OK, since we're doing cringe-worthy finger stories... (or are we on to lip stories now???)
The spring of my first year of teaching. 96 or 97, somewhere in there.
Ten Sleep, Wyoming. Things were a little stressful at school, so decided to drive up the mountain for a little camping. I was pretty minimalist back then: A tarp, some matches, a can of beef stew, a knife, a blanket, and a warm jacket. After wandering around the canyon for a few hours, climbing boulders, catching fish, observing spiders, and such, I got tired and decided to make camp. I found a good spot, lit a fire, and put my can of food on the edge to warm up. While laying out my bedroll, I realized I'd forgotten to bring my spoon. So, I grabbed a slat of splintered firewood and started whittling a spoon.
Well, I was pretty tired by then, and it was starting to get dark, and my knife wasn't very sharp. Not a recipe for good things to happen. I was cutting toward my off-hand (duh) when suddenly the dull blade broke through the thin wood and cut into the underside of my right index finger (I'm left handed). I felt it grate against the bone. I instinctively folded my finger up. The first thing that scared me was that it didn't hurt. Isn't it supposed to hurt? Second thing that scared me was when I uncurled the finger to survey the damage, and saw the bone. How often do you get to see your own finger bones? New experiences = Richer life. Yay.
Well, I kicked a bucket of water over onto the fire, one-armed everything into the back of my pickup, and drove back to town. Ever tried driving a stick-shift down a windy mountain road with one arm? It was a night full of new experiences. Yay. I got back to town and walked over to my neighbor's to ask if they had a first aid kit. (I was just out of college and had nothing) He took a quick look and insisted on driving me to the hospital in Worland, 30 miles away. I wanted to drive myself, because I was an idiot, but fortunately his good sense prevailed.
The surgeon at the Worland hospital took one look at my hand and said it was over his head. Turns out I had cut through the flexor tendons, the sensory nerves, and an artery which fortunately squished back together when I curled up my finger. They stitched it up enough so it would quit bleeding, and the next day my dad drove me up to Billings, Montana, to an orthopaedic surgeon. He told me that usually, they just fuse the outer joint on fingers so badly damaged. I told him I was a musician and needed my fingers to move, and he said, "OK, but it's going to hurt."
Well, after 3 hours of surgery and several months of self-administered physical therapy, I regained about 50% of the mobility in my finger. (It's still only about 60%, good enough to play my instruments) After about ten years, the feeling gradually started coming back as the nerves regenerated. I will always have a stiff finger and a really nifty scar, but all is well.
The moral of the story, my children, is this: If you're going to be stupid with a knife while solo camping, don't drive a stick shift.
) on the stand. You can’t see it, but a flap of skin got cut open and off
... I looked at my thumb which was really bloody and had a good size incision on it... It stung due to that wood dust that was on the blade but i rinsed it and put a bandage on it... 
