Scars
- Thread starter Conqueror Kenny
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I have a scar on my right leg. I was running over to my neighboor's house to check out his new video game, and i tripped, and my leg was cut on a brick wall. The funny part, I felt little to no pain, and as soon as it happened, i got up and continued running to my friend's house.
One on the right leg, one on the left. Both are from medical procedures. The right one is from a less-interesting muscle biopsy, while the left combined the twin rotten, engorged fruits of poisonous infections and electric needles. I will explain!
When I was eight I would sleep all the time. A nice passtime, one I engage in to great success even now, but one that challenged my mother's image of the happy childlike running, jumping and self-mutilation I should be doing at that age, so off to the hospital I went. The swollen joints and ungainly rash probably didn't help either. The doctors jabbed me with several instruments, made tetchy diagnoses of everything from poison ivy to lupus, and then finally admitted that they were just damn well baffled and locked me in the hospital. Every day I was subjected to ever more uncomfortable and esoteric medical procedures (and free stuff donated by terrified relatives). They took stuff out, they put stuff in, they drained approximately twice my body weight of blood. I got to play video games all day and get wheeled about emergency-style on a nice comfy gurney. It was pretty neat, except for the minor condition of being sick and the increasingly more dire predictions as to what was wrong with me.
At about the tail end of my little stay I was told that I would be going in for a test. This was no problem, I was used to how things were at this point. A nurse set me in a wheelchair and wheeled me down into the deepest stygian sub-basement of the hospital, carting me past increasingly more ancient and terrifying medical equipment and the occasional rushed resident or nightgown-clad stumbling inmate. Eventually I was left in a waiting room in the care of my mother while the nurse puttered into an adjacent room to prepare the machinery or summon the demons or whatnot. Doctors gathered. I was informed that this would probably hurt a little, and due to the nature of the test, I couldn't be sedated.
It was when they brought out the straps that I got worried. I quitted the wheelchair and was guided into the other room where I was faced with an entirely unassuming medical table and neutral glob of machinery. I did not figure the bundles at the end of the bed for restraints until the nurse started actually strapping me down. Here's a tip: if a doctor says it "might" hurt "a little" and then proceeds to strap you the fuck in like you're about to be launched down a rollercoaster, just pass out. Bite your tongue until you choke on the blood. Go to your happy place. Trust me, it's better there.
I got poked once or twice in the legs and arms, marked indelibly, and then stuck with needles. Needles attached to wires. Which went into the now charmingly beeping and glowing machine. Which began to pump my muscles full of searing electricity. The pain was like nothing I've felt before or since - it went everywhere and there was nothing I could do. My entire body jerked and spasmed; I felt my muscles expand like the Hulk and contract again. They had strapped my legs in but not my arms, and drugged as I was by pain I saw absolutely nothing wrong with taking that opportunity to claw the fuck out of everyone nearby. There weren't enough doctors to man the machine and hold me down. They had to enlist my mother.
Eventually it was over. As a reward for my pain I was given... three small dinosaur-shaped erasers. And, as it turns out, an infection in one of the needle-wounds that ate away at the skin surrounding it and resulted in a permanent dent in my flesh. Oh, and the hate. The hate for everything that wants to love or help me. The hate that burns like lightning in my muscles, weeping and whispering and waiting for the opportunity to claw and gouge and kill.
I want my goddamn lollipop.
When I was eight I would sleep all the time. A nice passtime, one I engage in to great success even now, but one that challenged my mother's image of the happy childlike running, jumping and self-mutilation I should be doing at that age, so off to the hospital I went. The swollen joints and ungainly rash probably didn't help either. The doctors jabbed me with several instruments, made tetchy diagnoses of everything from poison ivy to lupus, and then finally admitted that they were just damn well baffled and locked me in the hospital. Every day I was subjected to ever more uncomfortable and esoteric medical procedures (and free stuff donated by terrified relatives). They took stuff out, they put stuff in, they drained approximately twice my body weight of blood. I got to play video games all day and get wheeled about emergency-style on a nice comfy gurney. It was pretty neat, except for the minor condition of being sick and the increasingly more dire predictions as to what was wrong with me.
At about the tail end of my little stay I was told that I would be going in for a test. This was no problem, I was used to how things were at this point. A nurse set me in a wheelchair and wheeled me down into the deepest stygian sub-basement of the hospital, carting me past increasingly more ancient and terrifying medical equipment and the occasional rushed resident or nightgown-clad stumbling inmate. Eventually I was left in a waiting room in the care of my mother while the nurse puttered into an adjacent room to prepare the machinery or summon the demons or whatnot. Doctors gathered. I was informed that this would probably hurt a little, and due to the nature of the test, I couldn't be sedated.
It was when they brought out the straps that I got worried. I quitted the wheelchair and was guided into the other room where I was faced with an entirely unassuming medical table and neutral glob of machinery. I did not figure the bundles at the end of the bed for restraints until the nurse started actually strapping me down. Here's a tip: if a doctor says it "might" hurt "a little" and then proceeds to strap you the fuck in like you're about to be launched down a rollercoaster, just pass out. Bite your tongue until you choke on the blood. Go to your happy place. Trust me, it's better there.
I got poked once or twice in the legs and arms, marked indelibly, and then stuck with needles. Needles attached to wires. Which went into the now charmingly beeping and glowing machine. Which began to pump my muscles full of searing electricity. The pain was like nothing I've felt before or since - it went everywhere and there was nothing I could do. My entire body jerked and spasmed; I felt my muscles expand like the Hulk and contract again. They had strapped my legs in but not my arms, and drugged as I was by pain I saw absolutely nothing wrong with taking that opportunity to claw the fuck out of everyone nearby. There weren't enough doctors to man the machine and hold me down. They had to enlist my mother.
Eventually it was over. As a reward for my pain I was given... three small dinosaur-shaped erasers. And, as it turns out, an infection in one of the needle-wounds that ate away at the skin surrounding it and resulted in a permanent dent in my flesh. Oh, and the hate. The hate for everything that wants to love or help me. The hate that burns like lightning in my muscles, weeping and whispering and waiting for the opportunity to claw and gouge and kill.
I want my goddamn lollipop.
I'm really amazed at this.
I have a very high pain tollerance.
I heal fast.
I don't even bruise falling onto the framing of a deck onto my outer thigh and upper arm.
I have no scars but I do have some stories.
Once I accidentally cut myself with a razor blade down to the bone at about 10. It didn't hurt then. It was on the ends of my pointer and pinky fingers on my right hand. I never told anybody and continually lifted up the skin-flap to see if it still hurt. It did then but that didn't stop my from trying again five minutes later. It healed within a couple days.
If you looked at my fingers you wouln't even know.
One time I was riding my bike with another pair of shoes tied together and hanging over the handle bars. They got caught in the front wheel and next thing I know I'm doing a faceplant onto concrete, my bike flys over me and my seat smacks me in the back of the head.
I couldn't get up because I was laughing to hard. No scrapes even.
If I ever get a scab I constantly pick at it. But never got any scars.
Compared to those I haven't had anything worse so I would obvioulsy have no scars from it.
P.S. I only remember ever having one bruise and that was when I was really young so I don't know how I got it.
I have a very high pain tollerance.
I heal fast.
I don't even bruise falling onto the framing of a deck onto my outer thigh and upper arm.
I have no scars but I do have some stories.
Once I accidentally cut myself with a razor blade down to the bone at about 10. It didn't hurt then. It was on the ends of my pointer and pinky fingers on my right hand. I never told anybody and continually lifted up the skin-flap to see if it still hurt. It did then but that didn't stop my from trying again five minutes later. It healed within a couple days.
If you looked at my fingers you wouln't even know.
One time I was riding my bike with another pair of shoes tied together and hanging over the handle bars. They got caught in the front wheel and next thing I know I'm doing a faceplant onto concrete, my bike flys over me and my seat smacks me in the back of the head.
I couldn't get up because I was laughing to hard. No scrapes even.
If I ever get a scab I constantly pick at it. But never got any scars.
Compared to those I haven't had anything worse so I would obvioulsy have no scars from it.
P.S. I only remember ever having one bruise and that was when I was really young so I don't know how I got it.
I have one on my left elbow from an incident involving waterbombs, more water, a road and a very big guy. Must I say more?
I have another on my chin from my triple-pirhouette-faceplant ice skating accident, caused my me going a little too fast, and a toddler who was going the wrong direction.
I have another on my chin from my triple-pirhouette-faceplant ice skating accident, caused my me going a little too fast, and a toddler who was going the wrong direction.
I have a scar that is quite noticable slightly to the left of my left eye which was caused by having my head smashed onto the side of a bed when I was like 3-4. The other one I is a little above my right eye, where I got smashed by a pole (Final Fight style) by some little kid.
I have a condsiderable amount of scars unfortunately. The first I ever recieved was from splitting my head open after being pushed backwards onto a radiator at school in Class One (reception its called now... kindergarden for all you none UK peoples.) Actually got in trouble for it, apparently that constitutes fighting... I had no idea minding your own business and suddenly being pushed over was a fight.
Anyway, thats enough of that, this isn't http://www.playgroundlaw.com after all
Anyway, thats enough of that, this isn't http://www.playgroundlaw.com after all
I have a scar on my left hand from when I slipped and hit myself with a hatchet. I have a few on my elbows from bike accidents. And I have one on my stomach when I had chicken pox, and wouldn't stop scratching.
Me and a friend were at a field surrounded by barbed wire, and one of the poles was broken at the bottom, so he pulled it down with his foot, and released it, like a catapult.
The barbed wire zipped through my right upper wrist and I didn't even notice until the blood came gushing out. No pain at all, just a really long and deep cut.
That happened like 2 years ago, and now I have an awesome white diagonal scar on my wrist.
The barbed wire zipped through my right upper wrist and I didn't even notice until the blood came gushing out. No pain at all, just a really long and deep cut.
That happened like 2 years ago, and now I have an awesome white diagonal scar on my wrist.
I've got one on the back of my left hand from being bitten by a dog. There's a small one under my lower lip from when I fell onto the corner of a coffee table as a toddler, though I don't really remember getting that one. Then there's one on my right index finger from a hot-glue accident, and one on my inner-right thigh from the same accident.
Let's see, I've got about 6 to 10 small ones on my hands that I lose and find every now and then from all the stupid stuff I did when I was a little kid. Everything from blowing up branches to melting army men (and then having the wax drip off and land on my thumb and burn a nice little circle scar into me).
I've got one in my knee from when I fell off my bike and ripped a chunk of skin the size of a nickel off.
I have one on my stomach from the appendix surgery. Only about an inch and a half long (3 to 4cm). It would have been three smaller ones, but the doctor couldn't find my appendix using that camera on a stick thing, so half way through they just spliced them into one big one and dug around. Turns out the jerk was hiding behind my large intestine. Who knew.
I've got one in my knee from when I fell off my bike and ripped a chunk of skin the size of a nickel off.
I have one on my stomach from the appendix surgery. Only about an inch and a half long (3 to 4cm). It would have been three smaller ones, but the doctor couldn't find my appendix using that camera on a stick thing, so half way through they just spliced them into one big one and dug around. Turns out the jerk was hiding behind my large intestine. Who knew.
I was a clumsy child, my dad banned me from riding my bicycle to get me to heal haha.
My most noticeable scars.
I fell off an old swing set and ripped a long cut open on my stomcach...
And when I was about 13 I passed out on my bicycle on a gutter... long gravel rash up my right arm.
I also have a cut on the side of my left knee from falling out of a treehouse...
A tyre burn on my left arm from holding a bicycle seat while rollerblading...
A light bulb burn from a reptile heat lamp on left arm...
Like a tiger claw swipe on my right leg from bicycle pedals..
Not to mention the many other scars that I cant really remember the cause.
I am really surprised I have never actually needed stitches or broken a bone.
My most noticeable scars.
I fell off an old swing set and ripped a long cut open on my stomcach...
And when I was about 13 I passed out on my bicycle on a gutter... long gravel rash up my right arm.
I also have a cut on the side of my left knee from falling out of a treehouse...
A tyre burn on my left arm from holding a bicycle seat while rollerblading...
A light bulb burn from a reptile heat lamp on left arm...
Like a tiger claw swipe on my right leg from bicycle pedals..
Not to mention the many other scars that I cant really remember the cause.
I am really surprised I have never actually needed stitches or broken a bone.
Scar on my leg... tried to catch a falling 20inch CRT (for my gaming rig) from hitting the pavement. Geekiest scar I've ever received.
Have a lot of scars on my knucks for a lot of different reasons. I also have a big one on one of my eyebrows were i tripped into a bed when i was five. I also have a burn mark from a sauna on my back, that one was nasty the skin actually got charred *shudders*.