What's the closest you ever came to death?

When I was about 10, we went on one of the tube rides at Wet N' Wild in Orlando. I wasn't sitting in the tube right and when I hit the first patch of faster water it kicked me out. I wasn't a strong swimmer at all at the time, maybe even couldn't swim. I remember being under, hitting my face against a wall and being disoriented, and a lifeguard pulling me out. He told me he could right away by how I was sitting that I was going to get knocked out of the tube.
I think he caught me right before I went down a long ramp/slide part of the ride. If I'd have made it to that part, I'd have been in deep trouble because I had no real idea what had happened.
The lifeguard pulled me off the ride and to the side and told me to walk down the hill. I went to the kids' water park and happily spent most of the rest of the day there. My dad and sister took what seemed like two hours to find me, though. Considering they went in front of me and then I didn't come down, you'd think they'd have had a little more pep in their step and been worried. When they finally found me it was like nothing had ever happened. They probably went on the ride again.

 

In high school I got hit by a car crossing the street to the school.
A bunch of cars were stopped at a red light and I walked out from between two of them right as another car was coming up into the left turn lane. I saw it and realized what was about to happen with just enough time to jump and roll into it like a stuntman. Or at least that's what went through my head and what I think happened. I pretty much bounced off the hood, landed in the street, told the driver I was OK, got up and kept walking to home room. Almost without missing a step. Other than maybe a scrape and a light bruise or two, I was fine.
About 30 minutes later in geometry class it hit me, like, "Holy shit, I just got hit by a fucking car."
What freaks me out about it now is that I have no idea if anything was coming in the other lane that could have hit me again or while I was down, and what could have happened if there had been. That might have been why I popped up so fast, was that thought flashed through my mind for a split second and it was a moment of self-preservation.
I also think about what that looked like from other angles. The poor lady who hit me was, I'm sure, way more freaked out than I was. I can't imagine what the rest of her morning was like.
Also, what that looked like for anybody who saw it. Seeing this kid get smacked by a car probably doing 15-20 mph and then popping right back up. I like to think I looked like the toughest SOB around.
The whole thing was pretty surreal.

 

motorcycle, 1971 through 2001, inclusive

 

Yeah, I have to throw that one in there, too. I didn't ride as many years, but I certainly did some dumb things. When I was riding alone, I was invincible. When my wife decided she liked riding with me, doubt started creeping in because I didn't want to be responsible for hurting her. When I finally sold my Harley, I wasn't sad.

That said, I'd jump on one right now and take off on a ride.

 

I don't remember it, but I was probably closest to death upon my birth.

Was born nearly three months early -- even today, that's very bad, but I'm middle-aged, and so, back then, that was usually un-survivable -- and I was in a fight for my life from the start, and then over the course of the first few months. I didn't come home from the hospital until I was four months old.

Eleven days after birth, on my uncle's wedding day, which my parents only left the hospital to make an appearance at so that the family wouldn't really worry, the doctor called and told my parents that they'd better come back to the hospital because he didn't think I was going to make it through the day.

They did. But I did, too.

And soon after, my mom's obstetrician called a colleague at a large NYC hospital who specialized in premature births whom he thought might be able to help, and that doctor actually made what was essentially a house call, to a patient that wasn't his (me), looked over my case, and wound up taking me off of and changing all of the medications I'd been on. From then on, I began to get better and grow, and slowly recover and make progress.

To this day, my mom has always been impressed that her doctor -- our trusted family doctor who attended the births of all of her kids in New York -- knew enough to realize that he couldn't help anymore and was willing to admit it and go out of his way to try to find someone who could. And, she has always been thankful that that other doctor was willing to come out from the city to Long Island to treat me, because the changes he made saved my life.