Pajiba

Man, all my scars are lame. The most visible is one on my finger from when a cheap champagne glass broke while I was doing the dishes one Thanksgiving. See? Lame.

Sorry, I don’t have any pictures or links . . . but I did slam the car trunk door into the left side of my head. Because, I didn’t get out of the way! I ended up with a one inch gash in my head and two staples were needed to close the wound. Here’s the best part though: I bled for over two hours before I could convince my husband to take me to the hospital. When I asked him, he replied, “Dammit! The Knicks are on!” And that, my friends, is now why he is my ex-husband.

My friend has video of his hip being dislocated being sacked in a high school football game. I cut my lip once on my clarinet in marching band. Behold that carnage!

Almost two years ago I wiped out on my bicycle and broke both bones in my left forearm, with the ulna sticking out and bleeding.

I'll try to find the picture of my arm with the 37 staples used to close up the surgery scar. I wish I could get the x-rays of the arm with my hand heading off in an odd direction. I now am bionic, with two metal plates in my arm.

The worst part was that it took 7 months for the radius to heal, and I couldn't do anything with the arm that whole time.

I'd do a list, but I don't want to crash the server.

About two or so year ago, I was sitting in the Starbucks on campus with a couple friends of mine between classes, just killing some time, having some coffee, you know how it is. Another friend joins us, but excuses herself to get a cup of tea. Not just any cup, but a large (Venti, whatever). On returning, she goes to put down said cup and misses putting it on the table, instead knocking it over, which causes the lid to pop off and cover me in scalding hot water. Now, my first thought is of my poor groin, which is covered in jeans and boxers which are now slightly hotter than the surface of the sun. However, in my haste to pull my pants away from my groin, I've allowed the boiling water to pool in my sock, right at my ankle. Upon ripping off both my shoe and my sock, I am greeted with the sight of my skin bubbling and pulling away from my body, which, believe it or not, is even more unpleasant than it sounds. Now, none of the shitheads who work at the campus Starbucks seem to care about the fact that a man has just flung his shoe and sock across their coffee shop and is starting a the raw flesh where his ankle used to be, so they just ignore me. Fortunately, one of the people I was with happened to work there (though he wasn't on a shift at the time) and went in the back, returning what felt like an eternity later with an industrial sized garbage bag filled with ice (they had no smaller bags). He also managed to scrounge up some burn cream, because he is amazing, though applying that hurt almost as much as the burn itself, prompting me to scream "FUCK MY ASS" for the whole student center to hear, though, it should be noted, no one currently working at the store had come to see what was wrong. It ended up being a second, almost third degree burn over most of the inside of my left ankle, and I still have the scar today, though it's significantly lighter than it used to be. Also, the girl who spilled it on me got me a Starbucks gift card as penance, though it was an accident, and I delighted in the irony.

You know its bad when your friends use your scars to pick up chicks!
The only bonus is that I get a whole swimming lane to myself at the gym.

On that note, something almost exactly the same was done to my penis when I was an infant. Both were botched.

Ohhhhh. Well that explains a lot.

Aaaaaaaaw Jadine! You're not an IT!! You rode a motorcycle, crashed it,survived, and survived a hysterectomy!! You're not an it. You're a MotherFucking Bad Ass

I feel like I've already told the stories...but who cares. Here I go again.

I broke my tailbone while playing indoor co-ed soccer. I collided with a teammate, flew about 6 feet in the air and landed on my arse. An explosion of pain shot through my body so I got up and continued to play the rest of that half and all of the second. Broken coccyx was the damage and I was supposed to sit on a tube until it healed, but I felt stupid and didn't.

When I was a freshman in high school I went creeking (splashing through a creek while possibly chucking rocks, poking each other with tree limbs, etc.) with some friends. I had to borrow a pair of shoes to wear that were a little too big. While tramping through the woods, we had to step over a short barbed wire fence. The fence caught on the toe of my shoe and ripped my left calf open. I didn't need stitches, but I still have a jagged, white scar.

In the words of Sofia on Golden Girls - Picture it - it was 1991- a rainy Good Friday just off the campus of UK. I was rushing back to the dorm after a tanning bed appointment to catch my ride home for the weekend. Stepped off the curb, slipped in a puddle and fell on my elbow. People in their cars - laughed and pointed. Turns out I snapped my elbow in half and it was pinching a nerve which made me twitch like a tweaker in need of a fix. I have an eight inch scar up my arm and you can see two bolts sticking out when I bend it. If I hit my elbow on something it causes the wires in my arm to vibrate and I yell "shit damn fuck" as loud as possible.

Let me seee..I have one by my eye but its hard to notice, from when I was three I pulled a gate down on my own face.
I have a scar on my pinky finger(the same as above) from when I sliced it open on a faulty pool light.
One scar on a knuckle from when I burned it making coffee, scars on my knees from various childhood tumbles.
I used to have a scar in the middle of my forehead who's origins where a mystery but I think it's mostly healed over now.
A pox scar on my neck, a horrible bubble on my back from when I had a mole removed and the doctor DID IT WRONG.
I have a small scar on one thumb and...I dont remember how I did it.
I have a scar on one digit from dripping melted plastic on my self because I'm a frikkin moron.
I have some scars on my feet that I dont know the origin of because based on their position and my own memories there is no way they could possibly have happened ever.
I have no major ones really

One year my brother and I got some really suspect pogo sticks from my grandfather. I don't know if anyone should have been playing with them, but we certainly did. We used one of them so much that the pads came off on one of foot rests, leaving only the rusty jagged metal. At that point the pogo stick became un-pogo-able, but we still used it as a pretend crutch or whatever else our imaginations could make it become.

At some we left it sitting in the grass, which needed to be mowed, making the pogo stick hard to see. I was running around barefoot, being chased by my brother, and I didn't see the pogo stick until it was too late. My right big toe caught the jagged metal foot rest and was split horizontally down the middle, leaving a flap of toe dangling down.

Strangely enough it didn't really hurt, but it bled a lot. I had to hop on one leg into the house, leaving a trail of blood, so that I could call my mom and have her come home. She didn't take me to the doctor, only taped up my toe (because I said it didn't hurt), so now I have a weird faint scar on my toe.

While I could talk about watching my own knee reconstruction on monitors while it was going on (spinal blocks are weird and wonderful things), but how about USA soccer's Charlie Davis in a near fatal car crash last October (broken femur, torn knee ligaments, broken elbow, lacerated bladder). He also sustained facial fractures that required doctors to PEEL BACK HIS GODDAMN FACE TO REPAIR! THIS IS SOME FACE-OFF SHIT!!1! And now he may still play in the World Cup this year.

Aaaaaaaaw Jadine! You're not an IT!! You rode a motorcycle, crashed it,survived, and survived a hysterectomy!! You're not an it. You're a MotherFucking Bad Ass

Posted by: Nadine at January 27, 2010 4:49 PM

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That's it. I'm officially changing my screen name to "MotherFucking Bad Ass".

We could also combine our names and become Janadine or Najadine.

Katers...are there pictures of him...En-Lobstered?

Drake, right?! I cant believe they've not been pulled, but then again they let me use scissors...
Our family has a grand tradition of fingertip damage; My gramma sliced the tips of her finger so often than now, her having died, when ever I do it, I'm certain it's a message from her, from beyond, a freaky little 'hello Nadine, Grandma is here' while I stand there and BLEED BLEED BLEED all over my food.
One cousin was chasing some friends through her Uni corridor years ago. The friends ducked through the firedoor, letting it close behind them, and my cousin threw out her hand to catch it. It closed on the tip of her finger and basically crushed it. She lost the top of her finger and the scar sort of looks like the gun barrel when Bugs Bunny shoves a carrot in it then it explodes.
My best friend Jay, fell when she was younger and wrecked her elbow. First it was bent BACKWARDS so she was touching her own shoulder from behind, then she straightened it(she was numb with shock) and the bones bust through the skin.
She still has a scar on her elbow and cant stand it to be touched. Years after the fall, she developed grand mall epilepsy.

Shea, the littlest Hearity, had a nubbin/skin tag on his wrist. Our doctor decided it was a wart and tried to freeze it off. Turned out it was a blood clot...thing, and the freezing caused it to get horribly inflamed and infected. It looked like an effect from a John Carpenter movie about people growing new heads from their arms.
The hospital cut it out, root and all, and sealed the blood vessel/clot, thing, and sent him home. But turns out, they wrapped it too tight and the blood couldn't flow. He ended up spending three days in hospital and had surgery to drain the puss from his arm. The scar looks like he went SERIOUSLY emo on himself. And bless, he hates it, he hides it as much as possible even though I just tell everyone a shark did it while he saved a kitten from it(the sharks) gaping maw.

Jadine, I fully support all three choices.

(Sits in front of fireplace in a red leather armchair, it's dark outside, a roaring fire at her feet. A large leatherbound book is on her lap)

Gather round Pajiban children! What magical and horrific TRUE tale of injury shall we read tonight?!

(She thumbs through the pages with her scarred fingers)

Do you want fingers? Noses? Eyes? Bones? Something even MORE terrible?!

(Keeps flipping pages faster and faster)

What about the time my sister went camping and she went to blow out a flaming marshmallow from a too-long stick and it fell on her eyelid while STILL ON FIRE?!

No? Not scary enough?

(Rifles through pages)

When my cousin Gabriel was two and was toddling around the house and tripped over the family dog and he landed palms down on a RED HOT POT BELLIED STOVE?! He had third degree burns and still has scars on HIS HANDS?!

Nothing?

(Runs her finger down pages, rejecting tales of broken noses and labor pains, becoming more desperate.)

When I broke my nose playing college soccer and black blood came out?

The car accident that left me with a collapsed lung and the driver with a blood clot in her brain from when our compact car wrapped around a tree?

Nothing? What the hell is wrong with you kids?!

(Pauses) Flips a few more pages. Smiles an evil, crafty smile.

Ahhh my little ones, come closer. Gather round Scorzi and hear a truly TERRIFYING and AGONIZING PAIN that happened to Mr. Scorzi before they met!

Mr. Scorzi was thirteen and very very handsome (as he is now.) Although some of you are too young to hear this, Scorzi will be honest: Mr. Scorzi is VERY well endowed in certain...areas. He is very romantic and sensual and giving and clean, and one day he told me a story about why his area is sliiiiightly different colored. Mr. Scorzi is Puerto Rican, and grew up in an old-world Puerto Rican family. For you older kids that means he still had a turtleneck down there.

Stop giggling! Listen to the story! (She inches closer to their awestruck faces)

One day Mr. Scorzi's thirteen year old self went to the bathroom. The kind where you have to stand up and not sit down. He finished, shook, flushed, and then went to zip up his pants. It is here that his story becomes TRULY TERRIFYING!!!!

(All the Pajibans move closer)

He ZIPPED UP his penis into his pants! So much so that his mother could NOT UNDO it!

(All the Pajiban males shriek and cover their crotches)

He had to go to the hospital, where they had to remove his turtleneck completely to fix his penis!

(Thunder booms and lightning flashes outside, the Pajibans scream and Scorzi cackles with laughter)

P.S. True story. Apparently my man had more than enough to "work" with, because he's still over 8 inches long and he's only 5 feet 5 inches tall. His member looks 100% normal. To this day he will never free ball, and he is VERY careful when tucking away the equipment.

I wiped out running off stage in a show and partially shaved off a half inch wide chunk of shin bone. Partially chipped off, you ask? Why yes, it's still attached to the shin on the top, but separated at the bottom. It's not harmful and every doctor I've shown it to over the past eleven years has basically gone "meh - you'll live" and left it alone. So, I have a half inch wide bump on my right shin that is actually a piece of protruding bone. If I want to gross someone out, I show them how I can shimmy the bone back and forth with my fingers. Sexy.

Scorzi, that's how you tell a damn story!

Janadine MotherFucking Bad Ass officially has the best name on Pajiba.
THE NAME CHANGE COMMENCES. SO IT IS WRITTEN. SO SHALL IT BE DONE! LET US DRINK TO THE NAME CHANGE! Those of us already drinking/drunk (all of us) just...POUR ANOTHER!!!HAIL!!!

Dammit. That's what I get for forgetting to reset my screen name after trying to create an ongoing joke.

No...you were good. Now you fucked up.

I got nuthin'. No broken bones, just a few stitches.

Clearly, I've lived a pampered life.

My biggest bump didn't result in any scars but the internal damage is still with me 13 years later.

Freshman year of college I was working on lights for a play. Heading up an 80 foot ladder I clear the first loading gallery at 8ft, almost to second loading gallery at 17 feet up and I fall. I fell 15 feet, hit the guy on the ladder below me, didn't hit the loading gallery, didn't hit the half flight of stairs or the rails at the bottom and managed to miss hitting any of the actors (dammit). I fell on my back into a very small area backstage, bounced and sat up and said "I need to get back to work."

I bruised my patella, twisted my ankle and that's it. The fall should of killed me but I walked away (kind of limped actually) just fine. Later down the road I found that I have nerve damage from the impact but nothing too serious.

The guy on the ladder below me still swears to this day that he could clearly read the Doc Marten label on the bottom of my boots as I fell

I bit my tongue off with my baby teeth. Docs stitched it back on.

superasente:

I used to work in an Italian Deli here in Akron, OH called DeVitis Italian Market. We mixed pasta salads and cut exotic cheeses. Things like this.

And what did it smell like when you cut the exotic cheese? I bet it was... interesting.

No, I'm not twelve; I'm thirty-two. Why?

Snuggie, between that and your contributions to the crappiest job comment diversion, I am standing more and more in awe of you every week.

And scorzi: That story is g-g-g-gruesome -- and I'm a girl!! I thank my lucky stars that I will never experience that sort of pain. But I hear that childbirth is worse, so I may get something even better someday! :D But, anyway, your telling of the story was what made it so very especially ossom. Loved it.

So none of mine really stack up and I am basically never allowed to complain about any of my scars ever. Because my husband has had multiple open heart surgeries. Once in the 70's when he was "too little to get anesthesia" (oh the 70's) and they put his chest back together lopsided. And once in the 80's when they actually put him back together right so his chest wasn't concave. He has massive scars up and down his chest and his heart is apparently adhered to his sternum with scar tissue.

Whenever I see the Simpsons episode where Krusty gets a zipper put in his chest for the doctor's convenience, I think of my sweetie.

His third heart surgery was my favorite - this was in the magical 21st century, so they didn't have to break him open again. THEY USED A ROBOT. I am totally serious here. I think I may have married the six million dollar man. I can only be grateful that this was done when we had awesome health insurance.

Ooh but I jumped off a ladder once in high school because I thought it was going to fall on me. I landed on my feet and the girl who volunteered at the hospital said I was probably fine and the swelling in my foot would go away. The swelling was due to me shattering my three middle foot bones and I had to have pins put in and be on crutches for 2.5 months. They were the kind of pins that you remove when the bones heal so they had little hooks on the end that stuck out of my foot and I had to clean the open holes every night. This was also the only semester that I had multiple classes on the third floor at our ancient high school with no ramps or elevators. I got gooood on those crutches by the time that was over. After all that the scar isn't nearly as exciting as it sounds like it should be. But at least I can say, instead of having normal bones in my right foot like normal people, I have a solid mass of fused bone and cartilage. Go me!

Oh, and please keep the lolcats coming. Because I luvs dem.

I am incredibly clumsy so I should have more scars than I do but God favours drunks, little children and the terminally klutzy right? I do, unfortunately, suffer from an affliction known as keloid scarring which basically means that the skin doesn’t know when to stop healing after being cut so you get three tiny stitches from a cyst removal on your chest and end up looking like you have a giant red burn. Or, you have your gallbladder removed with a scope and the surgeon, after noticing how badly you scar, instead of sutures, uses tape and surgical glue and you still end up with a wretched raised red scar from the tape. Basically? The breast lift I’ve always wanted will never be done because no plastic surgeon will touch me once they see the scars I already have. I would end up with horribly scarred boobs and then my husband would call me FrankenBoob or something similar and then I would punch him in the face.

I have a scar on the inside of my right knee from that time I had a strep infection but thought it was a boil or something and by the time I went to my doctor the infection had been elevated to code red and I had to leave the doctor’s office and go immediately to the hospital to see the infectious disease specialist. The infectious disease doctor hemmed and hawed and there was some talk of hospitalization and possibly removing the offending limb before the infection could spread to my heart but at my vigorous protests at both the hospitalization and the possible limb removal it was decided that Plan B would be put into action instead. I had an IV placed permanently in my arm for a few days and went back to the hospital three times daily for IV antibiotics. Three weeks and two lancing’s of the giant throbbing boil like wound on my inner leg later – I was pronounced completely cured and allowed to keep my leg. The scar is really not that impressive especially considering I came this close to losing my leg from the knee down.

On the same leg I have a small scar on the knee from tripping over a crack in the sidewalk and ripping my knee open. A faint network of scars on my right calf from that time I was 11 and riding with my cousin on his 4-wheeler. Unfortunately the flip flop I was wearing caught the back wheel and my leg was pulled behind me and up and around the back wheel. I screamed bloody murder but was able to limp back to retrieve my mangled and bloody flip flop. Six hours later my mum arrived home after working an evening shift, read my note that said I had hurt my leg a little and tiptoed upstairs to pull back the covers and check said leg. Her scream of horror woke me up. My leg had swollen to three times the size and looked like raw hamburger. She raced me to the emergency room where the doctor hemmed and hawed about casting it but in the end decided not to what with the whole raw hamburger look to it and risk of infection under the cast. I spent the rest of the summer on crutches with my skin slowly sloughing off my leg.

Oh, and do inside scars count? Apparently both my eardrums are covered in scars due to the frequent and massive ear infections I had as a three year old thanks to my murderous tonsils. Finally, after both my eardrums burst and I was completely deaf for a few weeks while they healed. Funny little side story – I spoke very quickly as a small child and it was almost impossible for anyone other than my mother to understand me. After I went deaf she said it was the most trying time of her life because not only did I still speak quickly I also screamed everything because I couldn’t hear myself talking. I’m pretty sure she contemplated putting a pillow over my face at some point. The doctor’s finally agreed to remove my tonsils making me, at that time, the youngest kid to ever have their tonsils removed in the history of Ontario.

Also - I had to have a goodly chunk of my cervix lasered off. I haven't actually taken a flashlight and a mirror and checked it out up there but I'm fairly certain there's some amount of cervixy scarring from it.

I tried to read this thread but it made me throw up.

I'm a total klutz (but an adorable one like Bella Swan--GAG) but somehow I've made it to the ripe-ish age of 35 with no major scars. I could torture the squeamish with details about the three times I've given birth, but plenty of women have icky birth stories. Worst non-birth injury I've ever had was playing softball. I was playing catcher (with no mask--just slow-pitch with a church league) and a foul tip hit me right on the nose. Terrible pain, gushing blood, trip to ER, broken nose, surgery.

Worst part was recovering from surgery. So much worse than recovering from birth. Terrible pain and spaced out on drugs that didn't always work. My nose was stuffed full of gauze and one morning at 4am I started coughing and the gauze came out my mouth. It was nasty, soooo nasty. I was pulling out of my mouth bloody gauze through whatever passage connects the nose to the throat. Then of course I had to hack up some blood clots. Worst morning ever.

Oh, we also moved to a new house the day after surgery. We've always had terrible planning for our moves.

Kelly - Crikey, totally different experience in Alberta. Strep every year, for years. Finally, my tonsils abscessed, badly. As the doctor pulled a syringe and a half of pus out of my throat he said, "24 hours and they would have ruptured, sending pus into your bloodstream". But yet, no one would remove the offending tonsils. I begged three doctors, and a cute nurse, to remove the bastards... They remain with me to this day. Maybe Ontario would grant me the honour of being the oldest person to get their tonsils out?

Sassy Rouge, I had my abscessed tonsils removed when I was 17. It was four days before Christmas, I reacted really badly to the anaesthetic and didn't wake up for a day and a half, and then me 'n the doctors played a little game called "Let's Find Out the Hard Way Who's Allergic to Morphine!" (I won). I went all Exorcist and projectile vomited on no fewer than four people before going into convulsions, and I technically died for a lil bit (didn't stay that way, though - evil never really dies, you know). It was the best Christmas everrrrr!

Whoosh! You are all some tough mo-fo's!

I looked everywhere, but unless I have a backup disc, I think the photos from last March, when I poured an entire industrial sized coffee urn of boiling water onto my upper left thigh are gone. Damn! I'd always wanted to show them somehow - full red, squalling, bubbly flesh nasty - because I am secretly kinda pleased at how I can take a hit. I did my kid's entire fourteen-buddy gym birthday party (four hours) right afterwards and went to the hospital later.

I think I used my spite at my partner 'needing' TWO giant urns of coffee for the party (which he forced me to prepare alone at seven a.m. along with the rest of the food I might add) to keep me energized. What asshole needs two urns of coffee to handle a bunch of six year olds? A WUSS that's who!

My other best damage is my slightly smaller left thumb from when I was in grade two and fell off the jungle gym. You know those bars that curve up, over and down to the ground off of a play structure...a little awning shape thing, horizontal bars all the way down? I leaned off the structure, reached forwards to an upper bar, had my ass fall too fast and hit my extended thumb on each bar on the way down (six maybe).

The teacher didn't believe me that my thumb was broken because I didn't cry and she made me write seven pages of homework I was behind in. I'm left handed. In fact, my mom didn't take me to the hospital for four days, and only when she finally heard me moaning in my sleep or something and took a real look at it. The doctors said I should have lost the thumb or ended up pygmy thumbed. It's smallish still.

It's way too early to be reading this stuff. Good God, people, be careful out there--I love you guys.

Nothing too impressive here--a scar on my forearm courtesy of my cat Rumbles when I was 10; another scar on my hand courtesy of my cat Max (also known as HellBeast and as Herp). They're good boys, just a little spazzy sometimes.

I slipped in the shower once and the back of my head came straight down on the rounded edge of the tub; I still get nauseous when I think about it. My mom had to haul my naked, concussed ass out of there.

My first year working in a lab, I spilled weak acid all over one hand; the skin sloughed off in one piece, which was lovely and really impressed the guys.

Same lab, same hand--I was prepping samples that go through multiple time-consuming steps before being placed carefully upright in a boiling water bath. One of the samples fell in the wrong way and the cap was threatening to pop out; I seriously spent a few seconds contemplating whether I wanted to burn myself (it wasn't quite at boiling temperature yet) or repeat all those stupid steps for one lousy sample. I stuck my hand in.

Same lab--I was trained by a Chinese woman who had clearly different standards of safety than we have here in the States. She had me working with concentrated acids outside a fume hood; when I complained of having daily nosebleeds, she advised me to just "hold my breath" when I worked. Later she had me putting acid in bottles that hadn't been properly cleaned ("just give them a good rinse"), and the acid reacted with whatever had been in there to generate clouds of cough-inducing fumes. She hastily capped all the bottles; the pressure built up and promptly shot the heavy glass stoppers all over the room, and one hit me in the face.

Different lab, different job--a piece of glassware broke off in my hand and jabbed me through my clear glove, and the blood immediately spread over the whole surface making the injury look truly gruesome. I opted for superglue on the wound instead of stitches.

Given that I have chronic vertigo and routinely lose my balance, I've been remarkably injury-free in my later years.

I thought of another one!

I used to make a habit of walking the dog before work (not a euphemism). It was always around 5:30 or so, when it was still dark and there wasn't much of a moon. My favorite place to walk her was around the local lake, where they have a really nice biking/walking/running path. Unfortunately it wasn't lit, making visibility next to nothing. I could see there was a path, but that was about it.

I used to walk around this lake everyday, so hurting myself somewhere so familiar seemed next to impossible. What I didn't remember was that right where the sidewalk to my neighborhood met the circle around the lake, there's a weird dip at a strange angle. When I reached that spot, and my foot expected to find sidewalk, it found open air instead. Falling slightly forward, my foot hit the tilted ground at an angle, and my ankle rolled. I heard a loud crunch, then I remember being on the ground, with my dog licking my face as I rolled back and forth, holding my leg.

Somehow, I made it back to my feet, and then hobbled home in the dark by myself. By the time I got home, I was walking almost normal, and my foot felt better. Later that day, though, when I was at work, I stood up after a couple hours at my desk, and I almost fell over. My ankle was black and blue on the whole outside edge, and that knob of bone was throbbing. When I went to the doctor, they said I'd broken a chunk off of it. I guess it was too big to worry about having to remove it, so it's in no danger of traveling through my body.

I also have a scar on my back, right above my ass, where the doctors had to cut me open to remove a horribly infected cyst that I refused to see a doctor about. Next time, I will stop thinking it will go away on its own and just get to a damn doctor.

damn work getting in the way of my commenting...

cut OFF his LEFT thumb..