When I was five, my head was split open by the neighborhood meanie, and I would have been fine had my sister not said, “*gasp* You’re BLEEDING!” At that point, I started to cry.
There was no 911, and we had a party line, so I don’t know how that would have worked. My mother just cleaned me up, pronounced me fine, and I lived to tell the tale.
Head wounds always bleed profusely.
We learned that when the paramedic cleaned Tom up and discovered quite a small wound on his scalp.