Now here’s a thread I can sink my teeth into.
[singing]no000-body knows the trouble I’ve seen…[/singing]
My stories, thankfully, won’t be the worst posted, but at least they are amusing.
-as child, pretending to smoke, I fell down the stairs with a metal curtain rod in my mouth. (the long thin ones) I thoroghly impaled myself through the back of my mouth.
-at about 13-14 I dove of a 3 metre diving board. It was a beautiful, graceful, eternal swan dive. Into about 4 feet of water. Cracked my head open good and proper.
At 16 I started in the construction industry. All of a sudden, I’ve got hammers, saws, 2x4’s. Here are my favs.
-Toe broken by being slammed with a 75lb iron bar
-tip of left index finger crushed and torn off by cement slab.
-attempted to crucify myself by air-nailing my hand to the fence I was building. That part didn’t hurt. It happened so fast I didn’t even realize it, until I tried to pull my hand away. I had to use my hammer to un-nail myself from the fence. (Think that’s bad?.. a co-worker nailed his boot right to his shin with a 3[sub]1/2[/sub]" spiral nail)
-shoulder dislocated as I was thrown by a gas powered auger into a concrete block. Again, rectifying the situation was worse than the acutal accident.
-Arm broken playing nerf basketball.
-hohoho… I was running up some concrete steps, and slipped, landing right on my left shin - on the edge of the step. The gash, which went right to the bone, was a full 6" long. That hurt.
-Using my 20oz hammer to remove about 1/4 of the tip of my left thumb. (I don’t mess around when I’m putting in nails) I’m actually a little confused about this one… you’d think the thumb would eventually stop growing out after like 15yrs of regular trauma and/or removal)
-There’s another one that involves an electric chainsaw, a locust tree (a very big tree with very rough, sharp bark, and lethaly ragged twigs) some rope and a ‘catapulting’ action that is altogether too difficult to accurately describe…
Oh there are so many others, and this is so much fun. I can’t believe I’m still alive.
By far the worst, most excruciating pain I’ve ever endured was prefaced by these exact words:
Utter horseshit indeed.
The doctor went on to assure me that I’d be ‘functional’ by Monday.
The anesthetic was pretty bad. For some reason, they were not satisfied with simply inserting a needle into my balls, they had to wiggle it around, as if they were searching for the perfect spot. As it turned out, this hospital was a teaching hospital, so I got to have 2 guys take turns mutilating my scrotum. Things like, “No, No, not that one!” hardly contribute to a stress free vasectomy experience.
After the operation things weren’t so bad. I drove myself home, thinking, “Well, that was pretty horrendous. At least it’s over.” I give myself a tentative squeeze, to see how I’m doing. A little sore, but already looking forward to having ‘safe’ sex without a condom.
About an hour later, the anesthetic started to wear off…
I’ll save you the details of the weekend, but lemmee put it this way; by Monday, I was only just begining to learn what pain was all about. My testicles had reached their peak mass which could be accurately measured at 1[sub]1/4[/sub]g (that’s grapefruits, not grams, btw).
By Wednesday, I’d mustered the courage to try to make it to the washroom. I considered a wheelbarrow to help lug my nuts. By Friday, I actually ate with the family and was just going to say ‘hi’ to my dog (who I hadn’t seen since the operation) before returning to the safe, comfort of my bed.
The dog hadn’t seen me in a week. He was so happy to see me he lost his mind. Thought the object of the game was to climb up me. This was an eighty five pound puppy. His paws came up… (all in slow mo. I knew what was coming, as you do now) then forward and down in a smooth graceful arc. I tried to get out of the way, but it was useless. My whole being had been concentrated, for the past week, on not moving that section of my body.
Despite the ineptitude of the doctors, my original incision was less than a centimetre and vertical. The dog turned that into 3/4 of an inch… horizontal.
After a pointless trip to the hospital, it was back to bed for a week. Exactly a week. The following Friday, I was sitting on the stairs (one of the few comfortable positions for those toting a softball between their legs) and my 2yr old came to give me a hug. He stepped on them. Or one of them… I’m not sure, because (naturally) his foot slipped off allowing his knee to render inconsequential which testicle his foot had crushed.
I didn’t bother going to the hospital. I just went back to bed. Exactly one week later, I emerge again. Just a quick trip to the can… then back to bed. I’ve learned. I’m not coming out until I’m fully recovered.
Three steps out of my room…
From the doorway of my son’s room comes a diaper. It is a wet diaper and it is travelling in a straight line at, of course, waist height. It was meant to land in the trash, which is beside the door, but because I just happened to be where I was, God or Karma couldn’t resist and I got nailed dead on. For those non parental types, a really wet diaper can weigh like 2lbs or so… 12lbs+ if it is hurtling towards your nads.
I distinctly remember thinking, “I can’t believe this…” and I passed out.
