Sports News Without Access, Favor, Or Discretion

To end Blood Week, here is a gallery of some of the best Blood Writes we had left in the ol' inbox. All sic'd. And sick. You've been warned.


This is what happens when you face plant from a bike crash (while slightly drunk). My teeth sliced right through my upper lip. Sadly, I don't have any pics of the ER doc putting his finger through said upper lip ... these are post stitches.



So I'm not sure it's gory enough, but with the story it's plenty cringeworthy. So it's 2am in Bend, OR. A lonely hippie town for a city slicker like me. After drinking all night my buddy (a hardcore mtb'er) and I (a washed up hardcore mtb'er) decided to go hit some "urban". We happen upon this "skinny" (which is the 4ft high brick wall behind me) and I decided I needed to ride it. So I'm riding down it on my other friends cross country rig (think bent over stance and very high seatpost, which equals horrible geometry for drunken skinny balancing) and I almost immediately lose control and endo off the edge. The bad part is that I thought I could ride out of it. Sooo, slammed my whole face face straight into the asphalt from maybe 6-7ft high. Bit through my lip, loosened and rearranged all my teeth, dislocated my right kneecap, and broke my right big toe. The funniest thing is I never let go of the handlebars to catch myself at all; I had scratches on the
OUTSIDE of my hand on my knuckles. Went down with the ship. Pictures are from shitty 2mgpx cameraphone from like 4 years ago.
My expression alone says everything.


I was walking home with a girl after our second date. As we walked up the street she changed sides in order to throw a piece of gum out at the trash can on the corner. As I turned my gaze back to the sidewalk ahead of me, I ran into a massive dude's fist - or rather, this massive dude's fist ran into my face. No words or dirty looks were exchanged, just some fist on face action. Apparently, I stumbled back on my feet an asked the girl, "did i just get punched?". It was then that i realized that one tooth was completely gone and another was pushed back in a 90 degree angle from its usual location.

She picked up my tooth off the ground and tried to get me to a hospital via cab. Two cabs stopped but wouldnt let us in due to massive bleeding. (Thank you DC cabbies, first your stupid zone system, now this....) She tried to get me to tell here how to get back to my place so that we could get her car and get to the hospital, but I was in massive shock and couldn't. She eventually found her car and got me to the hospital where they sort of patched me up by tying a wire to hold my tooth in. Ultimately the tooth was not saved, and I lost both my front teeth. 18 months and 4 surgeries to repair shatter bone in the gum-line and put in implants - I have a sweet set of fake teeth.



There was no flash of song or a blaze of light filled with memories of my life, only a darkness and a day with more black holes and missing scenes than a night out with Big Ben. There was an old wrinkled guy riding a bench seat on the bus and he watched me as I passed him on my motorcycle. The bus was near-empty and it slowed to make a left while I motored on past it, into the intersection, truly happy as hell, singing a song like I sometimes did, on my way home.

The jar and slam of the stretcher's legs sliding into the back of the ambulance brought me to the surface and the paramedic shouting my name over and over pulled me into a very dim semi-consciousness light. From this point until I wake up the next day, it's as if someone cut a large hole in the center of each scene. It didn't help that they had me in this plastic halo-like device that kept my head completely immobile for most of this time. Plus, I was on morphine until I got junk sick and puked on a pretty nurses arm, who was holding a garbage can for me to puke in.

Strapped to the board, not having any idea how badly I was hurt, and strangely, feeling no pain and little panic (so that's what shock is like), they asked me if there was someone they should call and I rattled off my girlfriend's name and phone number as clear as 411. But the sirens were on and I thought "O fuck." Then they asked me if I knew what happened. I said I guess I wrecked my motorcycle. They said I guessed right. And then for some reason I asked if my motorcycle helmet was around and it was. Can I see it? I must've thought seeing the helmet would give me an idea of my condition.

"You sure, my man?" I remember thinking no but I licked my lips and said yes.

He reached over me, grabbed the helmet and held it up high since I was strapped down. It seemed like a head was left inside. Blood dripped in gobs from it. O Christ, I thought, and then my insides were awash in a huge wave of fear and panic that must've put me out, because the next thing I knew, I'm in Mercy hospital being attended to by way too many health care professionals. My girl is there, and although she's no ray of sunshine, she isn't wearing a look of total terror — yet. At this point in the ordeal, we know I'm basically in one piece, that I'm not going to die or lose any limbs, that my wrist is badly broken, and besides a few stitches, I lucked out. That's what they kept saying. I didn't feel so Goddamn lucky, but the morphine made the situation seem a little shinier.

My girl says blood was everywhere; on me, on the bed and sheets, and especially on the floor. In high school, she was the girl who spent the second part of anatomy class sitting in the planetarium that hadn't worked since 1987 listening to her Walkman because she couldn't get past the gore of dissection. She said the medical professionals didn't even seem to see it and walked right through the puddles, printing bloody footprints all over the room. It took a day for her to get her appetite back. ER personal must chuckle at us and most people's queasiness to blood. Some people only fear the site of their own blood, but I'm not one of them. I have a sick and troubling fascination with the sight of my own blood, so I wish I remember the next few moments more clearly.

I felt something on my chin so I rubbed it with my good hand. Why is it wet? I thought. Why so sticky? I had no idea I split open my chin and my girl said the skin flapped back and forth as a rubbed it, making the wound ooze blood and plasma down my neck. A little raw meat to make my girlfriend woozy. A doc spotted me and quickly dropped in a few stitches, which closed it up nicely. He noticed I also had a bloody gauze pad stuck to my shoulder. I can't see what he's doing but I hear my girl say "Oh, my God" and then him mutter a sorry.

I had a few small, deep cuts and when he pulled the gauze off, blood squirted into the air in a series of blasts that cleared the bed and, I imagine, were in time with my heart beat, until he stopped it with a thumb and a few strands of thread. A week later my girlfriend said she almost just drove home after she saw that.

At the end of the week, after wrist surgery and several sets of x-rays and tests, they sent me home. A nurse handed me a bag filled with my clothes I wore the night I got smashed. To my surprise and joy, my helmet was stuffed inside it. Both my girlfriend and her mother gasped and clasped their mouths as I pulled it out, dumping out a small handful of autoglass. Its clear full-face shield was covered in dried blood on the inside so dramatic it looks fake. I sent a picture to a friend of mine and she thought it was a sick joke. But its an artifact that still makes me smile and shudder. The bike, and the car, were totalled, and I guess I came close, too. It's been 10 months and my bones still click and creak if I move the wrong way and now I could tell when it might rain without the TV. I'm very lucky.



Many years ago, I was down in Brazil with my college soccer team for our fall trip. We played some teams while we were down there. Needless to say, we were soundly trounced every game. However, I got to watch most of them from the sidelines when, during the second game of the trip, I went up for a header. I hit the ball. A defender slammed the back of my head like a frat boy would slam a beer can. Apparently I stumbled around like a drunkard for a good 30 seconds before I hit the ground, blood spurting from the back of my head in a geyser. I say "apparently" because I don't remember it (Grade III concussion).

One hour, a ride in a white-washed station wagon (ambulance), and 3 cat gut stitches in an emergency room later in Nowheresville, Brazil, and I was set. No more soccer for the rest of the trip, but plenty of cheap booze and pus-covered bandages.



what my arm looked like after elbow surgery. I broke it snowboarding over the winter, yet it didn't look nearly as gross until after the doctors had cut it open and sewn it back up.



Jan 1st, 2009. Living in Florida means two things weather-wise: hot summers and mild winters. We had decided weeks in advance that we would make a huge slip n slide to celebrate the new year. After approx 2 hours of working on setting the damn thing up, the wind started to blow and we needed to secure the rig a little better, so we resorted to railroad ties. After moving five of the six we planned to use, the sixth and final piece fell squarely on my left big toe, crushing the nail and toe. It was a buzzkill to say the least, I went to the hospital, the food I had purchased was long gone when I returned and no one ended up using the slide.

The pictures look a lot worse than the actual pain I experienced. Taking several shots into the toe was worse than the actual injury. Approx 8 stitches and a fractured toe.



I'm not sure if this counts, as it is after the fact, but I figured I'd send it in...

My face got in the way of a fist and blood literally poured out of my eyeball. This is 2 days later right before I had to have a needle drain the blood out of my eye.



This happened post-college in 2006. I'd scored a dream internship at a newspaper on one of the smaller islands of Hawaii. We interns were given room and board, as well as transportation. Being a rather modest (and now sadly defunct) community newspaper, the transportation ended up being mo-peds, from the Honda Ruckus line, done up in some bitchin' camo (sort of like slapping a Megadeth shirt on a Hello Kitty doll). Anyhow, Hawaii doesn't always have the best road maintenance, and a pretty nasty spill proved why mo-peds aren't ideal for highway transportation.

My hands and face were pretty messed up, so I wandered into a tourist gift shop to buy a roll of paper towels to clean myself up. I knew it was bad when the sunburned retirees recoiled in horror. I managed to get myself to the hosptial, where the attending ER doc spent 20 minutes picking alarmingly big pieces of road out of my face. I muttered something about how it was too bad that I didn't have a camera on me to at least document the injury. "Doesn't your phone have a camera?" he asked me. Good point.

The chin-flap picture (even being low quality) almost makes up for the indignity of carrying a permanent mo-ped scar on my person. Almost.


Thomas B:

I work for an A/V company and dropped a flat stand base which is 100 lbs of solid metal on my big toe. I wasn't wearing steel toe shoes so, needless to say, it went through my big toe like a guillotine. Luckily, it didn't hit my whole toe or it definitely would have cut it all off, instead it cut through the top left part at like a 45º angle. Right when it hit I knew something was wrong so I tore off my sock and my toe was just hanging there. I had to hop to the nearest help yelling "I just cut my toe off call 911". When I went to the hospital they initially told me it had to be amputated but then they said they could put it back together again (I know like Humpty Dumpty) with pins. Here are the pictures post surgery, don't the pins look like corn on the cob holders and there is one of the doctor pulling them out. The top pin was bent from accidentally hitting things and I tried to pull it out drunk once so the doctor had a hard time pulling it out.



Not much blood, but my friend cut the tip of her finger off and being the hippie that she is slapped it with some hippie juice and put it back on herself.



15 stiches on the outside, about 15 on the inside...
I gouged my right calf on the big ring of my bike in a race a few years ago. At first I thought I just scratched it on the pedal so I kept riding. It still really hurt after a while so I looked down and saw what appeared to be the results of someone going after my leg with a melon baller. a 6" long, 1" wide hole in my leg. I had to tie my shirt around my leg and run about a mile to the medical tent.
The best part was when the Dr. scrubbed the dirt and rocks out with a wire brush.
2 weeks later it got infected spouted pus like an Icelandic volcano.



I was helping a buddy with his Lawn Care Business the day before his wedding, that I was in. Anyways, I was on a commercial mower that you stand on the back of that started to slide down a hill. Our rule of thumb had always been if it was gonna hit a tree etc. and we couldn't stop it, to get the fuck off it. When l jumped off the mower, I slipped towards the mower. The mower in the mean time hit a tree, bounced back and I slid underneath the mower. I pulled my leg out, then walked around the house and got my buddy to go call 911. Spent the night in the hospital, missed the wedding. Went back a week later and then had to spend five more nights in the hospital. When I was released, I had to have a hospital bed delivered to my house for the next 2 months that I had to sleep with my leg raised and a nurse coming twice a day to change the bandages. It took a little over a year to finally heal completely.



my finger that got dislocated a few weeks ago. It might not be the bloodiest pic, but it definitely gets some pretty good reactions from people. It happened playing flag football. I just batted down a pass on defense and apparently the ball hit my finger wrong. The doctor said he had never seen a dislocation quite this bad, and he had to use a "lever" to get my finger back on the knuckle (he actually said this to another doctor as he was working on my finger).



Fall semester of my freshman year of college ended with what we titled the "day of drunkeness." Unfortunately, that day ended with me in the ER with a compound tib/fib fracture. This picture is a few days later.


This one is actually a good story, you should read it. Take it away, VegasWasteland:

In June of last year I found out I had a brain tumor on the same day I found
out my wife was pregnant with our first child. Talk about joy and lifesuck
in the same day... Anyway, the tumor (benign, thank god) was the size of a
racquet ball and had was forcing my brain into the area over my right eye
(the tumor was behind and above my left ear). The only symptom I had was
excruciating headaches, no motor skill or memory issues etc.

After fighting with my insurance company for two months to "approve" the
surgery as "medically necessary" (that is a whole separate story), I had the
surgery on my birthday—yes, my birthday. I figured if things went wrong it
would be an interesting read on the headstone.

The surgery took 5 hours and required them to remove a large part of my
skull, hence the trapdoor scar and related staples which totaled
approximately 57 (admittedly some of the numbers remain a bit hazy). The
piece of skull they removed was wired back in using titanium. These pictures
are 3 days after the surgery when I went home. The NICU nurses were amazed I
could talk, let alone walk. I just wanted to get the fuck out of the

You can see how swollen my head is in the photos, it took three months for
the swelling to finally go down. My head leaked blood and some CSF (spinal
fluid) that whole time. It still leaks blood every once in a while.

I was back at work in less than a month. I got the all clear from the
neurosurgeon in December. It is not particularly bloody, but I think it
should suffice.
P.S. My daughter was born last month.


This is 75's foot after an infected blister led to several surgeries/amputations. He eventually lost most of the leg due to subsequent infections. Hope he sued.

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