Tell me your worst self inflicted wound

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

None of my efforts are near as colorful as some described here… I’m so boring.

But, I managed to slice my right pinky open on a can in my recycling bin - can’t remember WHY I thrust my hand into the bin. Copious amounts of blood, and I sport a small, jagged scar.

The scar on my right thumb comes from a drinking glass that shattered when I was drying it… I thought I could fit my towel-wrapped hand all the way inside to dry it. I was wrong.

A repeated, stupid injury involved me kicking the radiators in a house I owned in Baltimore. I wasn’t inclined to tantrums - I just liked walking around barefoot, and when I’d walk to the windows to look out, I managed to smash my poor toes against the feet of the cast iron beasties. For all I know, all my toes have been broken numerous times.

These days, I attribute most of my pains to old age…

42

In college I did heavy weapons fighting in the SCA, a medieval re-enactment group. Heavy weapons fighting means suiting up in armor and then running out onto a battlefield to smack each other with sticks. This isn’t how I got hurt.

I was making my armor out of plastic, not very authentic I know, but I used what I could afford. Later I covered the finished set with cloth and it looked okay. One day I was using an exacto knife to shave slices of plastic off a leg piece I was working on. I thought I was being safe, moving the blade away from me and all, but I caught a rough edge, tried to force the knife through it, and it slipped off and buried its entire blade into my leg. There’s this moment of dawning realization one gets when you have a moment to sit back and rationalize what an idiot you are. I sat there, looking at the exacto knife standing straight up, stuck into my jeans. My first coherent thought - that’s really going to hurt. But I didn’t feel any pain at first. I think my nerve endings were gathering their forces for a concentrated effort.

Normally, you do not want to remove a blade from a wound because the blade itself cuts down on the bleeding. But with this exacto knife stuck and balanced in my leg the moment I moved it was going to fall over and cut me in a new direction. So with grim determination, I yanked it out. My nerve endings delivered a “Feel this moron!” message to me and I raced to the bathroom for bandages as I bled everywhere.

My first bandaging attempt ended rather messily after pressure built up under the bandages and then… well exploded.

I really should have gone to the hospital.

43

It wasn’t so much the injury as the circumstance.

I was leaving the house in a hurry. I had to pick up the engagement ring I planned to give my then GF, soon to be fiancee, now wife and I was running late. Out the door I ran, slamming it behind me. When I got to the car I quickly realized I had no keys. They were, of course, locked securely in the house. Brief panic ensued. I had to get to the jewelery store before they closed because I intended to propose that night. Then I remembered the basement window. It wouldn’t close right so it was propped shut on the inside with a wooden dowel. A few well placed taps on the outside and the dowel should jar loose allowing me access to the house - and keys. I ran around the house, kneeled before the ground level window and tapped gently with the heel of my hand. Adreneline is amazing stuff. The gentle tap must have registered as a forceful whack because the window pane shattered and my hand shot competely through. Simultaneously I had access to the house and a nicely sliced and bleeding wrist. I only had time to grab a rag and my keys on the way out. I wrapped the rag around my wrist as I drove.

Now pretend you’re a clerk in a jewelery store. Just as you’re about to close up for the evening a guy comes rushing through the door. He’s wild eyed, disheveled, and bloody. His right wrist is wrapped comically in a blood soaked rag. He says “I need to pick up an engagement ring”. Lots of things run through your mind - thoughts from “I hope he doesn’t kill me” to “Not a very optimistic fellow” to “One generally kills themselves after the wedding” - but your training pays off. You get his ring, acccept his bloody check, and timidly say “G-G-Good luck”.

44

I cut my finger open with a new knife on Christmas 1999. Anyway, I now have a cool little scar, and the little fold of skin that pops up when you stretch your fingers out pops up funny.

But the oddest self-inflicted wound came just yesterday, in fact, when I was playing with my cat while in a reclining position. The cat decided he didn’t like this and scampered up my body and onto my bookshelf. In so doing he managed to step directly into my mouth, which is why I have a cat scratch on the INSIDE of my lip. Oy.

45

Ahem. Let’s see here…

  I slit my pinky finger on a window when I was trying to open it. Still have a little raised bump where the flap of skin didn't heal properly. Man, did that sucker bleed! I had to walk a quarter of a mile to the nurse's office and I was so light-headed after that.....

  Also at the same place, I fell out of a chair and sprained my ankle rather badly. I was on crutches for a week. Now, this was at a camp that focused primarily on horseback riding, so everyone thought that I'd fallen off a horse. Until they heard the story from my friend Fluffy. Then they just laughed. The next year I DID fall off a horse, though, and really banged up my knee (landed right on it) and my arm was all cut up and full of dirt and horse crap. Our camp director poured a bottle of rubbing alcohol on that. It hurt quite a bit.

  A year and a half ago, my aunt died and left me a really nice ring. My fingers are rather large, a size 8, and so the ring didn't fit. My mother, though, made me push it on my finger. Ended up in the ER when my finger turned purple and had to get the sucker cut off.

  When I was fourteen, I was getting ready for a friend's party and fell out of the shower. I got a foot long, half-foot wide bruise on my lower leg and walked with a limp for a week.

  And then my theater experiences. This year, I had to pull a curtain shut at a key moment in our play "I Never Saw Another Butterfly." The first night, the curtain caught on something and I was left hanging on the chord, a nasty rope burn on my palm. The next night, I practiced before the show and ended up with three centimeter long cuts all over my left hand. The curtain shut, though.....

 Finally, another theater thing. Last year, we put on "The Children's Hour" and I was in charge of the gunshot at the end. We had a starter pistol because our director knew of my accident-prone nature, and a starter pistol can't shoot anyone. HA. Second night I went out to set the gun up during intermission and it went off, part of the cap leaping from the gun and shooting me in the left hand. I still have a scar on my finger from the gun that's not supposed to shoot you.

I've had others, but those are the worst and/or most amusing.
46

Ever been to a grocery store? Though so.

Ever been to a grocery store with conveyer belts, where you have to pack your own bags? You too, eh?

Ever rested yor hand on the conveyer belt between packing bags? Hmmm…

Ever got that little web of skin between your thumb and index finger caught between a conveyer belt at the grocery store? That takes a special kind of incompetence and is probably the most pain I’ve ever felt. Not recommended.

47

This thread isn’t quite what I thought it was.

I thuoght we were going to be talking about INTENTIONAL self-inflicted wounds.

I think I’d better leave now, Digital Muse- you come, too.

48

When I was 4, I got these new snow boots, which for some reason - in my twisted little mind - made me a truck driver. I ran all through the house yelling, “Vroom! Twuck”. I ran into my parents bedroom, jumped on the bed, flipped too far and landed smack on the edge of my mother’s night table. With my forehead. Lots of blood. I still have a scar on my forehead, which looks like a coin slot.

Still demented, about a year later I was running through the basement with a curtain rod. This time I was a knight, with my “jousting stick” held out in front of me as I ran. Ran right into a wall, with the end of the curtain rod going through the roof of my mouth. More blood.

As a teen, I was riding my bike down a steep hill in the woods, and was about 50 feet away from two trees that were close together. From 50 feet, they looked far enough apart for me to peddle through. Heh. 50 feet closes fast, and before I knew it, my bike made it through fine, but each knee smacked into a tree. Wow, did that hurt. Thankfully, my friends were nice enough to laugh hysterically while I writhed in the dirt.

I’ll have to think about my adult injuries now.

49

I guess accidently walking on a bed of hot coals with bare feet and getting 5 silver doller sized blisters on both of my feet.

breaking into my house after forgetting my keys, crawling into the basement window, not seeing a large shard of glass still lodged there and slicing the back leg up from the calf up to the back of my thigh.

riding a mini bike, sliding onto its side and having the tailpipe burn a nice line up my leg.

Heres one that I sort of caused to someone else: I was at this improv theatre and for one of the skits my suggestion was for this person to still think he was in vietnam, so the actors come out with there costumes and begin this skit. The person with the army outfit on had this fake rifle and was jumping around having these vietnam flashbacks. The ceilings were low in this place and as this person is jumping around and the rifle hits a flouresent light at one end and the light breaks, but only at one end, and it falls down at this angle cause one side is still sorta connected, and comes down straight onto this person in the front row stabbing him in the thigh.

50

My boyfriend bought a sword at the Rennaissance festival last week. I was at his house last night, and I randomly started running my fingers over the blade. Who would have thought that it would actualy be sharp? So I wound up slicing my thumb open. It stung worse than it actually hurt.

51

Gymnastics, junior year. At a meet, doing the vault. Layout with a full twist off, didn’t complete my turn by the time I’d landed, foot got stuck in a crack in the mat, and my body continued to turn. Sprained the crap out of my ankle. Out for most of the season.

Gymnastics, senior year. At practice, doing beam (which I hated). Beam is a very old one, covered with this bumpy-type rubber that was pretty slick. I wore socks 'cause I didn’t like sweaty feet on the beam (imagine sweaty feet on vinyl flooring - ick). Was doing my dismount (front somersault) off the end and just before I actually got into the trick, decided I just wanted to jump off, not do the front. Well, my body’s momentum carried me off, headfirst, onto the mat. My hands were outstretched, so instead of breaking my neck, I only dislocated my left elbow and fractured the head of my left radius. No more gymnastics for me.

52

I whacked my big toe off with an axe.

Or at least I thought I did.

I was chopping wood and the axe hit off-target and came down upon my left big toe. After hoping around for about five minutes in intense pain, I took off my shoe. My sock was soaked in blood and upon removing my sock found one severly crushed nail and lots of cuts on my toe. Couldn’t walk right for about a week.

Ouch.

53

Where to start?

I was working in a restaurant during the summer between my freshman and sophmore years of college. (Mind you, I started in the restaurant biz when I turned 16 and supported myself all the way through HS and College doing this. I knew my way around the kitchen. At least, I thought that I did…) I was slicing turkey on a big 'ol meat slicer, one of those “one big spinning blade” models. The turkey was down to almost nothing left under then handle and I guess that I really wanted all of it sliced. So, I did what any insane person does, grab it with my hand and run it over the slicer. Second pass - shlick - goodbye left corner of my thumb. I remember seeing it lay there, part of my fingernail still attached.

I knocked out my two front baby teeth as a kid by doing a header into a curb off a bike crash.

I broke an ankle by stepping halfway on/halfway off first base as I passed after popping out during a baseball game.

I broke my wrist in my very first game as a starter in HS football.

I was at the beach, in the water, tossing a pop can full of water back and forth with another kid. I go to toss, stick my finger into the opening and flick. Pop can opening rotates around middle finger, slicing it to the bone. Many a stitch, that one.

** And now, for the mother of all injure-yourself injuries, the kind that parents have been warning their kids about since time began…

On June 21, 1992, a couple of my friends invited me to play ‘paintball’ since their regular paintballer couldn’t show that day. I had never played before, had no equipment (they’d loan me a gun), but I figured ‘Why not?’ We played all day, broke at dusk, went to Dairy Queen. I ordered a “Cookie Dough” blizzard and we went back to a friend’s house. Said friend had a swamp-like empty lot behind his house and they wanted to play a little more before it got too dark. Went to get my gear. Gun on floor of front seat, goggles nowhere to be found. I had lost them after the game at the last place. But, I figured, what harm could be done to go without?
About ten minutes into it, I was crouched down waiting for a player to cross my path. I popped out and fired at him. He whirled, fired and…

Hit me in the right eye.

I don’t remember much after that. Blood on my hands from cupping my face. A watery (vitreous (sp?), I learned later) fluid all over. And pain. Horrible, horrible pain. I vomited up the blizzard later that evening in the hospital room. They couldn’t give me anything for the pain since I was going to have to be taken to Minneapolis the next morning because they weren’t equipped to deal with an injury like this. 300-some father-driven miles and a full 14 hours later, I finally got my first dose of pain-killer. Ow. Ow ow ow.

I spent the summer on my stomach and lost most of the sight in my right eye.

When they say “It’s always fun until someone loses an eye”? They’re right.

54

So I had this apartment a few years ago that had not much kitchen to speak of - there was a 1930’s-era gas stove (no pilot light, no thermostat), a 1950’s era fridge, a double-sink really designed for laundry and no cabinets.

I kept my dishes in a dish drainer, figuring that there was no real need to keep them anywhere else. The dish drainer sat on top of the cover for the right-hand sink.

One day I was in Macy’s and found they were having a sale on Henckel’s knives. Or rather, one knife - a beautiful, flexible boning knife marked down from $50 to $20. I bought in on the spot.

And of course gave it a spot in the dish rack.

Blade up.

This arrangement worked fine, until one time when I reached for the tap without looking and impaled my forearm on the boning knife.

And bone it did. Blood everywhere. I grabbed my arm to stanch the bleeding and ran out of the apartment. Conveniently, it was only three blocks to the St. Vincent’s emergency room. As I marched my way up there, I and my bloodstained, dripping, tightly clutched forearm (I must’ve looked like an extra from Carrie) passed by three women leaving a Chinese restaurant…

“Oh my God!! Are you OK? Do you need help?”

Me, smiling “Oh no, I’ll be ok, the ER’s right there,” (I gestured with my elbow).

It took either 3 or 5 stitches, I can’t remember which. The distressing part was when the physician’s assistant told me that I’d come within half an inch of severing the nerve that controls the right hand. That I’d’ve noticed.

55

Well, It turns out that my husband’s leg isn’t broken. He bruised the fiberous membrane that covers the tibia badly though. He can’t drive or walk well.

My worst self inflicted injury was probly the year I was 13. I must have been growing or something, but for the whole year I beat my lil’ pinkie toe to oblivion. There is this big brick fireplace in my parents house that sprawls across the dining room. When you turn down the hall to the bedrooms, is where the fireplace ends. Everytime I ran by that corner I tore my toe across it, bloodying it every time. I most likely broke it more than a couple times. I could barely walk that year.

56

It was the day before Labour Day when I was going into Grade 8, I decided to take my one and only trip on a skateboard. It went fine going down my friends driveway, but after I turned the corner on the end of the driveway I hit a clump of weeds and stepped off the board ackwardly. I lay on the ground and I knew something wasn’t right. I looked down at my leg and I didn’t see my foot, it was pointed behind me. I suspected I had broken my leg, but strangely enough I didn’t feel any pain. I crawled into the house and called my mom to take me to the hospital. She came and thought it was just a sprain. I remember thinking to myself if you sprain your ankle your foot shouldn’t point behind you.

We got to the hospital and had x-rays taken. The doctor asked if I wanted to be put under or be awake when they set it. I asked to be put under. After I awoke he came in and told me all the gory details of the setting of the bones. It had turned out that I had broken both leg bones just above the ankle, dislocated the ankle and cracked a bone in the ankle. I still walk with a limp because of it. The worst part was I spent the Labour day weekend in Hospital and I didn’t get to miss a day of school. :frowning:

Keith

57

Most of my injuries that left permanent bodily reminders happened in my early youth. The most visible is the dent in the middle of my forehead. It’s small, but immediately noticeable. It’s a scar from when I was four years old and decided that I would get my mom’s attention by lying face up under the ironing board and shaking it. The iron fell on my head, point first - but thankfully, fell backwards (away from my face) instead of forwards, as it was still hot.

When I was a wee slip of a baby, just learning to walk, I would hold on to the edge of the coffee table and pull myself along. I guess I slipped once, and whacked my chin on the edge of the table, and bit right through my tongue. My dad had to hold me still while the doctor sewed it back up - he says it was the worst day of his life.

The most bewildering injury was when I was riding on the back of my sister’s ten speed with her, and somehow got the outside of my ankle caught in the spokes, and the spokes took a chunk of flesh off of my ankle. There’s a quarter-sized scar there now, and I have yet to figure out how the hell I did it.

58

I was cutting my blinds into a more pleasing shape, holding one slat at a time with my left and scissoring with my right when I feel a sharp pain. I have cut a very neat > shape into the flesh of my left hand. Sharp objects + inattention = bad.

59

My lil’ brother had to get stitches right below his nose when he was 4. My dad had to hold him, plus he was papoosed so he couldn’t move. He just kept staring at my dad saying " Don’t let them do it, dad. Please don’t let them do it…" He also said that was the worst day of his life.

60

When I was in 5th grade, I was in Girl Scouts, and we had after-school meetings once a week. When the meeting was over, the troop leaders usually took us out to the playground, which was by the head of a U-shaped drive that the parents would be driving through as they arrived to pick us up. This playground had a huge jungle-gym apparatus that had 2 firemen’s type poles on each end…you could climb up to them and then slide down. I’m guessing that they were about 15 feet high.

While we were waiting for the carpool mom ‘o the week to come and pick up us up, my friend Amy and I decided to climb the firemen’s poles and have a race down. I really wanted to win this race. So, I basically jumped. From the top of the jungle gym. 15’ high. I barely touched the pole on the way down. When I hit the ground, my left leg snapped in half, a few inches above my ankle. I got a nice spiral fracture of both the tibia and fibula.

I was in a cast from toe to mid-thigh for 6 weeks, then a walking cast from toe to knee for another 4. By the time I got the casts off, my ankle had locked in place from being the in the same position for 2.5 months. This all happened April 2nd. It took me most of the summer for my ankle to bend again.

The summer, of course, was completely shot. Ack.