Did I say I might have more than one? Here's a few more in order of occurrence:
I was 16 or 17 and putting replacement blades in a broadhead, It was so long ago I can't remember what type broadheads they were but they had a retaining ring in a groove through the middle that the blades locked into. It took considerable force to seat the blades and I was using pliers to grip the blades and insert them. Two blades in and working on the third and it slips and drive the fresh new blade right through the end of the ring finger of my left hand. Splayed it open through the fingernail and right to the bone. I walked out into the kitchen and showed my mom. Her comment had something to do with a stupid burro . . . . That scar is still there today some 40+ years later.
I was in my thirties and made a bad rifle shot on a deer. Luckily there was snow on the ground and I was able to track him over a mile all the way across the section with a drop here and a drop there. I walked up behind him and finished him with a shot to the back to the head. Unfortunately he was only 30 yards off the two track from the opposite section road. I knew I was going to hike back to the truck and drive around to collect him so I was hurrying a bit to get him gutted and stashed before someone drove by and saw me. I managed to slice the large meat at the base of the thumb of my left hand in the process of gutting him. I had left my pack where I shot him so I had no first aid kit. Long story short, I left a much better blood trail in the snow back to my gear than I had spent the morning following.
Late 40's, I had been target shooting my bow in the basement all winter at 15 yds. Groups were very tight ant that range and I had knocked several nocks off over the winter. Last arrow of the last round of an evening shoot I hear a click as the arrow hits the block. Crap, I think, I just broke another nock. I walk up and everything looks good so I just leave the arrows in the block. Its spring and a couple of nights later the snow has gone down enough to move outside. After dinner I grab my bow arrows and block and head outside. Very first arrow I release explodes on release and breaks about 6 inches in front of the vanes. The click I heard must have been me hitting the carbon shaft just in front of the vanes. Front end arcs harmlessly into the neighbors yard but the vane end buries itself into my forearm about a inch down from the crook of my elbow. It stops the bowstring under pressure and flips out of my arm and lands behind me about 10 yds. I collect my block, bow, arrows including both ends of the broken arrow (after all I can't leave it in the neighbors yard can I? ) and put it all away. I walk up to the back French door of the house and tell my wife I need a towel. Done already she asks? Then she see the blood running down my arm and instantly turns ashen. I thought she was gonna pass out. Standing in the kitchen I discover that the two halves of the arrow from my arm aren't as long as an intact arrow. Crap, there may still be a chunk in there. Interesting fact, other than probing the wound, at that time there was no good way to determine if a piece of carbon fiber arrow shaft is imbedded in your arm. They tried x-ray and ultrasonic and in the end they just ended up probing around and pulling hunks of carbon fiber from my arm for over an hour. I still have flecks of carbon fiber surrounding that scar.
I could continue but by now you're getting the general idea . . . ultimately my Mom was right.