(Be warned: This chapter contains low-level violence, and may get a little uncomfortable. Chaps may want to keep a hand on their old cricket boxes or athletic cups before reading on.)
The good news is that trauma to Dick is actually not very common. This is largely due to how mobile, flexible and well-protected the penis is in its flaccid state. But when it does happen…oh my.
A friend of ours, a doctor named Pete, has given us permission to tell his story. We are indebted to him for this very personal account…it gives a whole new meaning to using a belt sander.
Pete and his partner Jess live in a very beautiful part of the world. They have been building their house over the past couple of years on a site overlooking a lovely lake. Pete works on it on his days off, and one sunny afternoon just before Christmas, Pete found himself on his own. Jess was off shopping and he thought he’d sand a large piece of mango wood that he was making into a table as a Christmas gift for her. It was going to be a showpiece in their dining room.
It was very hot and Pete was soon stripped down to nothing but a pair of work shorts. He worked diligently for a couple of hours and was just thinking of stopping for a beer and bit of a relax, when ‘EEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee’. A searing pain shot from his groin to his fingertips and the sander made a strange groan and stopped. To his horror, Pete saw that his shorts and the end of Old Jack had disappeared into the minuscule space between the belt and the back of the sander — a space big enough to accommodate only a breath of air. To add to the injury, he could smell his own flesh and pubic hair burning.
Trying to keep a cool head, Pete assessed the situation: he would have to turn off the sander…and the power point was a good 20 feet away! Balancing the 2 kilogram sander you know where, with gripping pain, he managed to get across the room and pull the cord. OK, so now he was safe from frying, but how could he get his best friend free from the #**#ing sander? If he couldn’t get it off he’d have to drive the 20 minutes to the hospital balancing the sander on his old fella (or what might be left of it) and still keep from passing out. Not a good option. He did manage to get his fishing knife free from the tool box and cut the belt. As the blood rushed back into the mangled member, Pete was by this time lying on the floor. ‘All I could see were black and white trees, dim grey lake, all swaying gently in the bright afternoon sun. Swaying quite a lot, actually.’
Just at this moment, Jess returned home and whisked Pete off to hospital where the hastily summoned plastic surgeon described it as ‘a particularly nasty injury’. However, very fortunately the damage was confined to the skin. The corpora and large blood vessels remained intact. All the damaged skin had to be surgically removed and Pete underwent a series of skin grafts using skin from his thigh. ‘Just as well I hadn’t been circumcised as a kid,’ Pete said. ‘It left some room to manoeuvre. But I never thought I’d be circumcised by a sander.’