Worst weekend?
A few years ago, on a Saturday, I was riding my dirtbike. A Yamaha TTR225, 4 stroke, mostly for bumping about, nothing very serious. I was coming off of a hill in the large empty storm area not far from my house, a few feet in the air. Not a big deal under normal circumstances. It is a big deal, however, when there is a log in the middle of the landing strip. A log I wasn't counting on. My front tire hit the log, sending my bike and my body cartwheeling through the air.
On the handlebar of my motorcycle is something called a stabilizer. You can guess what it's used for. It sticks up about 1" above the cross bar of the handlebar. This stabilizer was directly in the path of oncomging traffic, namely, my left testicle. Half a second later, I am on the floor, a hole in my pants, a hole in my scrotum, my left testicle on the ground a few feet away.
A friend notices me go down. He helps me up, notices the large amount of blood, helps me to my feet, and begins to drag me to the truck. I make him stop. I turn back, pick up my testicle, then proceed to the truck.
4 hours later, I sit in a hospital bed, left testicle secured in place with eight #10 absorbable sutures, my crotch feeling as if it had been ripped open, and indeed it had been.
That was the worst weekend ever.