When I was about 13, I passed out from watching a first aid movie. Sucking chest wounds were OK, and so were guts all over the place, but when they showed a little girl with just a little fluid coming out of her ear and started talking about bone splinters and brain fluid, I started feeling kinda bad.
So, I went outside to get some fresh air. That would solve the problem, right? Nope. Then I decided what really should happen was a trip to the rest room. On the way, there was a big sign that said CRASH in big letters like happened in the Batman TV show back in the 1960s. I thought about that for a while, and eventually figured out that I was lying on the floor in the school hallway and that I still needed to get to the rest room. So I got up and headed to the boy's room. Where I fell over again and bashed my head again.
At that point, all I could think was that I sure hoped it wasn't Monday. If it was Monday, I wouldn't be able to goof off tomorrow, and I really wanted to goof off. But, instead, I was on the floor in the boy's room. It took a while for that to sink in, but when it did, I got up and went back into the classroom. The class though I was part of the show, since I was covered with blood. I had broken a cheekbone and split my face open on a locker handle, narrowly missing taking out an eye. They were really into it. The instructor, who was also my wrestling and football coach, wasn't nearly as enthusiastic. He got me off to the nurse's office, where I waited for my mother to show up and drag me off to the emergency room.
It was Monday, but I got the rest of the week off, staying in the hospital with the broken cheekbone and probably a concussion. They sewed me up and made me sit still for a few days. Sitting still still sucks, and it was worse then.
It was about that point that my career as a medical doctor got ruled out.