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First major scare was being on the phone with one of my best friends, trying to talk him out of suicide over some woman, and hearing him rack the slide on a handgun of his. I started yelling all sorts of (on reflection) inane things, but he listened. He's a doctor in the Army these days.
Second, and far more scary, was having a nurse tell me that my newborn wasn't breathing. I was a wreck for days as they kept the poor little guy going with all sorts of machines. I'm not religious, but I was damned sure praying, and was deeply thankful when the hospital sent by their staff priest. We needed every bit of help possible, and I was ready to be as religious as I needed to be. Happy ending, he's great. Eats too damned much and stays skinny, which pisses my fat self off.
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