The door...

It was a hot 100 degree (40 c) day in the middle of summer break. I was 9 years old and dressed in my favorite swimsuit.  My mother was in the farthest part of the back yard setting up a tent for us. My father hated the heat, and in defiance of the summer he would set the temperature in the house to a cool 65 degrees (18 c) .
The house and back yard sat on an acre of land that stretched out in a rectangular shape. This gave us an exceptionally large backyard for being so close to the city.
I had become a slightly mischievous 9 year old. My mother needed a pair of sizzors and sent me inside the house to get them. Now.... an average child might search for them in normal locations in the house, such as a junk drawer or kitchen block. Not me. I took this opportunity to take it upon myself to check in my older sisters bedroom for some sizzors.  I knew I was forbidden by my sister to ever step foot over the threshold into her sanctuary however.... these orders came from the mother herself. It was my chance at last...
Seizing upon the opportunity I opened her bedroom door and walked to the center of the room. I stood there spinning in a slow circle taking in every detail of my 16 year old sisters incredibly cool domain. 
Suddenly the door slammed open and my sister started screaming at me. I panicked and flew past her and down the stairs. She not follow me but I did not know that. I was certain she was in hot pursuit.  I dashed through the kitchen and toward the back door.
The back door.  Archaic and rusting, the latch had never worked quite right. One slight push on the door and it opened.  Normally quite useless.  Except for today.
I pressed on the glass door expecting it to open easily during my passionate escape.  It was latched shut. A combination of the temperature pressure on the old glass door and the force of my little body cause it to shatter as I dashed through it.
At this point my world went quiet. I remember it moving slowly as I fell through the door. I could see the glass falling around me like little shiney stars. I could see my mother running toward me from the back yard. Funny looking in slow motion. The world had gone completely silent except for the sounds of my breath. I remember thinking  "what is happening to me?" . The next moment my world caught up and I was in my mothers arms. She stood me on my feet and looked at me. Her first words were, "don't look at your arm" so... naturally.... I looked.
My arm had been cut to the bone and was hanging like a broken tree branch. It all happened so fast. My mother grabbed me and started putting pressure on my arm to slow the bleeding.  There was so much blood. Every inch of our kitchen was covered as my mother worked fast to stop the bleeding.  My sister cried and my older brother called 911. I watched it all from the floor in a blood loss shock. I had blood transfusions and over 300 stitches in my arm, wrist and face. My skin on my nose had been pealed down like an apple skin. Had I not hit the frame with my forehead I would have lost both eyes. I was so lucky. I was told I would not be able to do much with my arm. That I would have to give up gymnastics.  By the next year I was walking on my hands on the beach. Stubborn even then I suppose.  I carry with me the scars of that experience.  I developed a PTSD from the breaking glass sound. Loud bangs and breaking glass can cause me to lock into a fetal like position. Funny how our bodies protect us one moment and let it loose the next.