You'll not like this one
Many years ago I was a proud owner of a Prince Albert in my winkey.
Once in a while it was good to take it out for a clean. To give it a scrape if you like.

If you don't know how a PA works, imagine a C shaped bit of metal (the ring part) which threads a hole made in your cock and out your japs eye. This C ring holds a metal ball (the ball has indents in, giving it a place to be held).

Anyway to open it up and take it out, you get some pliers and stretch the metal C open. The ball falls out leaving a gap to unthread it from your chap.

To put it back in, you thread it back, hold the ball in place and use pliers to crimp it back down. It takes a bit of effort.

However, one time the ring slipped and I ended up clamping down on about 0.5mm of my bell end. On the underside fish gill shaped part. I hit the fucking roof and the blood was everywhere. So much so that I couldn't see how much damage I'd done at the time. Lucky only about two pixels worth of rip; but the amount of blood was a bit worrying. I felt a bit giddy and sat on the floor for a good while.

I think that trumps most of the stories here.

Length, still the same amount thankfully. The lesson - never use pliers on your cock! whoda funk it!?!
(waxdart hello., Fri 21 Jan 2011, 14:22, 17 replies)

I got called Rambo.
I live in Thailand and was on holiday on the island of Phi Phi and was leaving to head back to Bangkok. My girlfriend wanted her binoculars from our bag and I fished around in there and cut a massive hole in my middle finger. The bastard wouldn't stop bleeding and the only help I had from Thai sailors was a bottle of local whiskey and dirty cotton wool. So instead I took off a shoelace, got some bog roll and tied it round said finger. Viola. Ready made bandage...though I did have to wait for about 3 hours before I could get some proper dressing for it. No, not Paul Newman's. Pictures in replies.
(jonhimself, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 13:17, 7 replies)

i once had an horrible accident
i once had an horrible accident involving a lawn mower, i won't go into too many details but i nearly lost a limb, if it wasn't for the bottle of sherry i drank in the shower immediately afterwards, my leg would be gone like for sure.
( Sir Sand GOBLIN ^popular page dis, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 13:01, 3 replies)

Im sure there is a sexual term to descibe this?
Innocence, sun (yes, sun in the UK) and the Fat Willies surf shack made our yearly holidays to Brixham perfect for a 13 year old boy and his family. To add to this my dad, brother and I were keen fishermen, chasing mackerel out of the blue onto the grill pan to be cooked that evening my mother.
Occasionally we would be joined by another family who lived near us in Wales. The fun was double, but so was the likliehood of injury as we perched on the rock ledges fishing.
After teaching the younger of the brothers to cast a float into the sea we all stood back and watched in anticipation as he went for his first cast, and a fish per chance???
Sadly the little tike was about as dextrous as a Stephen Hawking and the smooth action of casting a line was replaced with a sudden body twist, jerked arms and an attempt at launching the whole kit into space. The trajectory path was set and as the float and weight passed rapidly beside his brothers head, the hook had other ideas and imbedded itself firmly in the cheek.
Thinking something was wrong (which it most definately was) he decidided to yank it around a bit to free the bugger, although he had not turned around to see his brother silent white with fear.
After cutting the line my "Salty Dog" father came over and gave him the good news... We can get it out but it will have to go right through as the barb on the hook will not let it out.
He fainted... we got it out

Never thought I would see two brothers fish-hooking!
(James Drop, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 12:49, Reply)

Verruca
I tried to bazooka my verruca. All that happened was that I blew my leg off at the knee and got 6 years for possession and discharge of military ordnance without a licence from the Home Office and permission from the MOD.
( sandettie light vessel automatic New Twitter - @bollocksreally, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 12:40, Reply)

The regimental MO was a butcher.
He had owned a rundown meat emporium on the wrong side of Essex before the war. Understandably the men went to any length to avoid coming under his care. Before long it became apparent the best course of action was to shoot off any injured body part. Fingers & toes were removed with a Webley .38, hands and feet with a Lee Enfield. Cartwright, the best shot in the regiment, was much in demand and would often be found Bren gunning the Hottentots by way of practice.
Of course Cartwright himself had shot off his own knob after catching a dose, though the rumour was it had been chewed off by angry Subaltern.
(Brigadier an old boot sitting on a man's face - forever, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 12:36, 2 replies)

splinter
Many moons ago I used to drink and smoke at the Royal Exchange in Camden, a very dirty and unkempt pub that had only one redeeming feature - its extremely liberal attitude to the smoking of marijuana within. Anyway, I'd been in there on the Monday, wearing a pair of jeans on my lower half, when I caught my calf on the *very* splintered edge of a bench.

Four days later at work, my calf was very itchy. Thinking I had an infected follicle or something, I gave it a good scratching only to discover a little sharp, hard edge. Pulling at this, I extracted a splinter about an inch and a half long and abour a quarter of an inch wide at the thick end; it had managed to pierce my jeans and my skin and I'd been carrying it around with me all that time without realising.

Horrible, it was.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 12:35, Reply)

When I had the lump removed from my knob, last summer
I had 7 stitches (yeah yeah, really small ones!) down the shaft, anyway I removed the stitches myself, I used a proper stitch cutter though. (Mum used to be a nurse and has these things lying around for some reason, just in case) was quite nervous doing it, but I didn't circumsize myself so all ended well.

Got a reasonably impressive scar out of it too, although not many people have seen it.
(Kip, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 12:02, 7 replies)

why DIY surgery on ingrown toenails is NOT a good idea. (pics in replies)
i had ingrown toenails on both feet. i was a: a massive wuss about doctors, and b: too skint and in a job where two weeks off was not a viable option, and no shoes/open toed sandals was NOT an option.
so i tried to fix them myself.
firts cut out the offending bit, cotton wool under. no dice. repeat ad nauseum. no dice, getting WORse. then the v-shaped notch. little buggers were doing their best to become subterranean toenails, like some kind of hideous fleshy spelunking expedition they burrowed nto my poor beleaguered big toes, making walking, running etc painful. eventually after a couple of years of battling, i gave up, and two years ago went to the doc to get them sorted.
as a result of my incompetence and reluctance to be treated, i had to have both taken out and the nail beds cauterised.
to give you a run down, the procedure goes as follows.

swab foot
inject bare minimum anaesthetic to stop me squealing (this time taking into account the supposedly abnormal 'extra nerve' i seem to have in both toes, meaning an extra needleful of stuff per toe- go me!)
ram somethign that resembles a tiny pitchfork up under the nail, using small hammer.
hack/tear nail out at root
liberally slather nail bed with phenolic acid
allow to burn completely through all layers of skin and nail bed
rinse
bandage

now the nails were well and truly infected when i went in, so i asked about antibiotics. the nurse told me, no, no antibiotics, we only use them when infection develops. so they send me home, with strict instructions to bathe and re-dress the nails daily with saline solution.
now, peeling bandages off a raw nail bed is a whole other level of pain. i'm pretty god with pain, bike crashes, tattoos, burns etc. this was somethign else. the throbbing was supposed to stop after a day or so.
it didn't
it got worse
my toes reached the size and colour of victoria plums, complete with custrd topping, at which point i returned to the doctors and they went 'oh good lord, you need antibiotics (facepalm)
i ended up having to wear crocs for six weeks because it was all i could get to fit over the dressings. i had daily pain for eight to ten weeks,m and couldn't wear normal shoes and socks for twelve weeks. i now have no big toenails.
all this could have been avoided if i'd gone to the doctors at the start instead of fucking about trying to be a hero.
click on replies at your own risk, it ain't pretty, trust me.
smelt like off meat too
nice.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 11:10, 14 replies)

Aron Ralston.
He's someone who'd chop his right arm off for a good story.
(oneinthepink is at your cervix m'lady, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 10:20, 4 replies)

Dad, His Eyeball, and The Amazing Outback Nurse
My dad emigrated to Australia from Germany in the 60s. Being largely unskilled, he was sent to work on the railroad in the outback.

They used kerosene lanterns for lighting. One night, such a thing blew up in close proximity to one of dad's eyeballs, which was sliced open by an errant shard of glass.

They were many, many miles from any hospital, and the only medical person available was the camp nurse. They got dad extremely drunk, for want of anaesthesia (he was good at that, so this was the easy bit).

There was a barbed wire fence nearby that horses would come and get bits of their tails caught in. The nurse retrieved one such tail hair, boiled it and sewed up dad's eyeball with it.

The eye was saved, though dad, forever after, looked like he had two pupils in the one eye as a result of this mishap and subsequent impromptu embroidery. I thought it was very cool.

Not my story, I guess, but I thought the nurse deserved a mensh for her DIY resourcefulness.
(lonelybadger, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 10:11, Reply)

Roast pea for 4.5 years...
My ex-father-in-law had a nasty habit...

...of trimming his "verruca" with a pair of scissors in front of the telly. I had no idea what he was on about, until I too picked up a wart on the bottom of my foot.

Late one Saturday night about two years ago I got sick of this thing, so decided to remove it with a bit of home surgery. A dozen beers provided anesthetic, and my trusty pocket knife and a pair of sharp scissors were all the surgical instruments I needed. I did pour boiling water over them first in the hope of sterilising them, I'm not a complete idiot.

Using the pocket knife I dug away around the edges until a fibrous tube-shaped mass came away from the skin and hung free. The thing was attached by a fairly substantial (to me, anyway) blood vessel, and pulling or twisting the thing wasn't doing anything but cause me pain. So, I grabbed the scissors, pulled it out as far as I could, then snipped the fucker off. I packed the (bleeding) hole with cotton wool and taped it all up, then sculled another beer and went to bed.

Two years later and it still hasn't come back. Still, I don't recommend it to others - my current wife went ballistic the following morning when I told her why I was hobbling about.
( Udderbelly A tale of four titties, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 9:46, 5 replies)

I have a lipoma in my left thigh
and I dream of getting the balls to follow this guy's example.

WARNING: Although one of the most satisfying videos I've ever seen, it is definitely not for the squeamish. Lots of forearm blood and maggot-esque peeping.

www.liveleak.com/view?i=311_1230605853
( Wet-chinned bag shanker Cannot parse Wogan, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 9:44, 7 replies)

SOMETHING ABOUT CRAIG COLCLOUGH.
Someone else has probably done this already but I'm afraid I am unable to read the QOTW any more because it's so shit, so I cannot check.
( Monty Boyce, My cheese game is strong, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 9:39, 3 replies)

Super glue
So, I was washing up when I sliced the top of one of fingers on the slicer doobry on the cheese grater... though obviously, in hot water I didn't feel a thing until I noticed the water had changed colour.

On removing my hand I noticed the top of my finger (about half a centimeter) hanging at a rather strange angle, and about to drop off.

The wife comes running in at the sound of "an ear-piercing scream" (no idea, who that was) and starts rummaging for a plaster, and the suggestion of an ambulance.

Suddenly, my imagined army trainign kicked in.
"get the super glue!"
"What?"
"Super glue was designed for injured soldiers in Vietnam"
"You are not putting super glue on that!"
"It'll be fine... it'll be fine..." I slurred

After persuading her, i would put a plaster over the top as well, she eventually conceeded, and within a few days I had a perfectly working finger again, and a couple of years on, hardly even a scar!
( Joe Scaramanga with a G-double-O-D vibration, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 9:05, 3 replies)

Nail bother
I'm about 9 and dummy-wrestling (as in WWF as it was known at the time) with some friends and my brother out in the fields in the middle of town. I go along with a kind of DDT (a headlock cum piledriver) which is when a more odd than painful sensation occurs on my right kneecap.

Until I try moving my right leg when it is all painful. I pull up my jeans to see a dirty old nail sticking out of my kneecap (just to the right of the boney part in that soft, smooth bit of skin). I hobble off homewards and by the time I get in there's a fair deal of blood down my leg and pooling in my shoes.

My mum sees me examining the wound with my new pointy friend and without much fuss she prepares a poultice and some other solution for
cleaning the wound. She takes the nail out using her fingers. Then nail was surprisingly long, I thought it might be an inch or two but it was more like 3-4 inches. Cleaned the wound with cotton buds and antiseptics. Then squeezed the poison out which had got in there surprisingly quickly. Removed cleaning
poultice, applied dressing poultice and that was me, good as new!

Except I can still predict thunderstorms by using my right leg.
(Searcaigh, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 8:49, Reply)

Impaled on a clothes peg.
Highjinks on a water slide in the back lawn. I came off at high speed and forced a large clothes peg balls-deep into the skin between my leg-bone-bit-under-the-knee and the skin. It looked like one of those tribal implants. The whole thing was caked with grass and looked extremely dodgy. I sat on the back step and edged it out. No stitches or anything. I was 10, and still have a bit of a scar.
( hismastersvice cunting flange-jammer, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 8:27, Reply)

i sneezed so hard my eyes popped out and the stalks got tangled so I bit them off and stuck my eyes back in but they were upside down so i had to rip my legs off and put them on the top of my head
( enoughblueskyforsailorstrousers, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 8:19, 2 replies)

"I hacked it out."
When I was just into double figures, there was something black on my left foot. It got bigger and more surrounded by dead skin. Soon it started to be a bit tender when I put weight on it.

I had tweezers. I had nail scissors. I'd had enough. Over the course of a couple of weeks, I gradually cut away the dead skin and took out the (by now) lots of black bits.

Pretty soon it was all gone!

"Hurray" I thought. I mentioned it in passing to my mother.

"You've got a verruca?" was her response.

"Not anymore" I replied. "I hacked it out with scissors and tweezers. Bled a bit but it's all gone now."

Who needs Bazooka? Pansies, that's who.
(Sahara Desert http://www.twitter.com/thesaharadesert for swears, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 7:01, Reply)

Road rash
I'm not sure how common rail trails are in other parts of the world, but here in Ontario, they're all over the place. They take a disused rail line, remove the rails and the slag bed, and replace it with screenings, or fine gravel.

Mr. Armadillo and I went cycling on one of the local paths. I was watching the scenery, and not paying the greatest attention to the path. I dumped, and ended up sliding into some bushes by way of the gravel. I was missing huge swathes of skin on my forarms and shins, the raw surface plastered with greenery and tiny, pointy rocks. I limped into the railway museum nearby to use the loo for cleanup. I spent a good half an hour removing bits from various parts of my anatomy (anything I could get at with my fingers) in the tiny sink in the public washroom. Then I had to get back on my bike and ride another 20 kilimeters (downhill, luckily) back to the car.

When I got back home, I spent an unhappy hour or so with a pair of tweezers, a bottle of alcohol, some polysporin cream, and burn dressings trying to get everything else out and trying to cover up my lack of skin.

Probably still one of my most painful injuries. Fairly superficial surgery, maybe, but man, losing that much skin hurts! I'm sure that anyone else who's had road rash can agree with me!
(BlackArmadillo Avoided writing that article on, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 3:32, 2 replies)

Well - not strictly mine.
DIY Caesarian.
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/In%C3%A9s_Ram%C3%ADrez
(speedevil, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 2:35, 1 reply)

WE SAID WE WOULDN'T TALK ABOUT CANADA!!
(The Incredible Sulk Finally remembered his password on, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 1:45, 2 replies)

The cure for ingrown/ingrowing toenails
This worked for me on several occaisions. Force a small amount of cotton wool under the corner of the toenail, as hard as you possibly can. It will be painful. Leave it there, and the next day rinse and repeat. It eventually forces the offending shard away from the nailbed without the need for surgery. Joy!
(brutal stack Raided the beeves of Apollo on, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 1:27, 6 replies)

Probably a pearoast
I think I may have previously related the sorry tale of being admitted to hospital with a breast lump that turned out to be a non malignant abcess.
And the total non treatment i then exerienced after it ruptured while waiting for a doc to come and have a look after 8 hrs sitting around twiddling my thumbs.
Cleaning the mess up myself with rough blue paper towels in the toilet, then having to stay overnight as there was no transport to take me to my rural home 15 miles away after midnight and no food available after not eating anything for over 18 hrs, they did find me an apple and a yoghurt, whoopie.
I swore never again.
A year or so later , it came back.
Lump the size of a golf ball, just before i was due to take part in a week long wilderness survival course.

I bought a sterile scalpel and made a very strong salt solution.
Stocked up on painkillers and antiseptic cream.
Grit my teeth, cut the bugger open, drained it, dressed it and went off to play.
Put on a new dressing and cleaned the open wound with salt solution every day.

I have a small hole in my breast now that is a bit of a show and tell party piece, but the abcess has never since come back.
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 1:20, 2 replies)

Finger
The nice people at the hospital stitched up my finger after my drunken attempt at sandwich making (another story)
After the 7 day wait could not be bothered to go back to get the stitches taken out so I removed them myself.

Hurt like buggery but I did a good job
( Terry Oblong There's nobody here but us chickens on, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 1:16, Reply)

this must have happened to someone else before? tenuous i suppose
this has happened TWO times to me

both times happened exactly the same. male friend is acting strangely. eventually, they take me to one side and tell me that they've found - dun dun DUNNNN - a lump in a particular area. oh noes.

"is it a spot?" i go.

"no, i never get spots there." both times.

i comfort them. "im sure its nothing... best to get it checked out though. could be an sti... or something worse. better safe than sorry." etc.

they go away, prepared to call the doctor.

days later, i ask them how the doctor's appointment went. i get a rather sheepish reaction. it turns out that they have dealt with the "growth" in their own way.

and popped it.

DOI
(ladyintheradiator, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 0:37, 1 reply)

i stubbed my toe getting washing in from the yard... horrible pain did not subside. looked down and my white sock had turned red. slowly peeled off sock to reveal that i had somehow lopped the skin off the top of my big toe.. and that it was now dangling by a thread.

not really sure what to do... it wont (sadly) go back on like a little hat.

so i had to cut the lump of skin off with a pair of scissors over the bath. yummy! big toe is slightly flatter now
(ladyintheradiator, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 0:30, Reply)

GUBU
A small sharp pointy sliver of metal rammed into my hand, and became infected (like a splinter sometimes does except nice and hot and twice as sore) so I sliced it open with a stanley knife and pulled the bugger out. It stank.

I've also cut my ingrowing toenails before with tin snips. Yes. Snips for cutting tin. You know, metal and the like. Won't do that again any time soon.

Also treated my own abscess with a bottle of Jack Daniels once. Still felt like shit though even although I was paralytic.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Fri 21 Jan 2011, 0:09, Reply)

In which Falco is once again an idiot
I went roller blading, (I know, fuck off), with a friend who had last exercised some time in the neolithic era and needed someone to hold her hand as she tried this scary new sport. Of course she wasn't very fast, and after 5 minutes was complaining of strange pains in her legs having forgotten that exercise causes some discomfort, so I was buggering around doing sad little tricks as we went.

I jumped from forward to backwards while going fast up a hill, rad!, and fell like a pole-axed monkey's idiotic sibling. I was still moving quite fast and ripped the skin off both elbows, (no pads, I was after all extremely cool), but that's not where the surgery comes in. I'd also fallen with both force and precision on my keys, the keys that were stuck in my leg. I grabbed the little bastards and pulled them out which was not a good plan because according to the laws of reality, if you've been stabbed by something then pulling it out lets blood go everywhere.

By the time I got to my house to be stitched up, (the joy of living with Dave the drunk, insane med student), I had one blue leg and one red/maroon leg. As the only anaesthetic around was rum it took a good ten minutes to convince Dave that I was not a pirate and that stitching not amputation and a plastic parrot was the appropriate treatment.
(Falco, Thu 20 Jan 2011, 23:58, 1 reply)