The certificate on my wall says I was shot on March 12, 1972. I completely agree with the AD post above....all I remember was the indescribable adrenalin rush and the realization that I might very well die in the next, few seconds. As it turned out, my wound wasn't life-threatening. However, coming face-to-face with your own mortality, and the likelihood of dying within seconds, is a feeling that cannot be adequately described in words. Hardly a week goes by that I don't wake up thinking of it in the middle of the night. It's been 33 years.
I refuse to be a willing victim.