Full of holes....lead or stainless steel?
POSTED BY: chrisisall
UPDATED: Sunday, June 11, 2006 00:15
VIEWED: 6412
PAGE 4 of 5
Nah, no piercings on me. I can't even wear a watch or jewelry, so... (Obsessive-compulsive about that, it just bugs me to have excess "stuff".) I try to be open-minded about other people being pierced, and I've got used to it. But it's one of those thing where while I might not show it, and I accept why people like them, it still sort of grosses me out :) Even earrings, really.
The two that really bother me are the nose studs ('cause to me they look like pimples :) And those belly piercings that are becoming so popular lately. ('Cause I got sort of a thing for that whole area and it doesn't go well with my above troubles.) And all of that's moot, I suppose since my girlfriend's got a tongue ring :) Not a huge fan of it, but whatcha gonna do?
Tattoos are another matter entirely. I think those are rather cool/ sexy, etc. I'd still like to get a couple myself, but I've never come up with anything I really wanted. (Have to be careful due to that whole "it's permanent" thing. :)
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You can take my Browncoat when you pry it from my cold, dead fingers. (Or if Kaylee asks me nicely...)
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Quote:
Originally posted by zoid:
Even that sort of enhancement ('body sculpting') can be taken to extremes that detract from the simple beauty of the human form. But at least it's (supposedly) reversible, given time.
I'm just talkin' fit, like Mal. At 46, I can still keep up with my seven-year old son on the (terrifying space) monkey bars, and I aim to keep it that way for some time to come.
Quote:
I can think of nothing more ironic than a constant reminder, indelibly writ on your flesh, of how foolish you were when you were young. I'd prefer to keep my own idiocy (then and now) out of the public eye. That's what memories are for: Suffering one's mistakes in the privacy of one's own mind is enough penance, without inviting the rest of the world to act as witness.
That's so funny...
Ain't no Arnold Chrisisall
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chrisisall wrote:
Quote:
...That's so funny...
...And don't I know it. My body is a tapestry of scars that scare the beejeezus out of children and small animals, testament to all my critical failures in reasoning whilst skating entirely too closely to the edge of the envelope. And, of course, I will open my mouth and tell virtually anybody about them; so much for 'privacy' and not 'inviting the world to witness' my mistakes.
Still, it's not like I intentionally gave myself any scars. Life/Fate/God has obviously decided to make an example of me, and I'm just playing my part...
Is it just me, or is it getting ironic in here?
Drippingly,
zoid
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"If you don't walk with a limp, you ain't shit" -Message seen on a t-shirt at Sturges
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Quote:
Originally posted by zoid:
My body is a tapestry of scars that scare the beejeezus out of children and small animals, testament to all my critical failures in reasoning whilst skating entirely too closely to the edge of the envelope.
*The Nosey Chrisisall*
From what, if I may ask?
Got me a big ole scar round my right hand from a combination of alcohol, a plate glass window and a love lost 21 year-old's broken heart (punching windows during times of severe stress is good for the economy; $1000+ went in all directions that next day...)
Ironic Rambo Chrisisall
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*The Nosey Chrisisall* wrote:
Quote:
From what, if I may ask?
Let see:
1. Zipper from sternum to navel to repair diaphragm, which had a spleen shoved through it by seat belt during a black ice encounter just outside Thetford, England, UK (The World). Also got cute little scars on upper left bicep and inside left eyebrow from that one. Once I assured the EM techs that I was alive -- and, boy, were they surprised -- I walked from the wreckage to the ambulance. It was later discovered that I had lost 6 pints of blood from the internal injuries (Sister of Mercy couldn't get a vein anywhere, "That's odd") and that they should probably get me into surgery, stat, as they say. (NB: Note that I was wearing a seat belt. This attention to safety is a recurring theme in my little comedy of catastrophic mishaps.)
2. Got 't-boned' on my motorcycle on the way to work, by folks running a little late for their own workday. Broken right ulna, at the wrist; shattered left kneecap and broken left tibia; total destruction of all the ligaments (ACL, MCL, meniscus, etc.) in the left knee. Motorcycle helmet -- impacted on car's windshield -- nearly severed my jugular (carotid?) artery. (NB: See? Safety first.) As a result of some mishandling at the hospital (I didn't scream incessantly, so they thought it mustn't be all that bad), I developed 'capsule syndrome', so they had to split the left leg from just below the knee to just above the ankle to relieve pressure and save as much muscle and nerve as possible. Ever seen "House, M.D."? Same thing, but without the addiction to painkillers, which are forbidden in my career. Suffice to say, pain is my constant companion, even while sleeping. House is my alter-ego.
Scars from biking incident: Large, ragged scar on right side of neck near the collar from helmet (think Clint Eastwood in "Hang 'Em High"). Two on right wrist from the original surgery done wrong, and the corrective second surgery; supination and pronation diminished by approximately 30%. 4x2 rectangular patch on upper right thigh, from whence the skin graft came to reclose the split left lower leg. Three ('angry' red) zippers on left knee to repair shattered kneecap.
...And the left leg is just Frankensteinish from the knee down. I call it "The Leg Substitute" (because it scarcely works without ligaments and hurts so bad) or "six miles of bad road".
I still wear very nice Izod walking shorts to restaurants and on a day's shopping, when the weather warrants it. I figure, "Screw the straights! If they can't handle it, that's their problem."
Some personal attitudes (like rebelliousness and non-conformance) just never die, y'know? But again, kiddies, I didn't deface my body intentionally, as a personal fashion statement...
Cicatrixically,
zoid
P.S.
If Joss ever wants to cast a realistic 'improperly hanged man', I'm his guy. Hell, if he wants to do a minimalist Reaver or Serenity Valley survivor, I can do those without prosthetics, too. Tho' the Reaver would require piercings, which I'm definitely against, remember?
P.P.S.
Just remembered! In response to the thread's original question: stainless steel, two 6-inch 'erector set' rods inplanted in the right ulna. You can't see 'em except on X-rays (they look like the front suspension of a heavy truck), but they set off metal detectors at work, so that's always fun...
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"I aim to misbehave." -Capt. Mal Reynolds, Serenity, a.k.a. 'the BDBOF'
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Okay.
You got me and Rambo both beat.
Side note: Went down on black ice once, bike pinned my leg, and skidded for thirty feet on my knee. Swat knee and shin guards took it, that's why I can still walk. Jokes about me lookin' like Robocop stopped that day...heh heh.
Former two-wheeler Chrisisall
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chrisisall wrote:
Quote:
...Former two-wheeler Chrisisall
Yeah, me too. Some thing's are just too obvious to argue about.
'Funny' retrospective memories:
When the SoM couldn't get blood outta me, they had me walk about 60 yards of corridor, into an elevator, change clothes into and out of a hospital gown and back into bloodied and glass-riddled civvies. I was so woozy from loss of blood, they thought I was drunk. I felt like I had been hit by the meanest linebacker one could imagine (my actual thought at the time). Nothing was funny at the time, but c'mon, that's comedy bordering on farce.
When I woke up from the surgery to repair my diaphragm, I had metal staples (again, piercings are bad) running straight(ish) down the middle of my torso, and the contractions -- because one does not split abdominal muscles and then just sew them back together without consequences -- were so bad I almost broke my jaw and some teeth; until they hit me with the morphine, at which point it felt like I literally sank into the mattress, a la Ewan McGregor in "Trainspotting". Ladies, you have my respect...
I hit the windshield of the car, snapping my wrist and leg as I left the bike. I rolled off the car to the street, and stood up. Looking down at my leg which was clearly not in a functional configuration, I thought, "Well, might as well lie back down." As I lay in the road waiting for the ambulance to arrive, I had one of the standers-by fish my cell phone out of my backpack. I called my boss to let her know that I had been in an accident and that she'd need to hustle to the tower to open on time. She said, 'No problem, get fixed up and I'll see you later.' When she came to visit me in the hospital, she cried when she saw me. She was the most insufferable b*tch you'd ever have the misfortune to meet, except on that one occasion.
When I was waiting for somebody, anybody to administer a painkiller following the bike accident, I cursed continuously below my breath in Yiddish, a legacy of my first girlfriend and her rather salty mother. Occasionally, these curses would rise in decibel level to the point where a passing nurse would stop and look goggle-eyed at me, whereupon I assured her/him that I was not in fact Jewish, nor was I in the custom of cursing in Yiddish (in fact, I never had before or since).
It was a Catholic hospital...
My life is a dark comedy.
Misty, Watercolored-ly,
zoid
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"I aim to misbehave." -Capt. Mal Reynolds, Serenity, a.k.a. 'the BDBOF'
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Okay, Zoid, since you mentioned blood...
*Flashback, lovesick on New Years Eve 1981*
After smashing the plate glass window (by accident, I didn't know I was strong enough to do such a thing), I wandered in Newark, New Jersey at 2am for about a half-hour looking for a train station that I was too inebriated to locate, and a Guardian Angel (remember them?) asked if I was okay. I said I was just wanting to get home to NY, and he said I was bleeding. I looked down to see my whole leg covered in blood- but it was from my hand. A big chunk was hanging off (raise your hand if, Ewwww), and he took me to the hospital.
*fade out- literally*
Next day, micro-surgery and stitches behind me, the doc said I was cold 'cause I lost five pints of blood (and considering I only weighed 135 at the time, this was signifigant, I think), and if I hadn't made it to the ER when I did, I would have passed out and died in Joisey.
But I never saw that 'light' so many describe...
Guess you heart has to actually stop for that.
Lot of dark comedy out there.
Chrisisall, donater of red cells in Newark
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Chrisisall wrote:
Quote:
But I never saw that 'light' so many describe...
Guess you heart has to actually stop for that.
Me neither. But when the car hit the black ice, turned 45 degrees to the right at 90 mph (Britain, remember), and I felt the wind get up underneath the car and lift it off of two wheels, everything slooowed dowwwn. I remember the sensation of the (two) wheels catching traction and hurling me at a stand of silver birches, snuggled quaintly to the side of the 'A' motorway (can't remember the number).
I remember having what seemed like an eternity to pick the exact spot I wanted to aim for, the biggest gap between the closely packed trees.
And I remember having the matter-of-fact thought, "I'm going to die." That's, umm, a thought I hope never to have again. With any luck, I'll go in my sleep after a nice interlude with my goodly wife...
Tunnel-ly,
zoid
P.S.
I've experienced the 'time dilation' sensation a couple of times. I think it's probably an overdose of adrenaline, frankly. But I've only ever had the "I'm gonna die" thing one time, and I never want it again, nor would I wish it on my worst enemy. The momentous effect on the psyche is indescribable, and altogether mortifying (pun intended). And it's an important distinction, so I'll restate it: I didn't opine to myself, "I'm (probably) gonna die", it was a cool certainty in that moment, "I'm going to die", delivered in my own voice. If that doesn't seem to make sense, pray that you never get an object lesson in the not terribly subtle difference. I would think very few people alive would have truly experienced it. Maybe that girl whose parachute failed and hit concrete face-first, but survived...
My life did not 'flash before my eyes', so I reckon that's a load of hooey. I was cognizant and analytical and working on saving my ass the whole (dilated) time. Did a pretty good job, too. They had to cut some trees down to get the car out. If one of those trees had struck the windshield/roof at that speed, it would have sliced through car and driver like a hot knife through butter.
Like I said, God's making an example of me. I'm just tellin' it.
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"I aim to misbehave." -Capt. Mal Reynolds, Serenity, a.k.a. 'the BDBOF'
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