I eventually consented so they would stop bothering me!

I began trying to make sense of everything that had happened during a 45 minute ambulance ride to a larger hospital. I kept on thinking, “things are really going to be different... but how?" And the episode of “Ripley's believe it or not” with a guy called "Lobster Man" kept popping into my head. After losing both his hands, he opted for a surgery or his forearms were each separated to make two large fingers on each arm. Was I going to be a lobster Man? I wasn't sure that I wanted to be a lobster man. The morphine was definitely taking its effect.

I met my parents at the larger hospital and after making sure I was okay, they asked if they could see my hand, which was covered by a towel at the time. I didn't want to gross them out, but I think that it was important for them to see exactly how bad it was rather then to leave it up to their imaginations.

They asked me if they should cancel my classes at college, (since they would be beginning in three days) and at that moment, something in my head clicked. I made a spur of the moment decision that no matter what happened I would never let myself become a victim. “Of course not,” I responded and smiled. “Why would you cancel my classes?” That was the best decision I've ever made in my life. At that moment I gained an incredible sense of peace, and I knew that whether or not they could save my hand, that everything would be okay.

After consulting briefly with the surgeon, they prepped me for surgery. I was astounded that it had taken almost 6 hours before I was in the operating room, and annoyed that because it had taken so long, that I might lose more of my hand.

When I woke up the next morning, I learned that the entire surgery had taken a mere 1 1/2 hours. They had decided that the hand was not salvageable, but took extreme care to reconstruct the residual limb as carefully as possible. It's still felt as though my hand were attached to the end of my arm, and it was tingling all the time as though it were deeply asleep.

I felt great, and wanted to leave that day, but they insisted that I stay for two more days to make sure that there were no complications. I had friends and family visit me throughout the day and everyone was still laughing and joking. My brother brought me a gift of Handburger helper, a golfer's glove, and left-handed scissors. That night after visiting hours were over and I found myself alone,it hit me that my hand was really gone, and would be for the rest of my life. I bawled like a baby for about five minutes to mourn my lost hand, then took a deep breath and laid back down to sleep. For a second time, I felt that profound sense of peace… knowing that everything would be okay, and at this time it stayed. That is the only time that I have ever cried about my hand.

The next few days I found myself constantly surrounded by people that I loved. Everyone who came into my hospital room left laughing. I built my repertoire of one-handed jokes, and we decided what cool attachments I should get. The consensus was that a laser gun would be pretty neat. They all complimented me on what a good attitude I had. I am a believer in the power of God and the power of prayer. I don't know how to describe it, but I knew that all of those people who had visited me and many others had been praying for me, and I felt physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually lifted up by those prayers. I have never felt anything like it in my life. It was a very real force.

I was right-handed before my accident. But I realized pretty quickly that I would have to become ambidextrous… fast! My junior year of college started the next day! Writing was incredibly slow. In some of my classes I arranged to have other people take notes for me, until I realized that when other people took notes that I never read them. I forced myself to write as much as possible each day, and did exercises with a squishy ball to strengthen my fingers and hand. I think that progress with my handwriting was approximately 1 year of elementary school per month.

Set in some ways I really enjoyed the challenge. I enrolled in a beginning tennis course to help my coordination on my left side. I sucked at it, but by the end of semester I was no longer the worst person in the class! Now, a year and a half later, I still throw like a pansy, but my handwriting is fast and mostly legible. J

My surgery was very straightforward. Before the surgery, the surgeon discussed a few options with me depending on what he found, but as an experienced hand surgeon I ultimately left the decision in his best judgment. He told me about the option of keeping a small flap of skin or whatever fingers remained that might be partially functional or having an actual hand transplant, which has been done a few times. He recommended against the hand transplant because of the very low success rate and complications for successful hand transplants including continual pain and/or lack of function and sensation. The last option was to prepare the arm to receive a prosthetic device. The hand was deemed unsalvageable by Dr. Alan Groebs, MD, reconstructive surgeon specializing in hands, and so they amputated the entire wrist so that a prosthetic device would fit.

This one may surprise you. Social hurdles. I didn't really feel like there were very many social challenge is for me. Three days after my accident I moved into a very social apartment complex and became known very quickly as “that guy who just blew his hand off”. Everyone was curious about my story, and by this time I had an amazing repertoire of jokes. I was an instant hit. I'm just an average middle-class white guy, but after losing my hand, I became very recognizable. I don't feel like people treat me any differently.

I discovered that things are only as awkward as you make them. People were way cool about it when they realized that I was comfortable with myself. It's like the fat comedian who tells fat jokes. Since he's the first one to bring it up, suddenly it's no big deal. Every once awhile I would catch people staring, but I don't blame them. I found myself staring at my arm! It's not something you see every day! The funny thing is, more often than staring I would catch people intentionally looking anywhere but my arm. .. or they accidentally look at it, but then look back up at me embarrassed and sheepish. It cracks me up every time.

I actually enjoy the honesty of little kids the most. They come right up to me and ask, “where's your hand?” Sometimes I ask them to help me look for it! Kids are genuinely as curious as anybody else, but are actually willing to ask. When they find out the answer, they treat me like anyone else. The funniest thing is when I catch little kids saying to their mom, “look! he doesn't have a hand”” where is it?” And the mom getting really embarrassed because she thinks I might have heard. If the kids are staring at me without saying anything and their parents are looking, I'll open and close my hook or act like a pirate. I get a kick out of seeing their eyes go really wide and then watching them pretend to have their own hook.

On the day I got my first hook I had a big pirate party with everyone I knew. If life gives you lemons, make lemonade. If life gives you a hook, become a pirate enthusiast!

I haven't noticed any difference in my dating life. If anything, girls seem impressed by my attitude and are more eager to date me. Seriously. No complaints here.