When I was little,
about 9 or 10, we went to visit the new house we'd just bought and were about to move into. The house had fallen into a state of disrepair, seeing as the previous owner was a very sweet old widow who didn't do much in the way of keeping the house looking not derelict. After a bit, I was dicking about on the front driveway, when my mother called to me that we were about to head back.

What I failed to realise was that overhanging the driveway was a large tree, which was practically dead and therefore had dropped nice curvy branches all over the driveway entrance. I foolishly stepped on one end of one of these branches, causing the other end to go upwards and for me to trip over said branch, pile-driving hands first into some very sharp and rather questionable looking gravel.

My mother, laughingly ignoring my pleas to take me to the hospital to get butterfly stitches, despite a similar incident a few years previously and a similarly shocking amount of blood, applied Savlon magic spray and a small patch of gauze, adhered with some tape.

The result? A rather ominous looking black bit in the palm of my hand. We have no idea what it is, but we're guessing muscle. And, miraculously, no infection!
(aedowin, Sun 23 Jan 2011, 18:22, Reply)