The Kitchen Fire

After a full day at work, I let the babysitter go and started dinner. It was July 10, 1999 - a sultry Summer Georgia afternoon. The house was alive with sounds of children as I prepared dinner. One of our family favorites was on the menu - fried okra. The oil was heating and it was almost time to put the okra in. I turned away for a minute; or at least it seemed like just a minute...a kitchen fire was the furthest thing from my mind.

Turning back, I saw flames rising, nearly reaching the hood. The sight of a kitchen fire was so unexpected that I panicked. My first thought was to grab the pot and throw it out the front door. I grabbed it, but only made it to the front hallway. Flames lept up, instantly setting my hair afire. I dropped the pot, spilling the boiling oil over my body, as I reached up to extinguish the fire in my hair. The kitchen fire was out of control.

Everything went RED and I screamed for the children to get out. The kitchen fire had spread. Once everyone was out, I sat on the curb as my neighbor hosed down my front hall, saving our home from the kitchen fire. I scooped water from a puddle and rubbed it over my skin. My only thought was relief from the pain; it didn't occur to me to consider the germs that were surely in that puddle. The ambulance came, they loaded me, and I had to leave my children on the street.

At the hospital, I received pain medications icy, wet sheets were placed over me. I laid shivering in pain in that dark room until finally, familiar faces appeared at the door. It was my parents. For the first time since the kitchen fire, relief swept over me. My dear, sweet parents were there. From that moment forward, throughout the entire kitchen fire ordeal, they never left me.

The worst burns from the kitchen fire were on my left foot and right arm. My left foot was completely black, no longer resembling a foot. On my right arm, the skin was stark white and I felt no pain, which I thought was a good. My doctor explained that it was actually bad. Only the worst burns are so severe that all sensation, including pain, is lost. My hair was burned several inches off the hairline, and my face had "flash burned". A flash burn is very hot, but very quick and doesn't damage permanently. The skin on my face crusted over and fell off. The other burns on my arms, hands thighs, calves, and feet all fell somewhere in the middle; not 3rd degree, but certainly not 'flash' either. The kitchen fire had left it's marks.

Debridement started right away, twice daily. This is a process by which dead skin is removed, the body is cleansed to kill bacteria, and new dressings are applied. I had to be lifted and taken by wheelchair, I was completely helpless and relied on the nurses and my family for even the smallest thing. I began to retain water, and edema became so severe that veins for an IV couldn't be found. So they put an IV in my jugular vein. This was one of the most frightening experiences I've ever had. My heart felt like it stopped. I became hot, then cold, then hot, over and over. I felt like I was dying. I prayed the Lord's Prayer over and over; I was ready to go. Throughout the whole kitchen fire ordeal, I felt closest to death then.

The morphine began to take it's toll. Freakish nightmares haunted my sleep, and my body jerked uncontrollably. Fortunately, after nearly a week I was able to wean off Morphine to less powerful drugs. The pain was excruciating, and as I would soon find, the itching would run a close second. I could hardly believe how much devastation had ensued from my brief moment of panic during the kitchen fire.

I had my first surgery that week. Skin was taken from my left leg and grafted onto my foot. The doctor prepared my right arm for grafting, but after scraping away several layers of skin, saw signs of new growth. He decided not to graft it, and to allow it to try to heal naturally. After a week, I was released, but returned daily for treatments. It was time to go home, to face the place where the kitchen fire had destroyed so much.

At home, everything had been cleaned; every effort to remove signs of the kitchen fire had been made. The only obvious sign was a bare front hallway floor. My daughter created a home-made 'intercom' for me. She made it from coat hangers and aluminum foil. It actually almost worked! It was such a sweet labor of love, and still makes me smile. The day I came home, my daughter and her friends came upstairs. I'll never forget, one of those little girls held my hands and looked straight into my eyes and said, "Don't worry, you are still beautiful". How did she know that after the kitchen fire and trauma, those were exactly the words I needed to hear?

The kitchen fire left me completely incapacitated. I've always been headstrong and independent, and this was a stretch for me. I couldn't walk, stand, or even attend to basic hygiene. It was a humbling situation. My dressings required changing twice daily, and my Husband and Mother were so gentle and faithful. Changing dressings, washing my hair, taking me to therapy, meeting my every need. God surrounded me with people to love and care for me after the kitchen fire. Cards came by the boat load. My bedroom wall was covered with cards and notes of encouragement. One day, a huge bouquet of bright pink roses arrived from Grandma Bett; I'll never forget their beauty and sweet aroma. To top it off, nearly every day, some one would come over and bring a home cooked meal. God was busy restoring what the kitchen fire had stolen from our family.

I returned to work in September. What a strange feeling to leave work in July, thinking you'd be back the next day, only to have a kitchen fire interrupt everything, and not return until September. It felt great to be out and about and able to work. I returned more humble and grateful than when I left. I missed my friends and colleagues so much; each day was like a gift. There were many questions about the kitchen fire, which I fielded politely without getting into painful details.

Despite wearing Jobe's garments, my right arm wasn't healing correctly. The skin was pulling, making it difficult to reach and stretch. So in December 1999, I had surgery again. Skin was taken from my right leg to graft. While it healed better than before, it is still very thick and there is some pulling. My doctor recommended another graft, this time a "deep tissue" graft. This is more serious surgery, so I decided to opt out unless the pulling becomes unbearable. I'm not eager for more surgery - 2 surgeries from one kitchen fire seems like enough to me!

I still struggle to find purpose and lessons from the kitchen fire. The visible scars are a daily reminder. I pray that seeing the scars day after day will bring purposeful thoughts to my mind. I ask God, "What do you want these scars to bring to my mind?". He answers "I want you to pay attention to me and SLOW DOWN. Stop chasing after the things of this world". I am reminded again and again of how God brought me and my family through the kitchen fire, and I believe there are still more lessons to be learned from it.

Because of the kitchen fire, I've been blessed with a new passion, which has turned into a family business. Jeannie's Soaps is a direct result of the kitchen fire. You see, some of those friends and family that surrounded me during my recovery introduced me to healing herbs and oils for the skin and mind. This was the spark that caught my interest. This new passion provided a much needed outlet. The mix of creativity, practicality, and connection to nature - God's own gifts for our bodies - is what keeps Jeannie's Soaps going, and is what moved me forward away from the kitchen fire and out of my pain.

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