I’m red/green color blind. Red doesn’t “pop” for me. At the same time I’m something of an adrenalin junkie. Whether I’m flirting with a Texas beauty [not linked] or shooting my Caracal F at the range, when the adrenalin kicks in I’m feeling no pain. Literally. So the first I noticed I had blood on my gun was when the grip felt a little . . . squishy. I was leaking from a tiny cut on the index finger my support hand. No biggie. More to the point, I had no idea how it happened, or even that it was happening. The same phenomena may well apply when you’re bleeding profusely, or your bones are broken, or you’ve got serious internal injuries, during and/or after a defensive gun use (DGU). Ask me how I know . . .
Nope. Not a DGU. Given my inability to play well with others, I have a remarkably DGU-free record; one that I hope to maintain until I die in my sleep many years hence. No, I experienced painless serious injury after a parachute accident.
Actually, I’m not so sure it was an accident. I’d flirted with the parachute packer’s seriously sexy girlfriend in middle-of-nowhere Georgia. But I am sure that I broke my ankle upon landing (if that’s what you want to call it). As in my foot was facing the wrong way.
Pain? None. Blood? Lots. A tree branch had sliced open my chin. But after that odd snapping noise (which wasn’t a tree) I felt perfectly fine. It was a beautiful day and I’d survived a streamer. Only I wasn’t OK. A slow trip to the ER later (“Bobby, I think you’ve twisted your ankle”), a transfusion and a plate and pins convinced me I’d been a little . . . cavalier.
I tell this story because A) it beats answering 69 messages in my in-box and B) you need to make sure you’re not dying after a gunfight. To coin a phrase, that’s not so easy, Mr. Bond.
Unless you’re Nick “I Carry a Tourniquet In My Pocket At All Times” Leghorn, you’re unlikely to have the knowledge, presence of mind and physical ability (adrenalin numbs hands) to adequately check yourself for injuries after hostilities. Chances are you’ll be happy as Larry, sitting on the top of The Mother of All Adrenalin Dumps.
Eventually, an ambulance guy will check you out. Which is all well and good provided you make it—you know, live—until the ambulance arrives.
So ask someone else to check you out ASAP after a DGU. “Check me out! Look for injuries!” Not the best pick-up line in the world (don’t ask me how I know) but a command well worth issuing in the aftermath of a violent attack. [NB: If you’re leaking, ask Nick for a tourniquet. Or use whatever’s handy.]
Remember: take care of number one. If you’re dead you’re not going to be much help to anyone. Except, perhaps, your inheritors. Equally, TTAG only publishes posts about successful defensive gun uses. Just sayin’ . . .