My son got his first stitches when he was 18 months. Ran into a glass door. Oops.
Just last week (age 3), he slipped and fell and got five stitches on his chin. He had a congenital heart condition which cleared up on his own, so his first major medical stuff was in the first 12 months.
My daughter fell down when she was four and started bleeding from her vagina. :eek:
Fortunately, she was fine.
It was really good that we had good insurance when I was growing up. Three or four broken bones, several sprains, and many stitches. Then there was the time when my nurse mother decided to just make a butterfly bandage instead of stitches for me. I’ve got quite the scar as it was on my knee and pulled apart.
Another time I sliced my wrist open when washing dishes, of all things. The scar looks just like a suicide attempt, though. Another time I almost took of the end of my left index finger when I was cutting something. That was a half a dozen stitches.
One broken bone was from water skiing, when I came in too close to shore. The other was my old football injury.
The funny thing about the latter is that I was a bookworm and mostly an indoor kid as well. Never did much sports and consequently sucked at them. In ninth grade gym, we had a number of flag football teams. The coach assigned players so that each team had a least one really good guy and one really bad kid. Our quarterback eventually went on to be the star for the high school team, so he was really good.
I was the designated nerd for our team. Us nerds were assigned to “pass rush” and “rush defense” to “protect” the quarterback. No running so each play was a pass and there was an unwritten understanding among us geeks that the rusher would pretend to rush and the defender would pretend to keep him away from the quarterback. No since risking injuries or possibly break into a sweat.
At the end of the “season” there were just two undefeated teams. Us and one more. We had the final game to determine the champions. The other geek was a good friend, so we’d chat while we pretended to be playing. Near the end, the score was tied. Paul, our normally hot QB, complained about their good pass defense.
Paul came up with a rather brilliant plan. He told all of our receivers to race wide to the sideline and deep, drawing the defenders. He told had me go out three steps and do a button hook, which I didn’t know what it was, so he explained it was to just turn around and he’d gently toss the ball.
I hiked the ball, as normal, and engaged my friend in a conversation to give our receivers time to go really deep. Then, suddenly I took off and left my friend calling after me, “wait, I need to finish.” It worked, just like Paul had planned. I could catch a gentle ball, and then started running down field.
The defenders were completely fooled, and didn’t notice until it was too late. However, just at the goal line, one of them caught me. He was so pissed, rather than try to get my flag, he grabbed my free arm and threw me. I fell breaking my arm.
We won, but most importantly, I got my mother to raise a stink so I didn’t have to take gym in tenth grade.
My wife, one of three indoor girls, didn’t have a single scar on her prior to her c-section. Never had a broken bone or a sprain. Any little bump that our kids get and she freaks out.