Thursday, October 21, 2010

The Scared Shitless Meme!


I've never created a meme before, but with the sequel to one of the scariest movies of all time hitting theatres at midnight tonight (I will be there!), inspiration has hit me. My fellow bloggers and non-bloggers alike, I want you to tell me the true life story of the moment in your life where you were absolutely, positively ... scared shitless. In other words, what do you consider the scariest moment from your lifetime?

If you have your own blog, whether I tag you below or not, feel free to answer this question on there and feel free to tag others. If you don't have one, i'd love for you to tell me your story by leaving a comment on this post.

Before I get into my story, here are the bloggers i've chosen to tag in the most terrifying meme of all time!

- Bill Adcock, Radiation Scarred Reviews

- Mike DeVito, Cultural Compulsive Disorder

- Zach Shildwachter, Z For Zombies

- Jayson Kennedy, Basement of Ghoulish Decadence

- Kristy Jett, The Person You Benefit From Knowing

Don't be squares, share your scary stories motherfuckers! Here's mine ....

It doesn't get much scarier than almost losing your life and a good 10 years ago, I almost lost mine. While I was in shock through most of the ordeal, my brain and body having very little time to even be scared or feel pain, this was nevertheless the most terrifying experience of my life ... and I hope this statement remains true until I actually do reach my demise.

I vividly remember sitting on top of my dresser one day, playing with my wrestling action figures as I often did around this time, when I heard a loud knocking at the front door to my house, a knocking that was quite persistent. When I went out to investigate, I realized it was just my older brother Chris on the other side of the door. Being the little jerkoff that I used to be, I decided not to open the door for him, but instead leave him outside and tease him a bunch. This was something we did to each other quite often when we were kids and when we did it, we would also often pretend to punch one another through the glass window in the door. This is what I did on that day, but this time I punched a little too hard.

Before I knew it there was blood spurting everywhere and a window no longer stood between my brother and I. Apparently my arm had accidently gone completely through the window and I had then quickly withdrawn it through sharp shards of broken glass, though I have no recollection of either of these things actually happening. My body completely in shock, I felt absolutely no pain and was convinced that I just had a little cut on my arm, so I ran into the bathroom to go wash the blood away and survey the damage, figuring a little band aid was all I was in need of. Leaving a blood trail in my wake, I reached the bathroom and ran my bloody forearm under the water. The blood all cleared away for one slow motion moment and I saw that this was much more horrific than I anticipated - my entire arm was flayed open, my insides were visible, and a band aid was not going to do the trick this time.

Thank god my mom was home at the time because if she was not, I can pretty much guarantee things would've ended up a lot worse for me - to this day, she still tells me she is awoken in fear with nightmares of the incident. She pretty quickly realized how bad things were and tightly gripped a washcloth over my gaping wound, while dialing 911 with her other hand. She death gripped this washcloth over my forearm until the ambulance arrived, where I was then whisked off inside of it, fate of my arm and my life unknown. My dad was coming home at the same time I was being taken off and I remember apoligizing to him about the window and saying that I would pay to get it replaced, all while much more important issues hung in the balance - that's pure and utter shock for ya. While in the ambulance, the EMT holding my arm tried making me laugh and assured me that everything would be ok, though I was pretty sure I was gonna come out of this with at the very least one less limb.

The next thing I remember is laying in the hospital bed, bleeding under control, and my parents walking in. My arm was positioned on a table next to me, still thankfully connected to the rest of my person, and I saw things inside of me that I never wish to see again, veins and all. My dad was naturally pretty horrified at this and I said something along the lines of "What?, it's just blood", in an effort to calm him down. Again, this was just the shock talking.

As far as I can recall, I was completely awake for the entire stitching up and putting back together process, which I remember feeling quite weird. It was at this time that I realized I not only had the big gash on my left forearm, but also smaller ones on both my upper left arm and near the elbow of my right arm. After the strange sensation of having my left arm pulled and tugged back together, the surgeon poked the much smaller cut on my right arm and asked me if it hurt. He said if it did, he would have to stitch that one up to. Lying, I told him it did not hurt in an effort to not have to go through anymore stitching, an effort that worked. I had just had enough at that point and wanted to get back home. The surgeon informed me that I was mere millimeters away from slicing a major tendon in my arm, which would've no doubt lead to my demise.

When I did return home that night (at least I think it was that night), the house was completely cleaned of all blood and glass, thanks to my uncle. With a thin bandage on my arm, and the reality of the events finally settling in, the throbbing pain began.

Thankfully the pain never got too bad during the recovery process, but I did just a mere couple weeks later do a running baseball slide into a not fully screwed in screw in the floor, which tore my knee open pretty bad in a jigsaw piece pattern. Bandages from the last injury still wrapped around my arm, and my dad none too happy about my wrecklessness, I absolutely refused to go to the hospital and get anymore stitches put in me. Thankfully my dad let me slide, no pun intended, and I now have a gnarly scar to show for that one too.

When I went in for a checkup to see how well the stitches were dissolving, the doctor showed me a polaroid that he took of me the day of the injury. In it I was holding my arm up in the air, blood literally flying towards the lens. This picture is probably still out there to this day, though he unfortunately did not hand it over to my family so I will probably never see it again. Bummer, cause I would've loved to have shown that one to you guys!

What I can show you is how the scar from this event looks today ....


Not too bad, given the circumstances.

All I can say is, I thank the good lord that my body didn't allow me to feel such horrific pain and my brain didn't allow me to register such a horrific event, until after it was pretty much over. Thank you, body and brain. I hope you've found that i've been kinder and gentler to you guys over the years.

One last little thing I want to say about this is that for whatever reason, when my brother and I were playing in the yard earlier in the day, he made up some weirdo song that he sung to me about how I shouldn't worry and that things would get better - I don't think there was any point to him singing this song or that I was having a bad day, he was just being goofy. A few hours later my arm was torn apart, that song becoming an ominous warning of the events that were to come that day...

Now lets hear your most terrfying true life ordeal! Either leave a comment below with your story or with a link to your story. Scare me shitless!


Wings said...

That is a pretty freaking scary day, man! And I totally identify with your mom. Being a parent, I have had more than enough of those moments with my own kids. Leaves you scarred inside, without a doubt.

Andrew said...

Johnny - I guarantee you if that had happened to me I would not have stopped screaming for a year!

My scariest moment: I was about four years old and my neighbor was having a party. He gave everybody little meat cubes on toothpicks which I collected and took home. (I have no idea why - I was and still am strange like that.)
I promptly threw them on the rug and forgot about them. My mom being a kind and responsible person vacuumed them up, but missed one sticking straight up...
Later that day I was playing around and I jumped off the couch and impaled my foot with the toothpick between 2 toes! It went in at least 1.5-2.5 inches. It hurt HORRIBLY and my mom immediately took me to the Hospital with me screaming and crying the whole way.
They told me they had to give me a shot to prevent any infection (the toothpick also ripped a little flesh) which made me even more hysterical and they had to put me in restraints. I ended up being okay, but I did need a few stitches.
To this day I get nervous around toothpicks. Before I put them in a garbage can, I will flatten the ends so they're not sharp.

MJ said...

At uni I found someone who'd slit their wrists, fortunately with enough time to save them. The horrifying part is the amount of blood that just flows out. I knelt down to check on here and my knee literally sank into a blood-soaked carpet.

It's not particularly annecdotal, but it was horrifying!

Mr. Mike D. said...

My Comment is this: I can not wait to post my story on CCD next week for CCD's First Annual All-Horror Week!!! It will be up Monday!!! Thanks for including me...

cynniegurl said...

i posted my story, check it out.

Johnny said...

Awesome, thanks Cynnie!