'Every stitch of clothing save the right sleeve of my shirt had been ripped off. I knew straight away that my left arm had, too'

I was brought up on a family farm and farming always seemed the natural path for me to follow. At 23 I owned a tractor and ran my own business, and did some casual labour during the winter.

One Friday morning in January nine years ago, I was working at my friend Dale's farm. It was extremely cold and I was frustrated because two of the machines I'd been asked to use had flat batteries.

Dale had a meeting to get to, and to keep me busy until he got back, he told me to use a tractor and vacuum tanker to empty some underground water tanks. I climbed into the tractor and put it in "drive", and a shaft connecting the tractor to the tanker began to spin. Then I joined the two men who were installing the tanks to watch the water empty.

Nothing seemed to be happening. I went to check why – the tanker was old and all the warning stickers and symbols had worn off. There was a yellow plastic guard covering the spinning shaft, but some of it was missing, exposing a blur of machinery. I reached over and put my hand under the exhaust to check the pump. As I leaned back, the unguarded shaft caught the corner of my thick winter jumper.

It took only a second for me to be dragged in. In vain I tried to resist by sticking out my left arm. The fabric wrapped rapidly round the shaft. Then I was sprawled on my back on the concrete on the other side of the machine – I'd been thrown right over the top. Every stitch of clothing save the right sleeve of my shirt had been ripped off. I knew straight away that my left arm had, too.

Reaching across with my right hand, I grabbed at the wound, covering as much of the flesh as I could. I felt the broken nub of bone sticking into my palm. I shut my eyes and screamed. No one came to comfort me. The two contractors were too shocked to approach. I heard them call for an ambulance and then hunt for a plastic bag to put my arm in. I remember feeling terribly alone, desperately wanting to be reassured.

That only happened when Dale and his brother rushed back from their meeting. They covered me with a coat and chatted to me. Initially the pain was actually no worse than a severe rope burn. I later discovered my armpit had been completely ripped out.

I don't think I opened my eyes until I was under sheets and blankets in the hospital. I never saw the detached arm, and I couldn't bring myself to look at the stump for at least a month after the accident. One of my brothers changed the dressing early on and described it as looking "like a joint of ham" – that was enough for me.

I was told straight away that the arm was too badly damaged to attempt reattaching it and I think that helped me to get over it.

It was a big shock when it finally hit home; there was a grieving process. My dad reacted as if I'd died – he just didn't seem able to see a future for me. The reactions of my three brothers ranged from distress to black humour. One was particularly blasé, which actually helped a lot.

My friends rallied round, but my girlfriend of five years struggled to adjust. She just couldn't come to terms with seeing me with my shirt off. I took that badly – I didn't feel any different and didn't want to be treated as if I was. But I knew I had changed; I was more withdrawn. I ended the relationship and felt fine at first, but then she found someone else and I was still on my own.

Again, my friends made me realise how much I was loved. And work pulled me through. I can do most things with the occasional use of a prosthetic attachment. Although I sometimes experience flashbacks, I know the factors that contributed to my accident. I was feeling flustered and not taking the care I should have done. And while I don't blame anyone for what happened, I'm well aware that the broken cover could have been replaced for £150.

The accident led to positive things, too – I've met wonderful people while giving talks on farm safety and I met my wife 18 months after losing my arm, at a young farmers' event. She hadn't known me before the accident, so saw me as a whole person. And I can lie next to her in bed without jabbing her with my elbow – it's actually surprisingly cosy.

• As told to Chris Broughton.

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