I jumped off the bed and my leg got caught on the bed frame and ripped my thigh.
Cat jumped off a windowsill and landed on my face when I was a baby. I like to pretend that’s how I caught “crazy cat lady”.
Shot myself with a pneumatic staple gun, and Unfortunate Ice Skating Accident.
Ran into a fire hydrant on a skateboard.
I failed at opening a can of cat food. I failed in a massive, painful, and bloody way.
A classmate with crazy long nails took a strip off me when we both went for the same ball in scooter handball.
Holding both my dogs’ leads in one hand, they see a squirrel, run forward and drag the back of my hand across the jagged wooden siding of the house I was standing beside. Didn’t let go of the leads, though.
I have a small scar in the middle of my forehead from when I was a youngling and didn’t listen to my mother.
I was twirling in circles in the kitchen, tripped, and fell face first into the cast iron wood burning stove that (luckily) wasn’t being used at the time.
I split my forehead open (as in omg there is her skull) and was rushed to the emergency room where I had to be strapped down in a papoose type fashion (which looked more like being wrapped like a mummy on a board) because I was a small child that was freaked out about having their forehead split open.
And the upside was I had a life lesson on why I should listen to my mother. Sometimes. If I want to. On occasion.
Forehead scar from that time my cousins and I were playing water balloon war with the kids in their neighborhood. I tried to run into my cousins’ house, but my cousin Shawn thought I was one of the boys trying to sneak attack. He slammed the door on me, catching me on the upper right side of my forehead, splitting the skin.
Another Scar on my upper lip from a knife incident when I was wee.
Then there’s the massive, lower lip altering scar on the inside AND outside of my lower lip from that time I decided to do a twirl on this bar thingie on the playground at my elementary school (sixteen stitches, yo) and instead faceplanted into the dirt below. Sent my two upper teeth through my lower lip.
A scar on the inside of my middle left finger that time I decided to give my barbie a haircut and went a little wild with the scissors.
Then of course, I have multiple scars from my gall bladder and breast reduction surgeries.
I’m honestly amazed I made it to adulthood sometimes.
I have a scar on my knee, from when I was visiting Lake Lanier. I knelt on my right knee, and when I went to shift my weight to my left leg, I tore a surprisingly deep gash into it.
Another scar you can’t see: on a day toward the end of my junior year, when I hadn’t slept much, or eaten at all, I fainted. I’m slightly hazy on the details, as you might imagine, but when I woke up finally (I phased in and out of consciousness a couple times), my two front teeth had broken and the fragments had lodged themselves in my lower lip. It’s barely perceptible now; my lower lip is only slightly pouty-er than my upper lip, and you can only see the scar when I peel down my lip.
I don’t know if it’s still there, but there used to be a mark on my back about half an inch from my spine. It was my first week of volunteering in high school and I was at a swim and skate camp. The kids were chasing me around the ice rink as I was blowing bubbles for them to catch and pop. A lot of these kids couldn’t skate, so they had these skate bars that were two V shaped connected by a bar to keep them up.
So they’re chasing me around. I slowed down to dip the bubble wand in this huge tub of solution I was carrying and one of the kids, the one who’s routinely played rough all week and tried to drown every one of us volunteers and leaders, speeds up and she knocks the skates completely out from under me.
I go airborne and land on the point of the skate bar on the way down. My only thought was “SAVE THE BUBBLES!” going down and so I lean forward so that the bubble solution doesn’t spill all over the place. It kept me from cracking my head open on the ice, but I still laid there for a long time, not really wanting to move and kinda numb and sore. Eventually they got me up and pointed out I was almost paralysed.
I continued to volunteer at day camps for two or three more years.
When I was about five years old, I tripped on a fold in the carpet. After that I could not walk. My parents were confused about the pain I seemed to be experiencing (and announcing fairly vocally, accompanied by tears) after such a small tumble and took me to see a doctor. The doctor kindly took an x-ray of my foot but said that everything seemed to be in order and that I will be fine. The thing is that this doctor was not a pediatric doctor, he was not specialized in children, whose skeletal structure is different from adults. He didn’t realize that my big toe was broken. Luckily another doctor (who was horrified by the diagnosis of his colleague) did notice what was wrong and I was almost immediately carted off to surgery. And due to that surgery, there is a scar that runs horizontally across the base of my big toe.
But the story does not end there. During the surgery they placed a metal bar inside the toe to help it heal properly. My leg was put in a cast and, after a night at the hospital, I was sent home. Now, I’m not sure how much time passed between the next incident, but some time later I calmly expressed to my mother that there was something chafing my foot inside the cast. She took me to the doctor and it turned out that the metal bar they had put inside my toe was now poking out, through my toe. I had to have another surgery to remove the metal bar. As the result of the whole thing, I have a scar the shape of a large asterisk on the side of my big toe. (To this day I honestly don’t know how the hell I wasn’t screaming my head off when there was a metal bar sticking out of my toe.)
And that is the tale of the time I tripped on a wrinkle on a carpet and had to have two surgeries as the result.