i'm grateful for the tragedy

I’m Grateful for the tragedy

When I was 27 years old, I was in a fire. I was severely burned and spent 6 weeks in the hospital.

I had 5 years of plastic surgery, 7 years of litigation. I went into shock. It took 20 years to gain any semblance of emotional stability.

I also had to cope with substance abuse. I used booze, pills and marijuana to numb out during emotionally and physically painful times or just out of habit.

Today I’m grateful for the fire. It brought me to my knees and forced me to ask for help.

I got a lot of help from many people, especially a plastic surgeon, litigator, psychiatrist and spiritual advisor.

I am 79 years old. I’ve survived several things since the fire—the loss of both my parents, my brother’s death, divorce, a stroke, a heart attack.

I stand before you today to say that I have a life beyond my wildest dreams. 

So why am I telling you this story? What happened? How did I get here?

What got me through all of this to be standing here in front of you, healthy, happy and above all grateful?

What can I share with you to help you to handle whatever struggles you have now?

Two things were key:

A realistic acceptance of the hand that life had dealt me day-by-day is one way I met these challenges.

The wisdom to ask for help and choose the next right thing were vital.

***

Who was I when I found myself lying in a hospital bed surrounded by IV poles dripping pain medication and much needed hydration into my veins? How did I get from there to here?

It all started at birth. My parents loved to drink alcohol. The bottle came first. We knew the children were a lower priority.

At 6 months, I was defiant. I have a picture of myself sitting in an arm chair looking determined. My mother is looking on, holding a lit cigarette dressed in her jeans itching to take off and go fishing.  I felt lonely. I was scared, worried and determined.

Early on, I made up my mind I was going to survive, if not thrive. In the process I became very strong. The more suffering the stronger I became. I became focused.

I was first born so protecting my sister and 2 brothers was my job. I have a sweet picture of three of us. I am the tallest, standing in the back with my hand on both my sister and brother’s shoulders. Even though I fought with my sister, tormented her, I was protective of her. Our mother was mean to our brother. I was protective of him too. I saw myself as the referee and judge in the family.

I went to school, college and got married. I gave birth to my now adult son, got divorced from his father and then the fire happened. I had known for a long time that my husband wasn’t right for me. I felt our marriage wasn’t a priority for him. He seemed conflicted when it came to what mattered to me in life.

I majored in art history in college. I was passionate about contemporary art.

Then came the fire. I was 27 yrs old. I was at a small dinner party, wearing a colorful long-sleeved jewel neck line dress.

I sat to the right of the host of the party. He used a chafing dish to prepare the meal.

The flame went out under the chafing dish, my dress absorbed the evaporated fumes and when he reignited the flame I caught on fire. My face, neck, hands and arms suffered first, second- and third-degree burns.

I was scared, it felt to me like the room was on fire. There seemed to be total confusion. I couldn’t see anything. I struggled, tried to drop to my knees. The guests overcame my struggles, beat me out with a throw rug, and called an ambulance.

I passed out when I lay down in the ambulance. They took me to the nearest local small hospital. I don’t remember very much of my stay there.

My mother and sister were notified. They came to the hospital. The nurses wrapped my face, hands and chest in bandages with tiny slits for my eyes.

I asked my sister if I was going to live. I was really bewildered, unable to see or feel anything. With a quivering chin and tears pouring down her cheeks she assured me I was going to live.

My mother had to override the advice of the doctors at the hospital and call an ambulance to go to a large better equipped hospital. I signed myself out by making a large “X” on the documents.

I remember my mother commenting on the ride in the ambulance, “Oh, you should see all the cars, Marg, they’re just going ‘zing zing zing’ out of the way.” I was bewildered. It was wonderful having our mother’s loving sense of humor through it all.

When my sister arrived at the hospital, the nurses had removed the bandages. Her comment was that I looked like big black Buddha; my head was very swollen and charred of course if not blackened from the silver nitrate used to treat burns in those days.

My sister covered up everything in the room that was the least bit reflective so I couldn’t see what I looked like.  She fed me my lunch.

The first task was removing the charred skin. My doctor sent me to physical therapy where we could soak off the charred skin in a whirlpool tub to prevent infection. 

That could be very painful. For me, I was in a drug induced haze. My private duty nurse slipped me double doses of pain medications.

During that first hospitalization, which lasted about 6 weeks, my plastic surgeon took a piece of skin from my backside, being careful to avoid the bikini line, and used it to patch up the deepest burns on my neck, chest, and hand.

If you want to kiss my ass, it is on my neck, my chest, my arm and there is a piece right here.

He applied a 5-inch graft to my neck.  My neck was the most severely burned because of the double thickness of the dress neckline. I couldn’t move so that the graft would take hold. No one had ordered a private overnight nurse. My sister sat in an armchair by my side all night to insure I not dislodge the 5-inch graft.

My right wrist was severely burned. My surgeon informed me that they had lost the skin and I’d get it on a lampshade for Christmas. He obviously, had a wild sense of humor too. My wrist hurt a lot. I developed a technique to deal with the pain. I told myself, my wrist hurts very much. My eye lashes are fine. So are my toe nails. The technique distracted me from the pain on my wrist.

I remember lying in bed, feeling terrible, depressed. I felt abandoned, physically unable to get up and walk around, despondent. It seemed unfair that I be deprived of a normal life. Then my doctor would kick the door open and said “Hey Tiger, what the latest in the art world?” He was good at treating the physical and the psychological effects of the fire.

I realized my recovery was dependent on my relationships with the nurses. I wanted them to make my needs a high priority. I showed concern about them and their lives. My sister was amazed how I was able to get past my own discomfort and project myself into someone else’s life. I’ve since learned the line, “tell me more.”  I wanted the distraction of someone else’s life. I tried to visualize what moving around in a normal life would feel like.

This skill showed itself in another way. Coming down from physical therapy I met another burn patient. I was unable to cheer him up with my usual pretty smile and had the moving experience of digging deep inside myself to think of something cheerful to say.

This was the “silver lining” to all of this. For the first time in my life I had to draw on my inner resources and develop personal traits I hadn’t thought of nor had I needed to access.

Finally, I was discharged, sent home to return to my job, take care of my frightened 5-year old son and supposedly live a normal life. That was good and bad. I wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, that my son and I could just return to our normal life.

However, reality was the skin on my face was tender and pink. It was newly exposed flesh. A few layers had been removed. Likewise, the skin on my shoulders was raw. I refused to go anywhere without applying eye shadow and mascara. I eventually acquired a wig. My hair was discolored by the silver nitrate used to treat the burns.

We progressed along with 5 years of plastic surgery. I went in and out of the hospital dependent on the recovery time of each operation. My brother came and stayed with my son when I needed to go in the hospital. Joe Bazooka bubble gum got us through many a hard time. We developed the joke, “when in trouble, blow a bubble.”  We had a good time teasing each other, trying to upstage each other’s jokes and laughing.

My chin was webbed to my breastplate. The plastic surgeon had studied my family’s profile and rebuilt my jaw line so I will look like a member of the family. I would never have double chins and today I look possibly 15 years younger than I actually am. I remember being absolutely thrilled with my new jaw line. He said being in a fire is equivalent to a couple of face lifts.

Through all of this, as I said, earlier, I was in shock and did not gain emotional stability for 20 years.

The state of shock was a blessing because it protected me from the reality of the situation until it became bearable. I felt like I could do anything I wanted. People had behaved in an unacceptable way towards me. I could fight back. The more bizarre I behaved the better.

In many ways, I behaved abominably during this time. In addition to the shock of the fire, I was abusing alcohol and drugs.

For example, my sister got married about 2 years after the fire. I was wildly jealous. She pulled off the perfect wedding with all the trimmings. My behavior was obnoxious before and during the wedding.

There was one period when my clothing selections, friends and behavior resembled outrageous scenes from Federico Fellini’s movies. I call it my “Fellini” stage.

During that time, I was high on amphetamines and marijuana and broke windows with my elbow at 2:00 a.m. dressed in a grey flannel suit and black patent leather shoes. I was angry at my boyfriend and the woman with whom he spent the evening.

My mother shook her finger at me. Remembering all the drunken misbehavior by other family members, I said, “I don’t know what the problem is here. This has been going on in our family for years. The only difference is this time I did it.”

While all of this was going on, my mother contacted a family friend who was a litigator. He started a suit against the hosts of the dinner party, the designer and the manufacturer of the dress. His assistant came to the hospital in early days and took pictures of me at my worst.

Four years later the case went to court. My father, stepmother, mother and sister were all present. My lawyer did not want me in the courtroom the whole time. It was very painful. I heard the accident being replayed by complete strangers. There was no sensitivity in the discussions taking place. I did testify in a summer “bra dress” which exposed my scarred shoulders to the jury.

Things were being said about me that weren’t true. Accusations were being made that were infuriating. I felt powerless, like a ping pong ball being batted back and forth between two parties. That was almost the worst part of this whole experience.

We eventually reached settlements with all three parties. After 6 days, the jury found the one defendant with whom I had not settled 100% liable. The settlement, however, was not as large as it could have been. Since my lawyer was a friend of our family, he advised me not to appeal. He felt it would be to my advantage to close the book and go back to normal living to the best of my ability. “Money doesn’t buy happiness,” he said. I was disappointed. I had hoped that we would “go for the jugular.” I was also exhausted.

About a year after the fire, I was aware of my emotional instability and sought the services of a psychiatrist. I saw that doctor 3 times a week for 2 years and I have continued to work with psychiatrists, psychologists, social workers, and a spiritual advisor to this day. I feel there is always a new mountain to climb so I am committed to seeking some form of professional emotional and spiritual guidance.

I had gone back to work and was able to get health and educational benefits from the job. At one point my son was away at camp. This provided me with the opportunity to attended a night course at a very prestigious local master’s program.

I was aware that I was not a good parent. I had no patience, compassion or empathy. I felt my son deserved more than I was able to give him.

My boss at work suggested working overtime to us employees, which I did so as to make more money to finance an exceptionally energetic baby sitter. She took my son ice skating. Little by little people taught me how to take care of my precious little child. It is an area today that concerns me—making amends to my now beautifully matured son.

My last plastic surgery operation was a chemical dermabrasion on my neck. I had moved, and didn’t have health insurance. We did the operation on an outpatient basis. My doctor kicked the table on which I was lying and said, “Next time we’ll do you in a telephone booth.” After so many operations, I’d gotten very blasé about surgery.

Off I went, vomited in the pharmacy while waiting to get the prescription pain medication filled. I drove home unable to turn my head from side to side. I recovered in my own bed.

One of my psychiatrists suggested I attend art school which I did for four years. In spite of already having a BA in art history, this was a good “place holder’ while the shock wore off and kept me connected with my love of art.

Due to my own determined personality and optimism, I benefited from many self-improvement courses. These all helped with self-confidence, clear thinking and effective behavior. I felt vulnerable, like a blank slate that could be rewritten.

In recent years, I have survived back surgery, a stroke, a severe case of pneumonia and a silent heart attack.

I have the love of my husband of 30 years, my adult son who was five years old at the time of the fire, the love of my sister, brother, extended family and of many many friends far and wide.

I celebrated 42 years of continued abstinence from mood altering substances.

As I said earlier, two things were key:

A realistic acceptance of the hand that life had dealt me day-by-day is one way I met these challenges.

The humility to ask for help and choose the next right thing were vital.

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