Well here I am, 3rd hospital in 2 days!
Waiting to see someone in plastic surgery trauma clinic.
Thank you for all your kind words and offers of help - it's good to know there's such a supportive community out there!
However, I do hasten to add that it wasn't to garner sympathy that I started the thread, but more to serve as a bit of a wake-up call to remind everyone how quickly and easily things can go wrong in this walk of life, with the added risk factor of being alone and often in remote and inaccessible places when it all goes tits up.
I notice that it's been assumed that I was carrying out a gralloch at the time, but that's not the case.
On my stalk I came across a dead deer (fallow buck fawn) hanging from a woodland boundary fence. It wasn't until I came right up to it that I realised that it was, in fact, still alive, but only just. Had I noticed any signs of life when I was still 20 yards away I'd have put a bullet into it, but on close-up assessment I decided that it wasn't worth wasting a round on an animal that was clearly so close to death, and besides I didn't really want to disturb the countryside with a loud bang and spoil the rest of my morning stalk (famous last words!). Simple enough matter for me to hop over into the wood, finish off the deer with a quick stab to the atlas joint, and then be on my way.
First I opened rifle bolt and left the gun safe, leaning against a tree, together with my sticks and backpack (containing basic first aid equipment). Climbed over an old gate into the wood (to get to the same side of the fence as the deer), and also had to negotiate another old broken down fence (hold down barbed wire and step over).
Placed foot on neck of deer, but with its head craned back I couldn't quite access the vital spot, so grasped it's ear with my left hand to pull its head round.
And then, somehow, my knife failed to find the right place. Why, I don't know. At this point I was already planning ahead the next stage of my stalk, and not really paying attention to what I was doing. The blade slipped sideways (towards me) off the back of the neck, and with all the force intended to plunge my knife through its hide and between its vertebrae I instead stabbed the hand that was holding its ear.
No pain, just a blow to the hand and a vast amount of blood (which it this stage I didn't appreciate was all from me and not partly from the deer), and as I was wearing gloves I couldn't tell quite what I'd done. Peeling back the glove resulted in a serious outpouring of blood which I tried to staunch but couldn't.
First thought was to finish off the deer, which I did with a simple throat cut, and then try and get back over the fence and gate, which took a while. Was getting dizzy by this stage, and worried about blacking out. Tried to make a phonecall, but either no reception or no answer, I forget which.
Nothing in the first aid kit that was up to the job of stopping the flow, but had half a roll of toilet paper in my bag so a I wodged a big pad of that tight over the wound and held it in place by pressing against my thigh, leaving my right hand free to try (unsuccessfully) to unload my rifle and to get my backpack onto one shoulder. Then, using my right hand to try to grip the left tight enough to stop the bleeding I walked the half mile or so back to the yard where I'd left my vehicle. Luckily there were people there. Managed to get rifle unloaded with help, and someone bound up my hand tightly in blue roll and fed me on chocolate. Got a lift to the small local hospital, covered in blood and mud, leaving rifle in car (keys hidden nearby) and taking bolt, ammo and knife.
They couldn't deal with it, so had to transfer to another hospital a few miles away. But I'd left my wallet in the pickup, so no cash for taxi or bus.
A quick call to my long-suffering mate
@pendle, who has stalking nearby, soon got me arranged with a lift from another local stalker.
Meanwhile, my son collected my wife from home and drove her the 60 miles to where the pickup was parked, and she then drove it over to join me at the hospital. This meant that she was technically "in possession" of my rifle for a while, but needs must sometimes. And besides, I had the bolt and ammo.
Eventually, the 2nd hospital decided it was beyond their capabilities, hence why I'm now in a third. And I'll be back here again in a day or two for an operation on my hand.
A couple of humorous anecdotes from my experience over the past 2 days:
Shortly after arriving at the first hospital, looking pretty worse for wear, an aged nurse who looked like she should have been pensioned off years ago, came over to ask me if I'd come to give blood! I told her no, but that if she cared to wring out my sodden trousers she could have quite a lot.
In the second hospital, there was some discussion about whether I would go home overnight or not. I explained that I really ought to go to take my rifle home and lock it away, at which one of the nurses said "couldn't you just bring it in here and clear this waiting room for us?".
I did tell her that, joking aside, I could quite legally bring it in with me if that became essential for its safe custody. I pointed out that, being in a hard case, everyone would just assume it was a clarinet. She looked at me, covered in mud, bloodsoaked clothing, and said "you don't look much like a clarinet player".
turned over and parked up on somebody’s front driveway having demolished the front garden wall. I applied a field dressing to the officer 
(the driver) who had a deep penetrating head injury only to watch the paramedics who turned up sometime later remove it to see what the wound looked like
. I thought it would risk infection?? and I had been quite proud of how the bandage was applied nice and neat not like an Andrew puppy!
Hope you all have a more peaceful Christmas
