Chronologically: When I was 4 I got scar on the left side of my forehead by falling off a radiator I had climbed up on. No stitches, but the scar is still visible 34 years later.
I have a small scar on my knee from my adventures as a young’un. Don’t remember how I got it, but I had so many cuts and bruises on my legs from climbing onto things and then falling off that the school called my parents to enquire if perhaps they were beating me. They weren’t. I was just a clutz.
I have a 3/4 inch scar on the middle finger of my left hand from straightening a bent chain guard on my bicycle when I was 12.
I have a number of small scars on both legs from when I fell while fording the Green River in Wyoming’s Wind River Range. The water was waist deep on me (it was flooded) and I went down. I was very proud that I remembered proper procedure (taking off my pack and floating with it) and I managed not to drown.
I have a triangular scar on my left hand which I got when I fell off a bicycle in Acadia National Park in Maine. It was the first cut I had that actually needed stiches.
And, my biggest and most spectacular scar is from the emergency c-section I had in 2001. Abdomen and baby are doing just fine, thanks.
I have a very thin line scar over one eyebrow. I noticed it in the rearview mirror a couple of years ago and cannot for teh life of me recall when or how I got it. My mom doesn’t remember any significant head injuries either.
There’s an indentation in my forehead right in line with the line that happens when I raise my eyebrows from when I was 2 and fell face first onto a raised brick hearth.
I have 2 chicken pox scars. One is in the exact center of my forehead slightly above my eyebrows. The other smack dab in the center of my chest.
3 white scars along my right wrist from when I was about 9. I was letting the dog out the back door by pushing open the storm door. Instead of pushing the metal bar in the center my hand was in the middle of the glass. I don’t know what made it break but it did, and cut me in 3 places. One is about 2" long, another is thinner and about 3/4". The third is more of a bump than a line.
Along the side of my right thumb is another 3/4" scar/ I was working in a deli at the time. Slicer incident.
There is a crescent shaped scar on my chin. When I was about 18 my car was rear ended and my chin hit the steering wheel (There were only lap belts in my 1971 Gremlin)
One right across the knuckle of my right thumb from shutting it in a car door. For some reason I remember that I was getting dropped off after seeing Star Wars for the second time.
1/2" scar inside my right elbow - woodcarving chisel slipped.
2-1/2" perfectly horizontal, almost surgically precise scar on my right cheek (posterior, not my face) from backing into an x-acto knife that was sticking out over the pencil ledge of a drafting table. Without going into too much detail I wasn’t able to step away right when I felt it stab me. I had to coninue along. I have no idea what color the scar is, but I am told it’s still there. I was 17 or 18 at the time.
And I fell last monday and tore up my left schoulder. I’m trying hard to keep it appropriately moist and covered as directed but it’s starting to look as if there will be a scar there. Right now it’s bright pink.
Just one, but it’s nasty looking (out of proportion to the seriousness of the injury). Buddy of mine in high school had just gotten a butterfly knife (they weren’t illegal yet) and was showing off some ‘cool moves’ about a foot and a half away from me. I held up my hand asking him to back up a bit at the same time as he lashed out with it on that side. Sliced my pinky finger to the bone, from the tip to the first joint, on the palm side.
His sister drove us to the medical clinic, where the dumbass doctor decided it didn’t need stitches & bandaged it up. So my left pinky has this >1 inch scar running down the front, and (after almost twenty years) I’m sure it always will.
Interesting fact-I discovered that day that, while I’m squeamish about other people’s injuries, for some reason my own don’t bother me. Other than being painful, of course, but if you’re not panicking, injuries are rarely as painful as they look, IME. I remember looking at my finger while waiting for my friend’s sister to arrive, and being fascinated by the way the dermis kind of ‘bubbled’ out of the slash in the epidermis. Cool. I had the same kind of fascination with the appearance of the other pinky when I dislocated it last month, thinking about how the ligaments and joints must be configured for the position it was in to be stable.
Hoo boy. I’ll list some of the more memorable ones. The family doc once offered me bulk rate on stitches–that was on the first occasion that I showed up in his office two days in a row.
Right foot: An inch-long scar on the bottom from a piece of glass that pierces my shoe and nearly my foot when I was 6.
Left foot: Pinpoint scars, top and bottom, where a black locust thorn pierced both shoe and foot. FTR, a black locust thorn can pierce a tractor tire, and is covered with an irritating/mildly toxic chemical. I hate those trees.
Right hand: An inch-long, curving scar on the back of my thumb, just above the base. A tape measure left bone showing under that spot, way back when. There’s also a dimpled scar at the base of the middle finger from intercepting a dart that was flying toward my face–that’s one scar I don’t regret a bit.
Stomach: Two-inch long, very faded scar from a shallow knife wound acquired when a couple of thugs jumped in New Orleans.
Forehead: Dead center, bullet entry wound; it shares the location with the scar from tripping and slamming my forehead into the corner of a brick windowsill. The exit scar is just above the left eyebrow.
Top of head: You know how they tell you not to walk under ladders? Don’t. Really. I mean it.
I have a 1" scar by my left eye, the result of too much Tequila + Sambuce. I tried to jump on a pebble. (The one outside the Bridgewater Hall in Manchester). I think I passed out mid jump, and upended my body, so that suddenly I was going headfirst, instead of feet first. When I woke up, there was blood pouring down my face, and three scrotey students were kicking me. So i got up, gave one of them a slap (i am not a violent man) and legged it.
heh
I have many small scars on my hands, arms, legs & feet; from an active childhood & klutzy adulthood.
My most famous scar is on the back of my right leg. It extends from the inside of my knee all the way up to my tushie. (yes, it got really close!).
At 19, I was living in California in an apt. complex behind the Alpha Beta. The quick way to go to the grocery store was either under or over the 6-ft. chain link fence. For some reason this time I didn’t feel like crawling under so I went over. At the top of the fence I lost my balance and came down on my inside leg which impaled on the fence. I fell forward and that little burr zipped along to the inside of my knee, where it came out of the skin and I fell off. I was wearing blue jeans, too ! :eek:
Scar on my left outer thigh, little brother, pointy scissors, mad after I shot him with a sling shot.
Scar on my upper left forehead, cousin, baseball bat, me standing to close while he’s swinging at the ball.
Scar on my right wrist, barbed wire fence, me trying to cross it to get a frisbee.
Scar just below my left knee on both sides, metal rod all the way through to help support my broken leg after that old lady ran me over and dragged me under her car until she was stopped a block later.
Scars on both elbows, almost identical, bicycle, me being a dumbass.
My scars are too numerous to recount, since I do my own auto repair/plumbing/electrical/futzing. A couple silly ones come to mind though.
I have a scar on my left eybrow, now barely visable, from a guitar tuning peg. I was looking over my guitarists shoulder at the play list to see what song was next. It was a song that started with a power cord from his guitar. TWANG. I finished the show, bleeding like a stuck pig, because, hey, that was soooo punk rock. Buddies still mention it, nearly twenty years later.
I sliced open my pinky attempting to open every blade possible on my brand new swiss army knife. note the thing on the back that looks like a blade is actually just a part that sticks out so the blade on the other side fits in.
I have a scar on the underside of my chin (you can’t see it unless I point it out) that I got from slipping on a rug on a terrazzo floor as a child. I landed right on my chin.
There’s a scar on my left pinkie finger from the doctor. I had a wart on my palm, and he was burning it off with acid. The acid dripped on the table and got on my finger. It’s covered with my pinky ring.
I have a line scar on my left foot. My sister and I were emptying the dishwasher, and we hated emptying the bottom because it meant we had to put all the silverware away. My sister is pitching a fit about having to put the silverware away, and I’m smugly reaching to put the glasses in the cabinet, when I tripped over the basket that she had on the floor and cut my foot on one of the steak knives.
It seems all my scars came from childhood. Nothing recent (knock on wood.)
I have a scar on my hand that I have NO idea how I got… One on my other thumb (actually three small ones side by side) that came from when I messed up with a saw, and one about three inches long on my left ankle from when I was three and was sitting on a metal chair when it fell over, landing on my ankle in the process. Anyway, nothing big.
Good topic. Just what I need right now to cheer me up. It wasn’t funny at first, but the memories have been hilarious ever since: I have a scar across my knuckle on the middle finger of my right hand. This is how I got it:
In the early 80,‘s, my then-hubby and I were at some friends’ house, doing some serious partying. Now, I have never been into pot, but I did indulge in the booze quite a bit that night. My old man sat next to me on the couch dragging on a joint. The joint was going around the room and I kept passing it up, not because I’m some goody-two-shoes, but because I never liked the effect. It doesn’t make me high, it makes me anxious.
Anyway, my old man kept trying to push the joint on me. He stuck it in my face and said, come on, have one drag, just one. He wouldn’t accept no for an answer. All at once, as he wielded the joint in front of my face, the burned tip of the joint fell off – right into my cleavage. Ouch!
The following happened in a blur: As a reflex, I swung my right arm to the right with all my might, aiming for hubby’s jewels. My aim was pretty good. The only thing I had overlooked was the glass of beer he had sitting between his legs. I hit him so hard that I literally broke the beer glass with my bare knuckles. It was pretty thick glass too, one of those European beer steins. There was beer and blood everywhere. For reasons not quite clear to me, his nuts (my original target) where spared from any stray glass shards. I guess those Levis are pretty tough.
I ended up in the hospital where I received seven stitches. We told the doctor that I had been doing dishes and accidentally broken a glass. In hindsight, I hope that that doc wasn’t stupid enough to believe that, both of us coming in in the middle of the night reeking of booze. Dishes, yeah right.
Oh, I have a scar under my chin, too. I got mine at 10 years old. I was on the diving board. The idea was to jump yp, spin around and go feet first into the water. I jumped up, spun around, and came down chin first onto the diving board.
A blue DOT between the eyes, off-centered and fading.
Conflicting reports from my parents - possibly from a blue ink pen I jabbed myself with when little, possibly from a blue plastic toy I jabbed myself with when little (when you’re 5 is there a difference :p).
When I was in high school, my dad and I were making lunch. He was at the stove when the cabinets above the stove pulled off the wall. (We later found out that the uber-intelligent home owners before us had put the kitchen cabinets up with finishing nails.)
All of the dishes fell out of the cabinets and broke, and I ran over to help my dad who was holding the cabinets up to keep them from falling on him. The bad part? I was only wearing socks at the time. So I was collecting lots of little pieces of broken glass in the bottom of my feet which later tuned into lots of little scars.
Right Foot: 1/2" long from Carving knife. For some reason I thought stick my foot out and prevent it from hitting the floor
Left Shin: 1" Burn scar from Cutting torch
Right Knee: 3" around the kneecap. 60 to 0 MPH in 33 feet.
Left Knee: 3 small puncture scars from arthoscopic surgery
Right Thigh: 1 1/2" from Portion of Femur exiting skin from inside
Right Hip: 5" scar from where they inserted the pin to repair femur
Left Abdomen: Small round scar from 22 bullet “Accidently” fired by Ex-friend.
Right Forearm: 4" scar from bicycle vs Chain link fence incident. Suffice to say I almost made the jump.
Right Shoulder: 3 small puncture scars from arthoscopic surgery
Right Cheek: Barely noticable 1"X2" scar from Motorcycle accident. Barely noticable unless I am angry then it turns purple and looks like I have a black eye.
Under outside corner of right eye - 3/4 inch scar from trying to ski on two bars of soap in the bathtub when I was about 3.
Chicken pox scar on inside left upper arm.
Inside right lower arm - 1/2 inch scar, a round scar with a line drawing down from it, from a fish hook. (My dad was trying to teach me to bait a hook, the hook got away from me, and my sister picked up the fishing rod.)
3 cross-shaped scars on my left knee - orthoscopic knee surgery for a torn meniscus and bone spurs shaved off the inside of my kneecap.
1 scar in my belly button - where my belly button mysteriously opened back up in 11th grade. :eek:
Another scar in my belly button, one about 4 inches from it on the right, and 2 inches below it - emergency appendectomy.
On the outside of my right ankle, right on the bone- surgery to remove bone chips from when I broke all the bones in my ankle skateboarding at age 16.
Left index finger, tiny line - got in a fight in middle school.
Back of right hand - got slammed into a wall by one of my bartenders at my old job. He was drunk, and the boss had told him to leave and asked me to cover for him. As I was walking back into the bar area, the guy pushed past me, and slammed my hand into the exposed brick wall.
I also have a zillion other little scars, from being somewhat ridiculously klutzy.
