September of 2006 I was cleaning the house and had just finished mopping the upstairs bathroom and was taking the mop and broom back downstairs when my wet shoe slipped on the hardwood stairs (No carpet or treed). I fell down 8 steps landing on the landing. At first I thought I was fine, but when I stood up I instantly fell down. It was at this moment I noticed on the wall was a streak of blood about 3 feet long. Touching my temple revealed a good bit of chiseled spam. So it’s possible during the initial fall, I slammed my head into the wall and knocked myself out for a moment. Though I’ve never been able to figure out if that is in fact the way it happened. I have no memory of hitting my head though.

That wasn’t the part that really hurt me though. I realized I had no control over my right leg. It didn’t “hurt” really, but it was just hanging at an odd angle. Not know exactly how hurt I was, and not sure what else to do, I called 911 and an ambulance ride later had me in the ER. 6 hours of tests and waiting and it was revealed I had shredded my patellar Tendon.

The next morning I had a surgery that was supposed to last 3 hours, it ended up lasting 7 because the surgeon accidentally cut into an artery in my leg and I lost a great deal of blood before they could get the bleeding to stop. I ended up having to have 3 pints of blood to stabilize me before they could continue sewing my tendon back up. The way it was described to me was like trying to sew together to wet mop heads. I spent the next year of my life on my back before PT to learn to walk again. I gained 200 lbs in the year and it took me nearly 15 years to get the weight back off, I’m still struggling to get the rest of it gone.

To this day I have trouble walking, major back issues, and tons of nerve damage on my right side that I’ll have till the day I die.

I did the one about jumping upwards under a shelf recently-ish, so instead I’ll share the time I tried to stand on an exercise ball to reach something. Of course, I didn’t make it, and did a faceplant into some hard cube bins.

I had a very sturdy, energetic dog who loved chasing a thrown ball. He was tied to a long rope (about 100 feet). I did not pay attention to where the rope was and threw the ball and he exploded from my side and flew like a rocket after the ball. The rope, unfortunately, was tied to a tree in the direction I was throwing but was curled behind me. I was wearing shorts and as the rope started to be pulled away, it pulled up against both of my calves and abraded all of the skin from the backs of my legs away in a moment, and then the rope was pulled taught, deftly swiping both of my legs out from underneath me, dropping me backwards onto my head on a stone patio, splitting my scalp and spraying blood all over my white canvas outdoor furniture. The dog looked very proud for catching the ball when he loped up to me afterwards.

Cooking. Took a tray out of the oven and put in on the top. Turned to grab a spatula and caught the edge of the tray with the loose end of the oven glove.

As it slid off the top my dumb ass quickly grabbed for it with my ungloved hand, missed, and just pressed the searing hot tray into my stomach and thighs.

Two pies on the floor, that while I was whimpering in the cold shower upstairs, the dog ate.

I was making whipped cream with an electric hand mixer while talking to someone at the same time. While talking and looking at them, I wanted to turn off the machine, but as I didn’t look at it, I put my hands right into the whisk instead of the switch I was trying to reach. Out of pain and shock, instead of turning it off with the other hand, I moved the switch in the wrong direction to its maximum and broke my finger.

Got my ponytail stuck in my armpit somehow, twisted my head rapidly to look at something and yanked on it. Not fun.

I was carrying a hoover downstairs and slipped. The hoover fell down the stairs faster than me and stopped at the bottom obviously. The wire had partially unspooled and the very British three prong plug was sitting on the ground, pointing straight towards the sky.

Guess where my arse landed once I had finished slipping down the carpeted stairs?

Broke my wrist by blocking a gigantic remote control car flying directly at me at 50 MPH and I was the person controlling it.

When I was about 4, I was jumping on the sofa, back and forth from one arm to the other (because the middle was lava, obviously)

Misjudged it and ended up going headfirst off the end into a china cabinet next to it, glass doors and all - I ended up missing the first month of school, 32 stitches and basically half a Glasgow smile to show for it, I’m told it looks very cool

Fell asleep drunk. Knocked over a beer as I went to sleep. Thought, “I’ll worry about that in the morning.”

Must have woke up to go to the bathroom and slipped cause I smashed my head on the corner of a coffee table. Ambulance. Thirteen stitches. Scar covered by hair. Home looked like a murder scene from me steadying myself against the walls with blood on my hands.

I fell off a first floor balcony, helping in a move. Landed on a bush, bounced off it, and came to a stop on a stone paved floor, after breaking a kitchen cabinet with my shoulder and back.

Cut my brow on a twig in the bush, twisted my left ankle, scraped my left shoulder, elbow and hand.

Would do it again.

Hadn’t I leaned too forward to release a foot of the cabinet, it would have tumbled down onto another person, with no warning, straight into their head.

So… worth the scars and bruises.

Partially tore three quadriceps muscles and two calf muscles break dancing at an arcade bar when I was black out drunk. Just didn’t know when to quit until it was too late. Both my primary doctor and the person who did the MRI thought it was hilarious. To be fair, it was.

I was stuck at home for several weeks after a back injury. I was on Vicodin and could barely get out of bed, no tv. So I started beating it. Well, with Vicodin, it makes it very difficult to finish and I lost track of time. By the time I had finished, I realized I’ve been at it for 5 hours. My dick hurt for 4 days afterwards, and the Vicodin didn’t really help with that pain.

Motorcycle training course had a section where you drive fast and when they drop their hand/blow a whistle you emergency brake. Then they check stopping distance. My old bike was front drum brake, the course bikes were modern with front disc. I clamped the front brake too hard and supermanned over the handle bars and broke my wrist. I did the rest of course (4hours) with a broken wrist because ending early would mean signing back up on the waiting list. At the end of day you sign your licensed. I could barely write.

Unzipped my fly at the urinal, started my business, unconsciously learned forward towards the end - as one does - and smashed my face against the wall in slow-motion with 15 drunken dudes silently watching because I forgot I have no toes.