I hate public transport.
Last year after a shift at work and with the Chubby on holiday with friends I catch the last night bus home. Where I live in Forrin land EVERYONE is an F1 driver this also includes bus drivers. So as I near my stop I stand up press the bell and start to put my stuff away (mp3 etc), where I live is not far from the beach so being a saturday evening there was loads of traffic on the opposite side making their way home. I ring the bell and seconds later I am airborne, I didn't have to believe I could fly I was doing it, until I hit the floor, now, I was stood at the last door of a bendy bus, I remember it all so clearly, my face and body sliding along the filthy floor and then along that metal mesh thing in the middle of the bus, my flip flops flying in a perfect arc over my head, my mobile smashing to pieces a mans hand smacking me in the face as he tried to stop me and then landing in a heap at the bottom of the bus. I was bloodied, bruised, had huge friction burns all over my chest and was in a lot of pain, but the icing on the cake; Not one person tried to help a few people even stepped over me to get off to see why the bus had hit the brakes (a bike had been riding in the middle of the road between the traffic when a car turned and hit it into our side of the road, that was a mega ouch, the blood, bleurgh. He was alive and wailing but looked like he had split open his foot). I got up found my mobile and shoes and sat on a chair to regain myself, the bus driver comes to me and says 'ok get off the bus now, we can't go any further.' I just went home and cried.
(Bababoon, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 19:37, 6 replies)

Where to begin...
Having a skeleton made of finest Wensleydale* I'm no stranger to broken bones. So far my tally is 5 wrists, two ribs, foot, ankle, hip, skull, and so many toes that it's not even a trip to the docs any more.
Heck on my last set of dental xrays there were two shadow lines running from my remaining canines** to my eyesockets, at some point I'd broken my face...

But even the sick nauseous horror of a shattered forearm pales into insignificance beside the suicide inducing agony of trapped spinal nerves.

Just a tiny shift in one vertebra, or the minutest extra calcium deposit and some part of the body lights up as if Torquemada himself was scrubbing your freshly flayed flesh with brillo pads dipped in lemon juice and wired to the national grid.

And there's nothing you can do about it, for days or weeks on end. Sleep becomes nothing more than a few moments of drugged unconsiousness, food tastes of nothing but the pain caused by moving your jaw, and the painkillers say you can't have any beer.

Fuck that for a laugh, sez I. Sweet sweet alcohol kills the pain, and I shall hie myself (slowly) to the nearby pub and make damn sure I'm not hurting any more.
The first part of the plan goes well. I'm stood near the bar, I have a pint and so far nothing bad has happened. The evening is so agony free that I'm even wondering if the walk has untrapped my nerves.
Better still some chums arrive in the pub, and we're all set for a night of great happiness.
Until one of them turns to me, says "Bloody hell mate, It's been ages! Good to see you" and with a broad smile claps me affectionately on the back...

Bastard.


Also this and this

*Periodic Hyper-Osteo(something or other) means the mineral content of my bones gets moved about a lot, sometimes this results in a bone about 1/2 the mass it should be. Ie crappy.
**Born with two sets each top and bottom, Call me Mr. Fangy
( DukeEuphoria Comes highly reccomended, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 18:50, Reply)

My G-string broke and it sprang into my eyes....
....I guess I should mention that it was a six string guitar.....sorry.
(Dante licked your nipple on, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 18:45, Reply)

Bang
This isn’t the most painful thing I’ve done, but comes way ahead if you to the maths (pain x stupidity).

I was in Finsbury park tube station, standing up one end of the platform, the end where the train first emerges from the tunnel, the end where it’s still going fucking quickly, that’s where I was.

Standing with my feet near the edge of the platform in a bit of a dream world, I looked down and noticed a loose shoe lace. I started to crouch down and lean forward to do it up..... I woke up strapped in a stretcher being carried up the spiral staircase.

I’d tried to stop the tube train with my head.
( Ring Of Fire A petty, drooling belming butthurt retard., Tue 3 Aug 2010, 17:15, 8 replies)

I once opened a wine bottle.
Ok, not too exciting really, but let me explain.

It was a drunken night, and some how some one had broken the bloody corkscrew. Now, from a kid, I have called this 'E.T'. You know the one, the corkscrew with the oval head, and 2 little arms down the side. The thing was, the little arm things did not work. Goodness knows how, but it bloody worked 2 bottles ago, but it sure as buggery did not now. When you pushed down on the little arms after the screw is firmly in the cork, all there was was a clanking sound. But -I thought to myself- it is in there now, what should I do. Its the only corkscrew I have! I know, put the bottle between my knees, and pull as hard as I can on the device, therefore pulling the cork out. Easy!

I tugged! Nothing. I tightened the grip on my knees, folded my hands around 'E.T'. And strained, and strained, then... POP. AAAAAARRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! The cork had come out, but the sharp edge of the corkscrew landed firmly on my gums, cutting them real deep. Literally *this* close to hitting and knocking out a good 3 front teeth.

It tished, blood everywhere. Never felt anything like it. I could rub my tongue into the groove, and make little flappy bits of gum come away. It took ages to rinse my mouth out. Gnarly.

So let that be a lesson, always have a backup corkscrew, and never attempt anything like that EVER!
( @RBFesquire Good luck b3ta, was nice knowing you. So long., Tue 3 Aug 2010, 17:00, 5 replies)

Small fish, big pain.
No one ever tells you about Weaver Fish. They live in the sea abound the British coastline, burying themselves in the sand so you can't see them.
I trod on one when I was about 8 years old. Its sharp and poisonous spine stuck into my toe like a hypodermic. The pain was excruciating. My toe was painful for years after wards and slightly paralyzed. So,if you want to go swimming in the sea, at places like Bournmouth and Weymouth, wear plastic shoes. Weaver Fish are little buggers!
(Woofie, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 16:59, 3 replies)

My hand surgeon doubled as a plastic surgeon, so I should've gotten a twofer on boobs and functioning opposable appendages!
Ah, gin! The inevitability of turning one’s self into a morose whirligig of bleeding agony is juuuuuuust masochistic enough to keep us revisiting this roguish drink. I am that delicious juniper berry swill’s silly little dancing monkey, and I pay for it.

After getting well and truly ginned to the tits at a friend’s party, I thought, well, balls to maturity and self-respect. What I mostly wish to do is get on this child’s swing and wind myself up like a corkscrew! I wound, and I wound and, wheeeeeeeeeeeee! I twirled to let go, just like I used to do when I was a kid.

Only, as a kid, I wasn't idiot enough to stick my thumb in the chain. I think the lack of gin made me much smarter back then.

As I twirled, my thumb remained relatively stable in place. I twisted my thumb around, oh, a couple of times. By golly, that hurt. But there was gin to drink, so I put off going to the hospital until morning.

With the new day came the dawning that my thumb was a purple zeppelin affixed perilously to my hand; floppy, upside down and pointing in the wrong direction. I had dislocated it. I had torn all sorts of really important bits. I had a spiral fracture. I got the inevitable stabilising screws, cast and mind-altering drugs.

The very next weekend was Easter, and Easter meant Gin for Jesus. After a couple of aforementioned mind-altering drugs and some gin – I had since forgiven that handsome juniper nectar - in my friend’s yard, drugs dictated that climbing a tree would be the best possible plan of action. One-handed and yet holding a gin & tonic, I got about 6 feet up into the tree, until I fell...

…breaking my other thumb.

I genuinely spent 2 months of my life in a constant state of ‘thumbs up’. It ain’t the pain, my gathered progenies, which is the moral of this story. It’s the fear of looking like a morbidly uncool Fonzie which should keep you away from gin.


(TheSnark oh, c'mon, like you didn't see me coming, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 16:14, 4 replies)

Airbags HURT!!!!
I've been pretty lucky when it comes to driving, having only had a couple of small prangs in over 25 years with no real ouchies at all. This all changed two years ago....

I was minding my own business driving down the A49 in Warrington (Winwick Road for those who know the area). No this road goes past Warrington College and on the day in question, I was driving past at kicking out time at a steady 40mph (ish) when I was distracted by the rather pert cheeks on a young student wandering along the pavement on my side of the road. When I say distracted, what I actually meant was I craned my neck in the style of a barn owl, all the better to have a look at the front of the vision in tiny shorts.

My curiosity satisfied, I turned to face in the direction on travel only to see the back of a shiny new Astra looming... I had about half a oneosecond to react and turned the wheel through about a quarter of a turn to avoid the car.

Now airbags are designed to protect the head and torso in the event of a crash. In the event, my arms which would have been in the perfect position for the airbag to inflate between them and give me a lovely kiss and save my life were crossed over the wheel. My left forearm was clean broken and my wrist smacked me dead centre on the forehead knocking me out cold.

Now most of this happened in a tiny fraction of a second - the ouchie came when I came to, and used my broken arm to undo the seatbelt. I never knew how shiny bones were when they are poking through the skin and I always thought bone marrow was dark and tasty like it is in a lamb chop and not red and gooey.....

I passed out again and waited patiently for the ambulance.
(penrose your dog's got tits, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 15:57, 10 replies)

Going for a walk
Not too long ago, at one of those parties where BBC 1Xtra provides the soundtrack and large quantities of tequila prevent CaptainBalbi from trying to find any station playing Talking Heads at 5am, my good friend who I shall call Mark (for that is his name) decided to 'just pop out for a walk'.

Mark was, shall we say, enhanced? Or rather, so thoroughly battered that Harry Ramsdens would have refused to serve him with a slice of lemon for an over heavy application of batter. With polo crusts of powder around each nostril and clutching a bag of small excitable awful tasting 'breathmints', he went off for his walk. The place had a large set of patio doors, the kind that are usually highly polished and cleaned to provide hilarity involving small pets and b3ta posters. Mark calmly opens the doors, and steps outside to take the air.

Here's where the problem began, dear reader. For we weren't downstairs. No, we were upstairs, and the patio doors led out onto a roof terrace. Mark wanders across the roof terrace, hops the wall onto the ridge of the roof opposite and potters along. And slips. And falls. *THUD*. No sound.

"fuckspangles!" says I, and hares it downstairs to find him endeavouring to light a cigarette with two gashes in his face and a left elbow that made him look like Popeye after a visit to a Spinich cannery.

Three breaks around the elbow, one along the forearm, eight stitches in the chin, seven on the forehead, case of concussion and some surgery - Mark's currently got 6 months off booze, fags and anything else.

So, I kept the tequila.

*pop*

Length? About two inches outward from where the elbow is normally.
(CaptainBalbi, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 15:36, 1 reply)

Lego Explosion.
We have all trodden on lego, thence to do the idiot dance. A malicious fate, coupled with a lack of foresight, meant I had to up the ante...

I was very much into castle lego - creating ever larger, every sturdier casements and towers; by the end of it I was producing complexes that Bin Laden could bounce petulant planes off of.

The way I tested the durability? Why, by hurling marbles at my latest creation from the other side of the room.

I'm sure you've seen where this is going, but it genuinely never occurred to me until far too late: having a carpet strewn with slippery marbles/lego bits is not a good idea.

It was a hot day in summer; I was just in shorts, and I had just finished demolishing. I stood up, trod on a stray marble (which hurts a lot by the way) and went face-forward into my own scale model of Hiroshima. Those bits of lego you've trodden on? Well, they were all embedded agonisingly in my lanky, 15year old torso. The highlight was one of the four-high one-square lego pillars jabbing me right under my left nipple. It stang.

Also, let me assure you that crushing a marble between two ribs is quite an incredibly unpleasant sensation.

No apologies for length, nor that I was still playing with castle lego at 15. So there.
(IChewCandlewax, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 15:15, Reply)

I once snapped my banjo string
whilst fingering a minor
(TheColonel, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 15:10, 5 replies)

My wife has had three children
And now I realise I have never felt any pain at all in my whole life. In the light of childbirth I now see that no matter what I've bruised, broken or gashed it didn't *really* hurt despite what it felt like at the time.

I did wince mightily though when I read Aron Ralston's book, where he describes how he had to hack off his own forearm with a blunt Leatherman after it got trapped beneath a boulder in a Utah canyon. The book's called "Between a rock and a hard place", though a more accurate title would be: "If I'd told someone where I was going I'd still be able to juggle."
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 14:40, 3 replies)

The little blighter
I was lucky enough to get this little chap inside me, on a trip to the jungle:



Now, that doesn't seem so bad. And actually, it's not, it's a little scratchy feeling with movement. It's painful in a needle left in the shirt kind of way - so no drama there. Consider it organic acupuncture.

Now, the problem starts when you get a doctor with precious little time on his hands whose never seen such a thing. On day one he half-heartedly administered a dab of vaseline to the breathing hole and a bandage. Anyone with experience of a botfly knows for sure that this won't work.

So on day two, I arrived and he couldn't see it. The solution? Get the scalpel out! And for some reason he didn't appear to know how to use anaesthetic either (well, I suppose he was more academic, this being the School of Tropical medicine, than he was a surgeon) so he just squirted some ONTO the wound and then started cutting.

After a few excruciating minutes he gave up because all the blood was getting in the way and he couldn't find it. He also said he was nervous of getting too close to my lungs.

A few days later a dentist friend of mine got it out properly, after we'd done some research. It's easy, no pain required.

But a couple of months ago I watched my partner give birth. Frankly, nothing I've experienced was like that... women are awesome, even if they do cry a lot.
(clopinettes, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 14:27, 7 replies)

Camping
When I was 14 or so, I picked up a red hot brick that had been sitting on the camp fire. I didn't realise this at first but a mate had set me up an asked me if I could put the brick back to surround the open fire so we could put a grill on top. I picked the brick up and walked towards the campfire, after a second or two I had realised that this brick had been cooking on there fire for sometime and just dropped the brick on the floor. He thought it was hilarious, I was close to tears. This was my first night of camping and I just wanted to go home. Blisters/burns on every digit.

The following year camping again with the same group of mates, this time I fell off a swing and landed on my face cracked my front tooth. Utter agony again and happened the first day I had got there also.
(Headsbollockskuntz, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 14:12, Reply)

bendy arm
When I was about 10, I was pissing around on our bunk beds, and while on the top bunk I put my arm underneath the side bar to reach down to something my brother was passing up to me. However I over balanced and fell off the top bunk, with my arm still under the bar. Both my ulna and radius bones snapped and I was left hanging off the side of the bed and suspended by my now u-shaped arm. I fell down to the floor with my arm flopping about... absolutely horrific. My dad is a doctor and my mum is a nurse, and both were properly freaked out after coming into a room with me and my brother screaming... I think they expected us to be fighting, and not that my arm was now pointing to hong-kong!

After 6 weeks in plaster, I was playing at the local summer youth thing, I'd literally had my arm out of plaster for 1 day and I fell over and it broke again. 12 weeks in plaster across the whole of the summer holiday wasn't fun!
(jonny_power boom chika wah wow, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 14:06, Reply)

Exposing the dangers of Duck Duck Goose
This is my first post, but conveniently, it's also the story that most people know me for. For example, even though I was the woman's captain of a university sports club, pretty much all the members now refer to me as "that Duck Duck Goose girl". In fact if you do know me, this will instantly out me, so it might restrict the chance of future stories of sexual deviancy and intoxicant adventures.

Cast your mind back two summers. I'd moved in with my then-boyfriend to a beautiful house, cleaned it a little bit and then immediately started a summer job with a language travel company in Brighton. I spent the next eight weeks frantically running around after a variety of European students trying to teach them a little grammar, whilst hoping they wouldn't get knocked down by a car, drown in the sea or find themselves lost in the deepest depths of Moulsecoomb late at night. Eight weeks of this took the inevitable toll; I was severely behind on the washing up, I never really found a chance to unpack, I hadn't had a real conversation with my boyfriend for months, and I was therefore really, really looking forward to that day in August when I could stop checking my mobile for urgent calls about train times and would use a participle without mentally querying its formation.

August the 7th 2008, three days before my contract finally finished, the students had completed their end-of-course tests and it was a beautiful sunny day. I took the executive decision to reward them with an afternoon of typical English games in the college garden-area. British Bulldog: went off without incident. Stuck In The Mud: perhaps a little too contact-friendly for a group of hormonal teenagers, but hey, the French pretty much invented frottage anyway, who am I to deny them? But maybe it's time for a quiet little sit-down game.

So, after herding them into a giggling circle on the ground, I proceed to demonstrate the finer points of Duck Duck Goose. Unfathomably blonde Swedish girl? Duck. Messy-haired Italian skater kid? Duck. Tubby uncompetitive Austrian goth? Ah, we have a winner! Goosing the child in the only way that won't immediately violate my CRB form, I start to run in the opposite direction as they blunder to their feet and hesitantly wobble round the circle. Nearing the vacant spot, I start to do that thing where you slow to a mocking walk, punctuated by a few skips for effect. Oh, but shit! They've built up speed and look like they might just get there first. In a hasty dash, I lunge for the gap and skid into it in true baseball style.

SNAP.

This is the worst sound I have ever heard in my life. The second worst sound is that of 15 students collectively gasping at my foot, which is now turned 90 degrees to my knee in a gruesome attempt to mimic Mary Poppins. The bone is gently poking out of that mound in the middle of your ankle, and there are little drops of blood welling at the corners. Fuck. Fuck fuck cunty bollocking arsemonkeys. This is all unfortunately vocalised, immediately contravening all my good efforts not to teach them any bad language, but definitely bringing a sense of proportion to the situation. Whatever happens, mustn't cry in front of the children. Brave face on, I remind them to call 999 (no, NOT 911, we've gone over this before) and the boys proudly go to flag down the ambulance while the girls huddle round my face end, far from the offending appendage, and consolingly offer me a Penguin bar. The ambulance comes, gives me nitrous oxide (ahhh), takes me into hospital, medics wrench my foot into the correct position, I get surgery the next day with 8 pins in one side and two screws through the other. Yes, I broke both bones. According to a surgeon much later, the X-rays showed that my bone had actually been smashed by the impact of my fall as though it was a Crunchie bar.

Also, here is a picture of my ankle post-op. It's pretty gruesome, like some sort of extreme piercing, and there's the same on the other side but longer, about 15cm.

tinypic.com/r/rr2vqh/3

And here-in lies the rub. Because a broken ankle isn't that much to deal with, right? Everyone does it. Apparently, when I do it, I do it thoroughly. It took me until Christmas to walk without crutches, and two years later I have developed post-traumatic osteoarthritis which means that I still walk with a limp, have the largest cankle you've ever seen on a 23-year old, and the bone has grown back over the joint massively restricting my ability to walk or even stand up straight.

Because of the latter problem, I have to go into hospital tomorrow for an athroscopy, and they're removing the metalwork at the same time. I'm kind of scared, which the rational side of my brain scoffs at since I know general anaesthetic is practically risk-free and unlike some people I do trust the NHS... but still. This operation won't fix the pain I get when I walk (this type of arthritis is pretty much untreatable) but it might allow me to run, which I haven't been physically able to do for two years - all I manage is a lumbering gait which makes dashing to catch a bus even more of an embarrassing experience. So the real ouch wasn't the break itself (that was numbed by shock and the wonderfully quick administration of nitrous) but the fact that I'm only 23, and I will be unable to walk without pain for pretty much the rest of my life. Luckily I work as a carer, which is great for putting some perspective on your own health-worries.

Anyway, if anyone knows what I can do to get them to let me keep all the screws they take out of my bones tomorrow, please let me know; particularly if you have any follow-up ideas on a suitably gruesome artwork I could make with them...
(slitherytove, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 13:54, 7 replies)

bigmeuprudeboy post
Reminded me about a story I read in the Metro this morning, massive ouch!

www.yorkshirepost.co.uk/news/Woman-39rammed-stiletto-heel-through.6453295.jp
(bROKEN aRROW PUA HVI Master, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 13:24, 4 replies)

I'm sure other Dads will identify with this
A couple of Christmas' ago, we bought our daughter a small battery-powered quad bike.

As is the norm, I forgot all about it until Xmas morning when I was called upon to assemble the bugger as quickly as possible.

Bypassing the instructions, I assembled it according to what 'looked right' only to find out when I'd finished that there were two sets of wheels both of slightly different size. Having already incorrectly hammered them into place, I retreat to the instructions to be informed that I should take extra care assembling the wheels as once they're on, they cannot be removed. Gah!

This is now 30 minutes into assembly and junior BinDipper is getting restless. I ignore the instructions and using the back of the hammer try to prise all four wheels off. I'm successful with three, but the fourth is proving stubborn, so ensuring no-one is near I put all my effort into it and promptly imbed the claw of the hammer into my kneecap.

Unimaginable pain, and my god the screaming.

Turns out none of the family is surprised, as I have a habit of being useless at such things.
(BinDipper, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 12:56, Reply)

Repeating accident
I used to get the train to school, and once or twice a year would see the exact same accident and it was always the same type of person, a woman aged around 50+. This was back in the day of British rail and the old slam door trains, there is a yellow line painted along the platform edge, which is slightly further than the doors can open. Most people have the common sense to stand behind the line as a train with doors swinging open approches the platform. But these old women clearly dont have much common sense and you already know whats going, SMACK, years of bad posture and a slight hunch back means the head sticks forward further than the rest of the body. Id always see the same women with the same injury, a big dent right across the face completely knocked out on the floor. I also think this was before the day of no win no fee, always stand behinf the line.
(sex drugs and jellied eels, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 12:41, Reply)

Distance and ouches
I once had a burst ovarian cyst and kidney stones at the same time. That didn't hurt as much as the hideous and sickening tropical worm that masked the pain of both. The best part was being air-freighted out of the remote community I worked in by the Royal Flying Doctors. Being strapped in a guerney, huffed up on morphine and flying over the desert was wild!

Standing outside the hospital, sucking back a durry and holding up my morphine drip like a whacked out statue of liberty, whilst dressed in the back flappy hospital gown tends to rank as a low moment of ouchie, though.

Length? About 500km to the nearest hospital. Yah for first posts!!
(boozehound is drinking your bar dry, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 12:35, 2 replies)

Stiletto heel- bumhole-likely story-BIG ouch
An ex of mine was a big fan of those long spikey bastard heels that made a clacking sound when walked in and also had the annoying habit of leaving them lying around on my bedroom floor.
One afternoon after a particularly frenzied and proglonged sex session I found myself lying in bed reflecting on the recent coupling when, while the young lady in question was in the bathroom sorting out the awful mess Id made of her, I decided I wanted to put the telly on.
Leaning over to my my bedside table to get the remote I misjudged the distance completely resulting in me leaning too far and falling out of bed-
'I see' says the reader 'thats hardly a particularly ouchy moment is it fuck face?'
thing is I somehow manged to fall bottom first directly onto the upturned heels previously mentioned -impaling myself and also uttering a quite hideous, loud and pitiful scream.
I still graphically remember the look on this poor girl's face as she returned from the bathroom to find her new boyfriend writhing in agony with one of her high heeled shoes inserted into his anus.

It took me hours to convince her it was actually an accident too.
( bigmeuprudeboy is using powerpoint or paint...have MERCY, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 12:05, 6 replies)

just had my wisdom teet h out
this sucks balls!!!!!!!!!
( SteveFrench Cardio is for homo's. do you even lift bro?, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 12:05, 4 replies)

I got a paper cut skinning up at a Suzanne Vega concert once.
It was quite sore.
( Je suis un vagabond is an unfunny, up your own arse middle class knob, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 12:01, 4 replies)

Various injuries through the years;
-Stabbed in the shoulder with a pencil by my brother, though it was my fault, I got him in the eye first. Still have a little blue tattoo from it too.
-Had a 3” splinter in-between my big and second toe which snapped off under the skin.
-Stepped on a few floor boards with nails sticking out of them, straight through a boot into my feet. Queue comedy shambling about with board stuck to your foot trying to get it out.
-The ubiquitous stepping on lego and plugs (always hurts way more than it should)
-Broke a leg falling down the stairs (blamed my brother, even though it wasn’t his fault – I was a little shit)
-Dislocated a shoulder on the first day of a skiing holiday.
-Slipped a disc in my back while picking up my shoes-so very lame.
-Been concussed by my brother (again causing trouble) while fighting each other with lengths of rolled up carpet. Eyes glazed over and couldn’t stop laughing manically for a couple of minutes, then a headache for a couple of days.
-Dropped a log onto my big toe, the nail went black and I pulled it off. A weird experience that one, always reminds be of the movie the fly.
-Don’t know how I manage it but a couple of times when I have been running up stairs with bare feet I somehow manage to catch my big toe on a step, then I manage to bring my whole weight down on top of my toe that is now bent under my foot. Amazed that I have never broken it before.
-Stepped on a sea urchin while on holiday, who knew their spines are barbed so really hard to remove?
And the classic I can always find all shin high objects in my house in the dark.
(swooler, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 11:45, 1 reply)

On the subject of motorcycle accidents
Vigilante Man's post has reminded me of a particularly bad accident that a friend of mine had on (or rather off) his motorcycle.

Late afternoon on a warm summers day in rural Surrey. James, for that was his name, is making the most of the weather and filling the surrey hills with the ragged, violent sound of his Suzuki Rm-Z450. The appealing image of a long stretch of dual carriage way means he has the chance to open up the gears and suddenly finds himself hitting 95mph.

To his instant horror, he sees an elderly woman step out infront of him. Luckily, she has the sense of mind to dart back onto the pavement/embankment almost as quickly as she stepped out. However, her 2 king charles spaniels had taken their cue to cross the road and had continued into the path of the 95mph thunderclapper.

James struck the first spaniel, sheering it clean in half, he continued through the lead of the second dog which became tangled in the wheel of the bike, promptly tightening and beheading the poor animal in a flurry of ears and fur. At this point James flew over the handlebars and was found unconscious with a broken collar bone, shattered hand and a burn the size of his back, 90 metres away from his vehicle. Lucky to be alive.

Dogs and Motorbikes - not a good match.

Ouch indeed!
(Eggstrovert isnt patronising you...honest..., Tue 3 Aug 2010, 11:35, 2 replies)

Got a few, but this one is the most fun.
It's all comical, no lasting damage people.
December 13th, 2002. I'm 15 back then, just turned it yesterday! I have my birthday money, time to go off to the local arts and crafts store to purchase one of my last Christmas gifts, a Sketchbook for my sister. She's quite the artist, always inspired me, and I always would sneak into her room and look through her drawings. I noticed she was running out of pages, and I figured by Christmas she's be right due for a new one. I never had a ton of money, so it seemed the sensible present to give.
The local Craft store I prefer is a good mile away, and I had to wait until the parents were out since I wasn't suppose to be out that late in the weather. So I was about to set out and a good friend rang. She was a good person, a bit overly spirited, but fine. She came with. It was a tad snowy in Western New York, little cold. We traversed the massive snowbanks in parking lots and snowed in sidewalks until we got across from the shopping plaza that had the store. Time to cross near the light or it's dangerous! Union Road is at that point, about 5 lanes due to the emerging turning lane. We start to cross, she thinks "excellent, let's skip across" Grabs my arm. I was about 80 lbs then, and she was tall like an amazon. I was dragged, no balance whatsoever. There was one lane I could not see. I planned to stop there and look in the solid line of traffic (red light had stopped traffic good) to see if it was safe. We had not told each other our plans, she went across the street dragging me like a rag doll. She freaks, lets go and throws up her arms in surprise.
This second here kinda felt long. She let go and I was dragging on one foot in a half hop trying to catch up with her. So I'm now falling forward uncontrollably. I turn the umbrella I'm holding up like it'll save me like merry poppins as I fall into the 5th lane, the turning lane.

thwunk. I hit the car. I hit the pavement. I bounce twice. The whole time I manage to keep the umbrella upright. It's my mom's; she can't know I took it.
Friend freaks, thinks I'm dead, despite my ninja-roll off the pavement and onto the soggy ground. I crawl and stand upright. A distraught 50-something handicapped woman that hit me is crying and trying to call the police for my sake. Friend is HYSTERICAL. I thank the woman for her concern but I'm fine. Grab my friend's arm and hobble off.
I feel okay, no big deal. But as I walk into the plaza, something isn't right, can't breathe. I'm hobbling a bit, not worries, just a limp. My knee is swelling and my hip joint is a tad sore. I get into the art store and walk towards the sketchbooks. I realize something very important. I've been in the snow, the freezing cold for over an hour now. I'm not wearing a coat, just a heavy shirt. I realize why I was not hurt. I was totally numb from the cold. In the course of about 10 seconds, I'm overrun with burning throbbing pain all over. I shuffle to the register, buy the sketchbook, and shuffle out. Spend about 10 minutes in a snow bank on my side, and part ways with my friend at the same intersection where I was hit. She's the opposite way from there. Walk home was REAL slow, I had a bad limp. And each breath felt like a kick in the ribs. Turns out when I got home it was a lot worse than anticipated. I hid the gift and went in the basement to use the computer (Ironically, to read newsletter. Yes, I lurked for 8 years.)
Wow, I felt on FIRE in normal temps. Turns out I bruised a great deal of ribs(and my ass was purple) and permanently knackered my right hip and knee to a point. Tried to hide it from parents and limped around clutching a cue-stick from the billiard table for a few days. Luckily, my parents for some INSANE reason thought I was faking despite never having any injuries in the past of note. School on monday was rough. People chalked it up to "Friday the 13th!!"
No major lasting effects 8 years later. Knee pops when I stand up with no pain, only lasting problem is that my hip causes severe pain at some times when I sit or stand, or during sex when I'm up top. So I guess my friend indirectly fudges the old sex life a bit. My man has to usually shift me manually because I'm locked in the painful position.
Thinking back on the pain, it did hurt a lot. I only remember the two bounces on the pavement, not much of hitting the hood. But the cold negated most of it. Did tell my parents of it. ....last year. They yelled at me for shopping without them. Not for the accident. Still never saw a doc. They're a bit prickish about old injuries.

Appologies for length. No cock jokes. First QOTW post in the 9 or so years I've been around here.
(LakAttack, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 11:26, 1 reply)

Top and bottom jaw broken
A few years ago, to keep my teeth straight, the dentist recommended I had my jaw Re-aligned, as i had a slightly (but not overly stupidly) protruding bottom jaw.

several consultations later it was decided I would have my top jaw re-aligned aswell.

Basically they broke my bottom jaw, removed bone, pushed it back. Then removed my top jaw, pushed it forward and screwed it into place.

They then wired it together and secured it.

I woke, to find my face completely swollen, unable to eat or drink, and spluttering blood from the gaps in my Teeth braces.

As I was on Morphine, I got nauseous. Inevitably I started to puke the 1-2 pints of blood I had swallowed during the op, but I found I couldn't. There was no where for the puke to go. Instead it would seep out between the gaps in my mouth and at the back of the teeth, and would mostly back up and drain out of my nose. This takes alot longer than you may think. The urge to want to breath whilst liquid is draining from your nasal cavity was horrible.

I cannot begin to tell you the panic that took over me, I couldn't speak, for not only was my mouth wired shut, but my throat, mouth and face were swollen tight, so any noise I did was but a whisper of a moan. So when I felt an urge to be sick, I couldn’t call for help, beginning to be sick merely made the whisper come to an abrupt gloopy and smelly stop.

Now, at this point as I had choked a few times, I realised I either controlled the panic associated with puking, or I choked.

I remember a nurse sitting on the end of the bed for a fair few hours with a pair of pliers in his hand. It turns out - they kept these handy should things go badly wrong, they could release my jaw and allow me to breath.

After 2 days I was handed a mirror, What I saw looked much like a Picasso painting. As I looked closer - I noticed a small thread sticking out of either side of my mouth. Taped on either cheek.

It turns out this was a thread that went through my tongue and secured either side to stop me swallowing my tongue. This actually didn't hurt, but the removal did... because it got stuck inside my tongue.

It took two nurses to secure and pull it from my mouth.

Apart from those first 2 weeks it was plain sailing, apart from loosing a shed load of weight. About 20% of my body weight (I only weighed 10.5 stone before the op)

Teeth are pretty straight too.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 3 Aug 2010, 10:59, 6 replies)

Failing to stop
First post, so be gentle...

Many moons ago (I was 17), I managed to come off my bike in the middle of one of the busiest roundabouts in Yeovil (by the Pen Mill Hotel in Yeovil for those who are interested).

This was caused by me failing to stop at the roundabout, and a stupid driver failing to indicate. I hit the front wing of her car and flew through the air, sans bike, at an appreciable rate of knots. After coming to in the middle of the roundabout, I was taken to the local hospital (wearing lycra) to be patched up.

End results were mild concussion, fractured thumb (doc said I was lucky it didn't shatter), various cuts (including parallel ones on the inside of my right knee), an an ankle that clicks intermittently when I walk.

On the plus side, the A+E nurse was very cute.
(Vigilante Man weeps because you're stupid., Tue 3 Aug 2010, 10:42, 6 replies)