Q: Dear 100 Hour Board,
Board Question #87829 got me wondering; what are some of the best stories behind your past injuries/strangest ways you've gotten hurt?
-Random Enquirer
A:
Dear kwarshiorkor,
When I was six and in the first grade I was playing with my new friend Chase (name has not been changed, why bother?). His father was a doctor and did very well financially. They had a car phone. Their house was large, their downstairs playroom prodigious—in this massive, carpeted room resided an entire indoor jungle gym set replete with lazy beanbags. It was amazing, and as Chase and I gallivanted therein I could already tell we would be best of friends. Yes, I concluded as I slid down an indoor slide, for reasons altogether unrelated to Chase's paradisiacal house I could tell we were destined to become best of friends. We were a great team, and we could identify a threat. See that mutant alien poop all over the room, masquerading as swollen beanbags? The scum did not avoid our notice, nor our furiously thrown wooden blocks. We looked out for each other. For when I fell overboard from the jungle gym and the monstrous feces began to greedily engulf my body Chase's thrown blocks became more and more frequent.
"Chase! This poop's got me! Please, help!"
"I'm trying, I'm trying! Just hold on!" he pleaded, chucking yet another block at the bag which now had me completely covered.
"It's mutating! It's mutating!" I cried, as the primordial slime's stuffing slid downward inside the bag in response to my mad thrashing. The bag still covered my face, but its padding was now solidly and solely around my waist and feet. It's like they say in the Space Corps: Alien poop always has a plan.
"Ardilla! I'll save you!" cried Chase as he hurled one final cube of cured, sanded maple across the room where its corner connected tangentially with the membranous bag and solidly with the human forehead just beneath.
The following minutes included a lot of screaming. As I clutched my head in agony and Chase led me upstairs I remember watching drops of my blood specking onto the almost-white carpet of the playroom with crimson. We emerged into the kitchen—vaulted ceilings, wood paneling, dark countertops—to find his father. Remember how Chase's dad was a doctor? He looked at my wound and suggested a course of action to my mom over the phone, who assented. My wound was cleaned out and I looked at it in the mirror—the freshly exposed bone of my skull was surprisingly white—and then he stitched me up right there on his kitchen table. I was given fruit snack rings afterwards, you know, the kind that you're obligated to put on all your fingers as rings before you eat them, and my mom picked me up.
When I went to school, everyone asked me what had happened. Had I possessed the slightest modicum of social skills I would have lied, downplayed it, excluded Chase from the story. Unfortunately, I recounted it in unnecessarily complete detail and Chase unintentionally was perceived as the villain of the story, having clocked me in the head with a wooden block. I went over to his house one or two more times (found my bloodstains downstairs, yay), but it appeared my storytelling smothered our friendship faster than the most malevolent of imagined alien excrement.
Suerte,
--Ardilla Feroz
P.S. In later elementary school my just-visible forehead scar gained new prominence as Harry Potter became popular. I don't and didn't ever really resemble the only child of Lily and James, but if you have ever been a bespectacled boy in elementary school (with a scar! haha! look at this nerd!) you will know you can only ever be a disappointing, unmagical form of Harry Potter to your peers.
P.S. But I didn't dress as Harry for Halloween in sixth grade, no, I just had to dress as Becky Thatcher from Tom Sawyer. Again, a most disappointing Mr. Potter.
A:
Dear Ranquirer,
Once when I was just a wee little Rubik, my grandparents came to our house to visit from Colorado. Mère Rubik took me shopping to buy ingredients for dinner before they arrived, and as a special treat, she bought me a Wonder Ball (I couldn't remember how wee I was, exactly, but when I looked up the original Wonder Ball I discovered that they were discontinued in 1997, so I was very wee indeed). When I got home I broke into my Wonder Ball and found inside a tiny figurine of Disney's Hercules, which was pretty much the best thing ever. He was posed heroically with one foot resting on a large boulder, holding his sword triumphantly in the air. I was so inspired by this one-inch tall plastic figurine that I immediately set out to emulate him. I was thwarted, though, by the size of the rocks in our yard; all of them were too big for my small Rubik legs.
(The fact that Hercules came out in 1997 places this event squarely in the summer of that year. I had not yet turned 5. I was a very, very wee Rubik indeed, with very, very small Rubik legs.)
After dinner, I continued my quest inside while my parents and grandparents sat around the table talking. I knew I wasn't going to find any rocks, but I would settle for any bulky object that was more or less the right height. After running around the house for a few minutes, I finally found something suitable: a large can of Crisco on the bottom shelf of the pantry. My family apparently did not notice as I hefted the can off of the shelf and over to a spot in the kitchen where I had enough room. With everything ready, I held my Hercules figurine proudly in my right hand (I don't know why I was so particular about getting something to stand on and not an actual sword to lift), then stepped onto the Crisco can.
Now, at the time, my small Rubik brain didn't realize that Hercules wasn't putting all of his weight on the foot that was on the rock; he was just leaning on it slightly. For a glorious second or two, I was standing like my hero; then, the plastic lid to the Crisco can gave in to my weight. The plastic ripped and my foot went plunging into the Crisco, the broken lid slicing my big toe wide open on the way down.
The next bit is rather blurry in my memory. I remember:
-Screaming in pain
-The kitchen table erupting into panic
-My mom wrapping my foot in a towel with ice (I'm not sure how much the ice actually helped but there's not time for such questions when little kids have injured themselves on cans of vegetable shortening)
-Driving to the hospital and staring at my foot
-My mom carrying me to the check-in desk
-Screaming in pain some more as the doctor put in the stitches
I don't remember how long the stitches were in exactly, but my toe healed up just fine and I don't believe I have any scars from the incident. To this day, my Crisco-can inflicted cut on my big toe remains the most serious injury I have ever sustained. *Knocks on all the wood*
The best part of this whole story is something that I don't actually remember but that has been repeated to me many times: when my mom and I arrived at the check-in desk, my mom frantically started explaining that I'd cut open my toe and that she thought I needed stitches. When the nurse unwrapped the towel to take a look at the wound, she saw that my foot was still covered in Crisco, prompting her to ask: "Umm...what exactly did you put on here to try to treat this?"
-Frère Rubik
P.S. One day in high school one of my friends decided that my new nickname would be "Crisco." I thought he'd talked to my mom about the Hercules incident or something, so I mentioned it to him. Turns out, he had been completely unaware of my four-year-old escapades, but the fact that I had a memorable experience with Crisco cemented it as his nickname for me for the rest of high school.
A:
Dear person,
I've only really been injured once, but the story is pretty entertaining.
I was 16, and my parents were on vacation in Hawaii; I had the house to myself the whole week. Thankfully, a young couple from my ward were staying with me that night, so I wasn't alone when this happened.
You know how everything goes splotchy and blue whenever you stand up too fast from sitting (also known as orthostatic hypotension)? That's how I felt, only I had already been standing for several minutes making dinner. I had never fainted before, so I didn't know that I was about to go down. I ended up doing a complete face-plant on the kitchen floor. I was unconscious for about a minute, and let me tell you, that was one wild minute. I don't know why, but I had a combination of Wicked and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog stuck in my head. I couldn't recreate it if I tried, but they sounded awesome when put together. Also, when I gained consciousness and tried to stand up, I apparently recreated Ariel's stone pose incredibly well.
I had to go lay down in the snow outside for twenty minutes to cool down, because I had such a high fever. Blood was pouring from my mouth and chin, and I had a throbbing headache (which happens when you hit your head super hard, go figure).
The couple staying with me drove me to the E.R., where I underwent all sorts of tests, all the while trying to tell my parents that I was okay, I had people there with me, and that they didn't have to come home early from vacation.
I had to have a tooth removed because it died from the trauma, I chipped a couple other teeth, got stitches in my chin and lip, and I broke my jaw in the accident.
Here's where it gets fun: The E.R. staff was so concerned with why I fainted (turned out to be dehydration combined with a low white blood cell count) that nobody ever bothered to X-ray my jaw, so I went home and started eating normal, solid foods on a BROKEN JAW.
I'm so hardcore.
And I also did irreparable damage to my jaw because of that. So I have to go on a liquid diet about one week every month (sometimes more) when it hurts too much to chew.
-April Ludgate
A:
Dear RE,
Strangest way I've gotten injured: One time I broke one of my toes when I fell over as I was putting a pair of pants on.
Best story behind an injury: I got tangled up in barbed wire. You see, I was escaping from prison playing capture the flag in the mountains with a group of friends to celebrate our impending high school graduation, and I guess a barbed wire fence had fallen over and was hidden in the underbrush. I was running when my foot snagged one of the wires of the fence and I fell over. I didn't realize it was barbed, or that I was injured, so I tried to stand up and wondered why I couldn't move my leg. Upon further examination I saw that the wire I had tripped on was in fact barbed, and that one of the barbs was embedded deep in the back of my knee, preventing me from standing up or moving. Thanks to all the adrenaline I had pumping through my veins, it actually didn't hurt, but the mere thought of being stuck in barbed wire was pretty terrifying. I started shouting to my friends, who were scattered all over the mountainside, "Help, I'm caught in barbed wire! Like, it's inside of me." Pretty soon everyone was gathered around me, staring in horror at my bloody leg (there were several deep gashes in addition to the barb that was stuck in my leg, and there was another puncture wound, too). My two best friends realized they had the unenviable job of rescuing me, and both immediately volunteered to hold the flashlight while the other one pulled the wire out. Eventually they decided which one would do what, and after a good ten minutes of awkward maneuvering they managed to get my leg free. I limped back to my friend's cabin, where he cleaned the dirt and blood from my legs, another friend cheerfully told me all about tetanus, and one guy I barely knew asked glumly, "So does this mean the party is over?"
Someone volunteered to drive me home, and all he said to me when I got in his car was, "Don't get blood on my seats." Thankfully I managed to avoid bleeding on his pristine seats, and we made it back to my house a little before midnight. My mom then took me to the emergency room, where they stitched up the puncture wounds and glued the gashes shut. As I was being stitched up I heard two drunk guys enter the waiting room and leave a trail of destruction in their wake, and it was really funny:
Drunk Guy 1 (slurring all his words): "My buddy is hurt real bad."
Waiting Room Nurse: "Aaaahh, stop, don't go there, you're getting blood everywhere!"
Drunk Guy 2: "What?"
Nurse: "No, don't touch that, you'll break it!"
*Sound of something shattering on the floor*
Waiting Room Nurse: "Don't go back there, you're naked!"
*A naked man runs through my room and my mom tries to cover my eyes*
My doctor, grumbling to himself: "I hate graduation parties."
In the end my leg was fine, but I couldn't go to my school's official graduation party the next week, because I couldn't stand for long periods of time, or really bend my leg, and all the fun activities they had planned would probably have ripped my stitches out. For years I had vivid reflective purple scars on the back of my leg, but they finally calmed down and are now pretty discreet.
-Alta
A:
Dear Randy,
This summer I injured myself at work because a metal thingy collapsed under me. I had to file a worker's injury report, which was awkward. I really only got a couple scrapes and bruises.
When I was 9 I broke my wrist by flipping backwards off a swing on accident. Always one for dramatics, I wheezed out to the people who ran over to help, "go... find... my... dad... soccer... coach... field..." That was an adventure. My mom didn't take me to the ER for 3 days because she didn't believe my wrist was broken.
The other day, Greg (the boyfriend) and I were crossing the street at night. There weren't any cars so I was just taking my time, and we were kind of messing around. He ran across and turned around and pretended to freak out that I was still in the street. He ran over and tried to pick me up, but I don't think either of us was really prepared for that. We kind of collapsed in the middle of the street, and I was cracking up until I realized I landed on his arm and scraped it up pretty badly. I felt bad, but he was fine. The screen protector on my (new) phone got cracked, so that was kind of lame. But other than that, we're both fine and neither of us got hit by a car!
-Adelaide
A:
Dear RE,
I'm an obnoxiously cautious person, so I don't get injured much.
But once my brother decided to sneak up behind me and scare me. I happened to be sitting in a swivel-y office chair, so when he did so I spun around in surprise and accidentally punched his tooth out. Then spent several minutes laughing at the look of shock on his face.
Best sister ever,
Luciana
A:
Dear duk,
Oh baby. Have I gotta story for you.
When I was about four, Mama Surf and I ventured to the kids' section of Barnes and Noble. And let me just take a moment to explain that this was The Best Barnes and Noble I've ever been to: two stories, comfy chairs everywhere, a fish tank full of frogs, and a huge kids section with a small stage and benches surrounding it.
Me being the exuberant little squirt that I was, chirped something like "Mom, let me show you my favorite spot!" And I ran towards the stage.
Now this part gets a little murky. Some say it was due to the poor coordination of a four-year-old; some say my shoes were a bit too big. Probably for both reasons, I tripped on my way to the stage and landed RIGHT on the wooden bench in front of it. Mama Surf thought I would have a giant goose egg protruding from my face, but lo and behold, she turned me over to see a lot of blood.
We later find out that I had cracked my head open, enough that the doctors could see my skull. I got stitches both internally and externally, resulting in a total of 45 stitches, which I later got to put under my pillow for the Stitch Fairy in exchange for two dollars in quarters.
But back to Barnes and Noble: My mom is now holding me while sitting on the bench, covered in blood, and yelling for help. One lady came to see what was going on, went downstairs to tell an employee, and then passed out. The paramedics went to her when they first got there, so someone had to be like, "Oh, no, leave that passed-out lady there; there's a bloody child upstairs." Before I was rushed to the hospital, the manager of the store let me pick out a free book, which I thought was nice.
I remember a few things from the hospital:
-They must have given me some good drugs or something because for a while my mom and I just walked around the hospital to keep me entertained. But then we were asked to stop because apparently our bloodied clothes and faces were disturbing the other patients.
-For the actual surgery I remember being strapped to a stretcher-like device. I could only move my toes, which was probably good because the surgical tool the doctor used definitely looked like a drill, and I would have bolted could I have moved.
-After he stitched me up, the doctor said something like, "Okay, now I'm gonna give you a little hat." And I thought, "Awesome! A hat!" I was picturing a knitted beanie with maybe a pom-pom on top, which maybe I didn't have as a child? Because I was stupidly excited for this hat I was getting. It was truly going to be beautiful.
But instead of that imagined hat, I got..
.
.
.
this.
Which, may I point out, is not a hat. It's a cast. A cast that went all over my head except for that little part of my face. When I got home from the hospital, my cousins put pull-ups on their heads so they could look like me.
Does it look like we both have pull-ups on and my just has tape on it? Why yes, it kind of does.
Here was my idea of trying to blend in:
My sisters were calling me "Marshmallow Head" and I got pretty embarrassed. Looking back, I'm just glad this happened when I was still cute enough to distract from the awkwardness of a face cast.
---
I've been told that the next time we went to Barnes and Noble, I asked if I would get a free book if I broke my leg. My mom said, "Probably," and then I suggested that we just buy one instead.
Yours,
-Auto Surf
A:
Dear Rando,
When I was 4, I did not like cleaning. I think it was a Saturday because my whole family was home and everyone was cleaning the house. I was told to clean behind the couch that was in front of the big window in our front room. I cleaned a little and then I just sat in the open window. Now, something you need to know, the front room had one large window that opened on the ends. One of the windows on the end had a screen and the other didn't. I was sitting in the window without a screen because it was more comfortable to sit in that one. Also, my house had a split entry so the main floor was actually the top floor. I think you see where this is going.
As soon as my mom saw me in the window she told me to get out of the window because I could fall out. I stepped down and proceeded to clean. And then I got bored and sat in the window again. My mom told me to get down again. This happened several times. Since my mother had 8 children and I was the 7th of the 8, she was busy telling everyone else what to do and was cleaning up as well so she didn't take any time to pull me away from the window, she assumed I was intelligent enough to recognize danger and stay away from it.
In this moment, I disappointed my mother.
So after getting out of the window for the nth time, I got back in but noticed something different. I was looking at something blue. It was a nice blue. It was also very big. It was the sky. The sky was outside my house and I was in my house. Wait.....I wasn't in my house anymore. I was outside. I was laying on the ground outside.
It was not long before my whole family came rushing out the front door to see me. All I remember was sitting in the window and seeing blue. I fell about 10 ft and my body hit the dirt of the garden (read: dirt patch) under the window and my head hit the sidewalk that led to my front door. I don't remember any pain or crying but apparently my crying is what told my family that I was no longer in the window.
Once they had established that I was alive and such, we all went back inside. I don't remember what happened after that but I didn't go to the hospital. I'm fine still (at least, that's what they tell me) so I started my streak of never going to the hospital for an injury. I continue that streak still. Honestly, that was probably the only time I would have needed to. Good thing 4-year-old me was resilient.
-Spectre
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