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This is a question Scars with history

You've all got scars: they're nature's little reminders not to be so damned stupid next time. My favourite is the 1/4" round hole in the back of my right hand, created when I was 7 by my best friend putting a manure-covered gardening fork "away".

Tell us the stories behind your scars. With photos if possible.

(, Fri 4 Feb 2005, 10:00)
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This question is now closed.

When I was born
Some doctor cut my foreskin off and left a circular scar on the end of my nob. He also cut a tube out of my stomach that left a belly button. Other than that I am relatively scar free, except for two marriages.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2005, 1:58, Reply)
I have some
One on my hand from an ant. No honest, a Safari Ant, 1/4 inch jawspan. Chewed on me for ages. Long story.

One on my knee where I hurdled a barbed-wire fence, and missed catching the top of my kneecap and almost ripping it off my leg. Short story.

And then there's the stab wound on my back... but that's a stupid story.

(there are more, but those are the main events)

You really want pictures?
(, Tue 8 Feb 2005, 1:06, Reply)
My scars are jumped-up feeble ingrates
cultivating a healthy attitude towards danger (running away) and hermetic lifestyle has left my skin white, unblemished, and with that fluorescent sheen that comes only from living in air-conditioned boxes under sickly yellow strip lighting.

White 1cm line on my right hand below a knuckle. One boring summer day aged about 8 I decided to _borrow_ a large Stanley knife from Dads toolbox and try carving totem poles from bits of log. Armed thusly I ran full-pelt to the garden in search of bits of dead tree to brutalise. What I got was savaged by a rosebush that somehow managed to rip my hand open while scooting past. Cue walking into kitchen, bleeding over the floor, clutching a large knife and claiming a rose thorn did it..

Forked Eyebrow. Parents claim this is from stealing scissors as a baby, then lying on stomach staring at them. Apparently I then fell forward, missing my eye by an inch, slashing my face and needing to go to hospital. Which begs the question wtf were they doing watching me lie there playing with scissors?

The intricate lattice of angry red lines extending up my arms like lacy vamp gloves are the ongoing handiwork of Ibis, the feral lynx-cat who treats hands as things to be chewed. Along with books, phones, speaker wires, other cats.. no wonder the bastards so fat.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2005, 0:44, Reply)
When I was about seven
we lived in a house which had a long conservatory with cold, hard paving slab floor. One day me and brother find old pram in there which was going to be sold.

I get in, brother pushes it down conservatory at speed. Several times. Until it tips up and I crack my head on the floor, bloodying the pram in the process.

Funny thing is, as the damage was done to the back of my head, they couldn't use stiches so they used... superglue. With water.
(, Tue 8 Feb 2005, 0:23, Reply)
When I was 6
years old, me and my sister were getting the old wallpaper off my walls with knives, as you do. she decided it'd be fun to kick me in the shins because I called her a stupid head, and so I chased after her flailing a knife around like a madman. She ran into the bathroom and slammed the door, and I hit the door, with my hand up, the other hand when smashing straight into the other one, with the knife ofcourse. It went right through my hand cutting the bone for my thumb in half and the point of the knife came out the other end.

I now have a scar on one side of my hand, and another at the other side where the point came out. It sucked.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 23:26, Reply)
My Grotesque Markings.
Ohhhhhhhhh iv got lots of lovley scars due to teenage neglience.

14,smashed on a half bottle of lambrini, came in and fell on a set of white hot hair straightners which clamped in between my wrists and left me with pus filled blisters for months.

18- First night living in guernsey, went out with my new roomates, cus i was comatose and thought it would be ok to go down the beach. wearing 7 inch stillettos, heel caught in beach steps and went flying down the stairs and ripped a good 4 inchs deep of shin out me,

Three weeks later, was fell head first out shower and ripped open my other shin. Still got the massive dent.

Four years old. Mother drops on my head in a bathtup (unintentially, accorrding to her i was squirming or something) and split my head open, got a one inch scar on my eyebrow.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 23:11, Reply)
Good Thing I Didn't Swear on My Dad Cuz He'd Be Dead Right Now
Am ironing on the floor.

For what reason I don't know, I think my roomate had absconded the ironing board.

I was smoking a cigar and was very very very drunk. Was also wearing shorts.

One of my friends comes into the room flailing wildly and doing his best Jim Carey impersonation. I get distracted, put the iron onto my leg instead of the pair of pants laid out on the floor.

Cue a nice iron-shaped scar (steam holes and everything) on my calf.

It's purty.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 22:20, Reply)
Last one, I swear
Lots of acid.
Thought I was going to die and come back as a sound wave.

Decide the only way to keep myself from dying is to inflict pain upon myself.

Nice puckered scars on my upper legs, each about an inch long, lovingly carved into myself with a craft exacto knife.

It must have worked, though.

I didn't turn into a sound wave and was able to speak in complete sentences several hours later.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 22:16, Reply)
Aha! Thought of Another One!!
In the Marine Corps. Am a gung-ho Corporal. Get my belly button pierced in San Francisco one wild weekend. That is against the military rules so I've got to keep quiet about it.

The monday after the crazy sunday wherein I got my navel pierced: I am standing at the edge of the obstacle course, openmouthed, knowing that jumping over stuff on my belly is going to hurt real bad but also knowing I can't make a fuss because then my Captain and Gunny Sgt. will catch on.

The piercing rips quite a bit, gets infected, bleeds quite copiously for such a small wound, and, worst of all, develops a bad odor that persists for about two weeks even though I am laying down twice a day and putting hydrogen peroxide into my belly button.

PS - I am lame and don't have a site but I will provide pics upon request to anyone who wants. (except for the hernia scar - that one is off limits due to the intimate nature of the location)
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 22:14, Reply)
This is a Quick One, I Promise
Last Year: My cat had some weird skin condition that required I bathe her with a special treatment from the vet. Being the consummate pet owner, I insisted on bathing her myself (even though I could have let the vet do it).

The cat was very calm until the water hit her butt and went from still to freakout in about .000025 seconds. I couldn't move quick enough to compensate for this unbelievable show of feline prowress. I let go, she hits the water, lets out a frightening yowl (I should note I am standing in the tub with her) and she decides to use me as a climbing post to get out of the tub.

The result? A scar on my lower left calf, one on my belly and one on my hand. There was also water every-freakin-where.

The vet's response to all of this? "Well...we usually knock them out with a sedative first..."
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 22:09, Reply)
Lots More Scarring Stories from Poughkeepsie
Hand held over stove when younger (to teach me a lesson, I guess?). Third Degree Burn on right hand. This all sounds very tragic and sad but I ended up with a reddish scar across my entire hand that changes color in a very cool way depending on my mood and body temperature.

I call it the "mood scar" and it is way better than a mood ring.

When I get drunk, angry, turned on or am very hot temperature-wise - my whole hand gets bright red on top, all the way up my fingers in a design that looks kind of like a demented island map.

If I get cold or don't feel good or am depressed, it turns purplish.

It's very noticeable all the time and when I was younger and in elementary school, I used to say "I've got POISON IVY AND I AM GOING TO GIVE IT TO YOU!!!!" and chase all the stupid wussy girls around that didn't want to play with me.

Screw them, playing with boys was way more interesting.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 22:04, Reply)
More Fear and Clumsiness in Poughkeepsie
Am in Boot Camp. For the Marines. All gung ho and grungy and running through the woods doing tactical maneuvers with an M-16 (jumping and hiding behind logs and stuff like that). I launch myself like some insane person from a standing to a prone position, so I can go from a vertical tree to a fallen log in one crisp clean militaristic movement. The result? I misjudge the length of my body completely, slam my M-16 down on the log instead of behind it, which then slams my head down onto my M-16's front sight post (it has a little thingy that points up) and the sight post go completely through the skin beneath my lower lip.

I must have made quite a racket, because a drill instructor comes running over to yell at me. I stand up real quick and there I am, in all my glory, blood all over my M-16 and running down my face.

The look of astonishment on my drill instructors face before she could compose herself was magnificent. Despite myself, I laughed maniacally. And, much like the "crabapple tree hill incident", garnered myself a beating (many many many many pushups).

My boyfriend reverently kisses this particular scar all the time.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 21:55, Reply)
Sometimes Fearless, Mostly Just Clumsy
Lived by a big steep road, complete with speed bumps. I was about six years old. Tried to "jump" my pogo stick down the hill. Crashed into a crabapple tree, perfectly round scar on inner right arm.

Deciding the pogo stick did not quite do the job properly, I push my bike to the top of the hill and beyond so I can get a good start and hopefully catch air off the speed bumps. I did catch air off a speed bump (woooo hoooo!) but could not retain balance. Flipped off the bike, did some cool aerial-type freakout, and skidded across the pavement for about 10 feet at a really fast speed. The result? My whole left side got gouged up. But Peter Bailey, the young lad I was in love with, scooped me up in his arms and carried me up the stairs to my apartment. SIGH. That was lovely. Nice scar to this day on my upper upper left thigh.

OK, so the pogo stick didn't work and the bike didn't work, this time I thinking I need to stick to the sidewalk. I get the bright idea to use four skates, put a stiff box on top and sit on the stiff box that is sitting on top of the skates. No steering, no control, box went faster than skates and took off which was pretty cool but I landed in the crabapple tree again. Scar on right hand in the shape of a small triangle.

All right, all right, this damn hill goddamn sucks and I am thinking maybe I shouldn't go down it anymore.

I go and get the cat, dress it up in some baby clothes and a bonnet, stick the cat in a barbie van and climb to the top of the hill and launch the cat down the hill on the sidewalk. Cat wipes out, hits crabapple tree. I race down the hill, very concerned, freaking out, shouting "ALICE!!! ALICE!!!" Cat is a bit woozy. I pick her up and she regains her head a bit and promptly scratches the shit out of me. Scars to both hands as I tried to defend myself. Cat gets launched, I get caught -

Cat gets a bowl of milk and I get a beating. No scars from the beating though.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 21:46, Reply)
The porcupine effect
When I was learning to ride my first motorbike, I would practice in the shipping area of a tire-recapping plant near my home. There was a loading dock at chest level with wooden buffers that trucks would back against to save the paintwork on their bumpers. Needless to say, the buffers were totally splintered and in rather rough condition.

Cue me, describing lazy circles on the tarmac, coming a little bit closer to the buffers on each loop until I saw that I was coming too close, totally forgot where the brakes were, and shunted the bike into the wall below the dock. My chest came into contact with a buffer, and the bike and I went down on the pavement.

Stood up to inspect the damage. My white t-shirt was a mass of wooden splinters and blood. I removed as many splinters as possible before pushing the bike home, and confronting my mother in the living room with a cheery "Hi Ma, do we have any tweezers?"

She immediately told me that I was getting rid of the bike. Of course I didn't, and got into much more imaginative situations with bikes later. And the odd splinter finds its way to the surface every now and then some 35 years later.

Sorry for the length, but I'm old, and nobody listens to me.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 20:07, Reply)
I have a scar on my hand
While I was working at Halfords, some goon decided a great way to store a stanley knife blade was to jam it in the ent of the front desk. I come along, and neatly slice open my hand while walking past it. In some pian and surprise, I did the first thing I could think of. I looked up end expleted violently. Right into a customer's face.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 19:57, Reply)
Scars? I've got plenty, all over my arms.
They look a lot like self harming scars, and i suppose in a way they are.
My friend Aimee has unnaturaly sharp fingernails, and when she gets drunk she uses them in an affectionate catlike way to get attention. She gets drunk very easily.
The reason these scars are sort of self inflicted is because Aimee is very pretty indeed, and I always end up buying her drinks, so she ends up getting drunk and scratching me.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 19:44, Reply)
Cat in heat
Many years ago, I was round a friend's house with my brother. The friend's cat, usually quite a friendly animal, was feeling especially friendly on this occasion, and jumped up on my lap. Being in heat, every time one of us stroked the beast, she yelped and stuck her rump in the air, which my brother found hilarious. After a few strokes, he was laughing like an idiot and stroking the cat much harder than she liked, so she decided to eat my hand.

(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 19:38, Reply)
Scar on My Chinny Chin Chin
Ok, so I grossed you out with getting my lil guy caught in a sliding glass door when I was a wee lad...try this one:

I was in the Fifth Grade which made me about 10 when this lovely event happened.

My family always had horses, so at age 5 I started riding and taking riding lessons. We had this one horse named "Mister" (no, not Mr. Ed) that was a bit of a nag. Anyway, one day, 5 years after starting riding, my Father decides to take me out to the barn and do a trail ride thing and get some lunch.

I figured cool! Lunch. On a horse. So, we got some hamburgers at the drive through of a Wendys near the stables. (nothing quite like riding up to the pick-up window on two horses)

ON the way home I see a turtle on his back...being the good lad I am, I told my Father I was going to dismount and turn the little feller back on his feet. Once on the ground, I let the reins drop to Mister...and he started walking away from me. As I approached him, with the horse walking away from me I started along his left flank to get alongside and recover the reins...but it wasnt to be.

Mister took two quick steps forward, planted his front legs and let fly with his rear legs, catching me in the chest and as my head flew forward I snagged my chin on his horseshoe and split it WIDE open.

Needless to say, I awoke on the ground only vaguely remembering something about a recent view I had of a horses hoof. Dad was hysterical and I was in pain: chest, chin, jaw. In that order. My chin was bleeding profusely, my jaw was broken as was my sternum.

I was like the Junior Marlboro Man two days later when I returned to school...all bandaged up and having to eat jello and pudding for almost a month.

Ah, those happy days of childhood.

Apologies for length.

Sic Semper Tyrannis!

PS(The horse was sold off to the fine folks at Alpo the next day. I get a little tear in my eye each time I use Elmers Glue. MWAH HA HA HA!)
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 19:13, Reply)
Slighty lumpy bit on wrist
This "slightly lumpy bit" was caused by trying to be a smart arse when I was 14 riding a mountainbike with no hands on the handlebars. I swerved towards the kerb, came off the bike and fell (bizzarely) crossed armed onto the edge of the pavement, with the right arm smashing against the edge of the kerb.

Though nothing of it, until several hours later where it hurt like f*ck,and all the veins popped out on end looking a grim red purple swollen colour.

Typically, my Dad was like "Mehh, it's only a sprain"...until the next morning when it looked a sh*tload worse, therefore a trip to A & E was ensured.

It was a "greenstick" fracture, got me out of that stalag called "school" (sic) for two weeks and a bit. Now, that bit rocked, f*ck*ng hated school me.

Oh, and not forgetting a completely seperate occasion where I have shredded both knees falling of a mountainbike (both now crack and creak like f*ck, grim. Knee transplants by default when I'm old and decrepit).


A broken toe caused via running into a concrete ballard full pelt, when the sun was in my eyes playing "tic" when I was in school.

And I get iron burns when ironing clothes weekly by default (besides this, I rock at ironing for a bloke. According to some sexist bint in work). My woman thinks I have some kind of a "self harm" issue with ironing.


There is a moral here: DO NOT get your parents to diagonse a serious injury, they haven't a f*ck*ng clue...and me and irons don't mix well.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 18:58, Reply)
Stupid little brother
When I was 6, I was sleeping on my mom's couch, when I was awakened by the most evil laugh I've ever heard. I opened my eyes to see my baby brother, who was 4 at the time standing over me holding a large, sharp chunk of brass. He grinned when I opened my eyes, then yelled "Die sucker, DIE!!" and proceded to hit me as hard as he could in the face with said piece of metal.

I screamed, jumped up, and ran into the bathroom where my mom was drying her hair after her shower. Mom just looked at me with blood gushing down my face, and said the imortal words "Oh, just hang your head over the side of the tub" and continued drying her hair. I had a shiner for school pictures that year, and I still have the scar in my right eyebrow.

I also have a scar that extends halfway up my right ring finger from raking it along a chain link fence while biking in the St. Jude's Bike-A-Thon the next year. We were a little over an hour from the nearest hospital, and I ended up riding with my best friend's grandmother, since it was faster than taking an ambulance.

I never even cried, but I learned that day that human fat looks just like chicken fat, which is a fact my mom could have lived without. Served her right for the way she had treated me the year before.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 18:43, Reply)
And another from me:
I have a scar right in the middle of that bit right under my nose (the bit where people with cleft palates get that funky split) running nose-to-lip from when I slipped on a Hot Wheels car at a friend's house and landed face first on something, but no-one seems to know what, even those there at the time. All I remember is blacking out mid-air, then coming to in the car four kilometers away bawling my eyes out on the way to the hospital. Since this was well before puberty, I have been and forever will be unable to grow one of those funky Hitler moustaches, or even a full moustache of any sort. Poop.

By the way: Can you stupid fuckpigs replying to people's comments BLOODY STOP DOING IT HERE, YOU KEEP FUCKING THE PLACE UP.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 17:47, Reply)
I've got a scar on my chin
When I was a wee one (4 or thereabouts), I cut my chin open quite badly to the extent that a large flap of chin flesh had to be stitched down again.

The accepted story amongst family is that my brother was chasing me, and that I fell and cracked my chin open on a skirting board.

On reflection, that story is clearly bollocks. How on earth could I crack my chin open on a skirting board without bending my head through ninety degrees???

So, fuck knows how I did it...
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 17:44, Reply)
not me but my dad
who has a nice scar right between his eyes. as a small boy he was walking along the canal in todmorden when a massive lump of metal was pinged at him by an unseen catapult. he staggered about, bleeding, until a nice lady found him and took him home.

"aren't you lucky it missed your eyes?" she said.

"wasn't it lucky it missed your eye?" his mother said, taking him to hospital.

"weren't you lucky?" said the nurse in casualty.

"lucky it didn't get your eye," said the doctor as he stitched it up.

eventually my father snapped. lucky? lucky?? lucky??? i was minding my own business walking along when some cowardly invisible bastard pinged a massive lump of metal at me causing pain, bleeding and scarring. how is that in any way LUCKY?????

he has a point. apologies for length but it's important to girls...
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 17:42, Reply)
Not very impressive..
I have a little scar near my ankle which i usually tell people I got from walking into a nail, being stabbed with a pencil e.t.c. but the sad fact is a fly did it. I had an insect bite on my leg and kept picking it...and picking it...and now it's there forever. Damn.

I also have a hard bit of scar tissue on my bum from falling into a piano whilst rat-arsed. I didn't realize the extent of the damage until the next morning. All the blood vessels had burst and one of my bum cheeks was nearly black. Hurt to walk. Owww.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 17:27, Reply)
Had spent the best part of the 90's going to Pilton and lobbing the fence on a free blag due to being a pauper and needing the money for 'entertainment' ok?

Well after 4 years or so of success I pushed myself too far by sticking a crate of beer in a rucksack and piling over the fence with a rope ladder to assist. Precariously I wobbled at the top of this f**k off fence, jumped, landed like a c**t and heard an almighty snap which didn't register at the time. I went to get up and cross no mans land to this second smaller fence but upon standing watched my foot collapse sideways and a lump of bone/sinew/ligament force its way over the top of my boot. At this point I fainted, woke up in Yeovil Hospital with my very own supply of Diamorphine and a large plaster on my leg. I'd f**ked it so badly the BMJ put photos of the inside in the next edition as they hadn't seen such a mess before.
Cue two 10" scars on either side of my right leg and a reputation as 'that stupid c**t who bunked the fence with 15 kilos of beer on his back'.

Apologies for length (of the fecking scars)
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 17:17, Reply)
not all that bad but i'll post anyway
I have a scar on my neck from where i had a lump removed..." did you try and slit your throat?" is what people usually ask when they see it.
i also have a small piece of pencil graphite embedded in my leg ( it's been there since I was 9 years old) after sharpening a pencil and somehow stabbing myself with it.
my forehead is out of shape, with a small scar, after being tripped whilst running ( school sports) and smashing into a wall ( I was 3 feet away from it).
I also have small scars by the side of my mouth after my grandma's dog repeatedly scraped it's teeth down my face; it had been run over by a car, it's ribs were crushed and he did NOT want me to carry him. foolish me.

ooh and a scar on my leg shaped like a T from falling over in school. when i think about it, school was dangerous for me...

oh and my favourite scars are two on the lower right side of two of my fingers on my right hand. I was melting sugar to make caramel, when my friend's stepbrother decided to stick his finger into it; he screamed, flipped his hand and hot sugar landed on my fingers. the little bastard blocked my way to the sink then, trying to cool his small blister, while i hunched over in pain. they glow white when my hands are warm now hehehehehe.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 17:15, Reply)
Foolish Manoeuvre
I've got a nice little scar above my eye, it was from when I was about 6 or 7 I think, basically I was playing outside the front of my house when my mum called out the door that dinner was ready, I obviously got quite exited at this and decided to close my eyes and run as fast as I could in the general direction of the door. I ran straight into the corner of the house. and went down. hard. Apparently I was more upset about missing my dinner (because I had to go to casualty) than I was about a nasty bleeding wound on my face.

Oh and I have a matching scar above the other eye but can't remember what from, my mum says that when I used to fall over as a child I never put my arms out to break the fall, I'd just fall on my face, so it's probably from that.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 16:22, Reply)
Fat Bear
Thanks, i thought my parents knew about sum operation i had that i didn't know about lol
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 16:01, Reply)
Fat bear -
It's on the side and zig zags it's way to the top.

Should I apply for the circus then?
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 15:59, Reply)
bunny_333 -
That's normal (if it's on the underside). In the womb when you're developing you start with rudimentary lady-bits, which then seal up as the todger forms. Hence all blokes have a seam.

If it's on the other side then you're a freak.
(, Mon 7 Feb 2005, 15:42, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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