Someone should put together a book about nearly-fatal stupid kid stories.
The summer I was 9, my younger sister and I were home alone, and I was playing on our open front door, hanging from it and swinging. It had a window with curtains hanging from a rod. The rod was attached to the door by these metal hooks on either side. When I dropped off, I knocked the curtain rod off and ripped the inside of my wrist open vertically about 2 inches. As I held my gushing wrist, my sister and I walked around the neighborhood trying to find an adult; eventually, we did, and I got a visit to the emergency room, some stitches, and a wicked scar. The doctor said if it’d caught me a half inch to the right, I would have torn out along an artery and I’d have bled out before we got help.