Following Your Children (part two)

OK, so follow your children, but not up a tree. Or, more to the point, down again headfirst.
Trees seem to be a feature of this blog. I climbed trees all the time when I was my daughter's age. I sat up a particularly spectacular pear tree reading on Saturday mornings (Monica Edwards, Antonia Forest, Rosemary Sutcliff, Barbara Willard, KL Peyton ...) I climbed oak trees in the woods and balance-walked along fallen trunks just as she does now. They are warm and living things and infinitely comforting. Oh yes, sign me up to the ranks of tree-huggers any day!
I never, luckily, fell out of one as she did just recently, and now everyone says, to her or to me, 'oh, she won't be doing that again ...'
But she will and why would I stop her? She is her own person and all I can do is teach her safety, and how to balance the sheer joy of living with the risks. She is not just a glass-half-full kind of person, she doesn't even see the glass is anything other than full. She enjoys every new experience of life.
As the paramedics wheeled her into the ambulance, I held her hand and said, with that rather desperate parental attempt at calm, 'You have to remember all of this - it'll be so useful when you next write a story ...' and sure enough, she told me two days later, cast on arm, 'I can't really even say I wish it hadn't happened, because it's all been so interesting. I didn't know what it felt like to fall out of a tree before ...'
I can, however, tell you just what it feels like to watch and that's an experience I'd rather do without.
But can I use it in a story ...?