Scars make better stories than tatoos

[Kitsune06]

Good Lord, ladies. We already have a 'scars' thread, titled "Show us your scars!"
I'll take some pics. Nothing too exciting. A nice one above my knee from a scalpel incident *cough*
some streaks and discoloration left from the gravel patch-out (nice holes etc...)
some brands etc, self done,
tattoos,
etc
yay.

[Bad JuJu]

Holy mackerel, this place is scar city!

I have no cycling scars, sadly , but I have an obvious calcium deposit at the top of my left shoulder from a motorcycle accident when I was 23, a "bikini" scar from surgery to remove a tumor from my uterus when I was 28, and a scar from a dog bite when I was 5 (that one's almost indiscernible now). I actually kind of like that last one because regardless of that traumatic event, I somehow didn't grow up to be afraid of dogs--guess my folks did something right.

[Pax]

Another fun scar story...

When I was seven I was walking to school and decided to cut through a construction site as a short-cut, my brother said "you'll get in trouble, you better not". So off I waltzed into the construction site...and out I waltzed moments later with a plank stuck to the bottom of my foot with a nail protruding all the way through my foot and sticking out the top. My response, "well crap", my brothers response (heavy sigh) "I'll go get mom". It was a repeating pattern in my childhood.

[Aint Doody]

Yikes, Queen! That makes me hurt.

[MomOnBike]

Queen, we obviously grew up in different families. Our response in that sort of situation generally was: GASP!! "Don't Tell Mother!!"

Guilty parties in the above to include my father.

... and your story reminded me of the time my sister & I were jumping back and forth between our twin beds. After a while, to make the activity more chalenging, we turned out the lights. I, uh, jumped a wee tiny bit too far and landed on Sister's record player, right on the sharp, pointy, metal part that held the play arm. I haven't checked the bottom of my foot recently to see if that scar is still there, though.

Big crashes and shrieks bring Mothers running, whether or not you want them...

[Kitsune06]

Yeeeahhh reminds me of a metalworking project I was dinking on involving a tin can. You can pry the suckers a little ways but don't be surprised when they spring shut again and catch your knuckle . My first experience 'seeing inside myself'. What joy.
I run upstairs, wash it, wrap it, unwrap it, think "Oh boy, that's not gonna stay shut" wrap it again, and go about my business.
We get together for dinner, I have a hand under the table. Mom is suspicious. naturally She asks. I talk around it. Eventually she gets it out of me. we make a looooong family trip down to the ER so I can get stitched up.

[divingbiker]

Hmmm...I didn't think I had any interesting scar stories until I started to think about it. I have a divot in the outside of my left foot from getting a big hunk of glass in it when I broke a glass bottle of soap bubbles as a kid (back before everything came in plastic bottles.) I had to have a mustard plaster or something like that on my foot every night until the glass was somehow magically drawn out. It was probably a half inch square piece of glass in a very small foot, if I remember right.

Then when I was about four I decided that I would stop the blades of a fan with my hand. Again, this was back in the olden days when there were large gaps between the wires on the fan cover. I stuck my hand in the fan, it didn't stop, and I bled quite a lot. We put a rag over my hand and walked the block across the railroad tracks to the hospital. Don't remember any details but we went out to dinner afterwards (we called it supper, and it was a very rare and special treat) and I've got some faint scars on my fingers.

My knees are always pink because they are one big mass of scar tissue from falling down on my bike on gravel roads repeatedly. I have a couple of new scars on my knees from more recent bike crashes.

When I was in college, I worked in a hardware store and was opening boxes with a utility knife. I somehow managed to slice open the meaty part of my hand between my thumb and index finger, all the way to the bone. They weren't too happy with me ruining their string of x days without a workplace accident, but I ended up with a few stitches and a nice scar.

And then of course I have a bellyful of scars from the laparoscopic hysterectomy that went bad and ended up being the old fashioned kind, with a big bikini line scar, catheter scars etc. Lovely.

Wow, this turned out to be long.