Once I returned home there were many new things that I had to learn to get accustomed to. Everything was completely different than being in the hospital. Sure it was wonderful being home with my family again but I felt so out of place. After all of the others went off to school I was left home with mom to change my dressings, get dressed, and then to watch television or read if there was time. That took the better part of the mornings. In the afternoons we would journey back to the hospital for Physical and Occupational Therapy sessions and it got to be quite monotonous. When we would get home the other kids would all be returning from school. They would all have stories to tell about classmates, or schoolwork, or have interesting and exciting things going on in their lives. On the weekends my older brothers and sisters would go out to parties or basketball or hockey games while I stayed home with my younger sisters to play games or baby-sit them. They all would often complain about homework or projects that were due and I envied them immensely. The all had normal lives while mine was not.

        Besides my jealousy of my siblings and their terrific lives, I had to deal with my fears of fire. I didn’t like it much when my mother would cook. I didn’t like the stove or burners turned on at all. When the furnace would kick on I would get a chill down my spine. I didn't like candles, fireplaces, or even going down to the basement by the hot water heater. Fire was my enemy, it had totally changed everything in my life and I didn’t want any part of it. I was petrified of anything associated with it. I didn’t even like to be in the car when we went to a gas station for fuel.

        After being in the hospital for so long and then being at home and only getting out to go back to the hospital, I really began to get cabin fever. I wanted to go out into the world again, but was also scared to at the same time. I still didn’t look very good. My hair had begun to grow back but the style was nothing to talk about. My right hand and legs were healing but still needed to be dressed daily. The thick scabs on my face were just about gone now. My nose looked better than I dreamed it would but I was left with lots of pitted scars on it. My right cheek all along my face, from my ear to under my chin was one big red raised keloid. A keloid is a scar that is raised and bumpy, and overgrowth of scar tissue.

       My mother and I went to the burn clinic weekly to see the doctors and to receive the supplies that I would need for the week. We went through lots of kling wrap, gauze and ace bandages. It was at the clinic where the doctors gave me my orders for Jobst Garments. These were pressure garments that were to be worn twenty-four hours a day, over the burns. I was soon fitted for these. I had to wear leggings, which were similar to a pair of panty hose but much more difficult to put on, especially over the already tender burns. They fit from my waist all the way down to my feet. I was also fitted for gloves for both of my hands and a chinstrap that was to be worn on my face. These jobst garments put constant pressure on the burns therefore eliminating the formation of keloids immensely. They were extremely uncomfortable at times and got a little more comfortable as the burns healed more. I went through many different styles of gloves and leggings. Some with zippers, some without, until finally they got them right.

       Wearing the jobst garments helped to hide the dressings underneath but still left me looking odd. I found it impossible to feel clean. I couldn’t wash my hands at all after using the bathroom or whatever, so the gloves were constantly dirty and I had to have several pair made so that my mother could hand wash them nightly. I would sometimes remove them during the night. They made me feel claustrophobic and sometimes I just wanted my skin to be able to breathe. Getting them on sometimes was difficult. I would lie on the bed while my mother tried to pull them on. You couldn’t grab them to try and pull them up because then you would be grabbing the burns. It was a very tidious task that neither my mother nor I looked forward to daily.

       The holidays came and went and it really was nice to be home. Nobody at home treated me any differently that I can remember. I am sure that there were times when my brothers and sisters felt as though I was demanding all of our mother’s attention and maybe they felt a little bit neglected because of it. But they never showed it. If I could have changed that I would have. I didn’t like it anymore than they did.

       After New Years I had decided that I was ready to try and return to school. The second semester would be beginning soon and what a better time to start. I luckily already had enough earned credits to graduate, but I wanted to go back for different reasons. I wanted to start my life again. I made arrangements to go back for half days. That way in the afternoons I could still go to my therapy sessions.

       I was nervous about returning to school. I had seen a lot of my friends at the hospital or at home but to go back with over 2,000 kids in one building was scary.

       When I did return I never expected the warmth and friendliness that I received. Everyone was so polite and nice to me. If I thought I was popular before, I was certain of it now. I would have to say that at this time I was the most popular girl in the school. Everyone knew who I was. I was the burned girl! I was the cheerleader who was in that terrible accident. I was the one everyone was talking about. There would be many times when I would walk down the hallways, or just be standing at my locker and the students would stare, point, or talk about me. I suppose they were just curious. It did bother me sometimes. Most of the students who did this were the ones I didn’t know personally. I had to learn to get used to that real fast. I was getting a lot of attention, but unfortunately it was not the kind of attention that anyone really wanted.

       No matter where I went I got stares and glares from people. Whether at the grocery store or the shopping malls or any public place I was in. I would get angry sometimes and feel ashamed. I learned to hide my hands in my pockets or where gloves or mittens when they were not really necessary as to avoid peoples glares. Sometimes strangers would ask questions like "What happened to you?" and personally I liked the questions better than just the looks I received. I would much rather explain to someone what had happened to me, than to have them speculate and assume. It seemed odd to me but it was the grown adults who made me feel the most uncomfortable. Children would almost always speak up and say things or ask, and I would do my best to explain to them that I was burned and that this is what could happen to them if they played with matches or lighters, or anything associated with fire. As I would talk to the children I would sometimes scare them, but I felt I was teaching them also. As I would talk to the children I was also doing some internal healing of my own. Even after I went through all of this burn experience I never got answers to the questions I would often ask myself in the beginning. What was Gods purpose in all of this? So when I would talk to young children and try to warn them about the dangers of fire and what it could do to them I felt as though I had been given some kind of purpose for my own suffering. By teaching young children these dangers, I might in some small way have saved some of their lives, if not at least I may have somehow saved them from the horrible experience of ever being burned. They would never forget the sight of my ugly burned hands, and face, it was even enough to scare adults away.

       Another hard thing about returning to school was facing the boy who had rear ended our car that horrible night. He was also a Senior at Whitmer High. I had received a planter from his family after I returned home from the hospital but nothing more. I hated this kid for doing this to me. The night of the accident he was charged with due regard to safety and driving while under the influence of drugs and alcohol. He claimed that he did not see our car because he was lighting a cigarette. The drug and alcohol charges had since been dropped. I never found out why. Many times I would walk down the hallways of the school and have to pass him. I didn’t even want to look at him. I suppose he didn’t want to look at me either and be reminded of what he had done to another human being. I guess all I really wanted him to do was to apologize to me. To tell me how sorry he was for what had happened. After all it was an accident, and that’s why they are called accidents. I know that if I were in his situation I would have done everything in my power to let the other person know how deeply sorry I was. I never got a single word from him. Maybe he felt uncomfortable or scared. Or maybe he was told by his lawyers and family not to talk to me, I don’t know. I do know though that it would of meant a lot to me if he could of at least faced me just once and said I am sorry. The high schools activities director had purchased me a new cheerleading coat and had paid for it himself. The school also purchased me a new class ring. These little jesters meant a lot. I was soon allowed to cheer at one of our evening basketball games that winter. I was a little nervous to get out in front of the crowd and be on center stage so to speak, but everyone had already known about my situation and had seen me already at this point. I was dressed in the Panther mascot uniform, which was a black one-piece short outfit with a tail. I didn’t look all that bad. My hair still didn’t look great but I was beginning to be able to style it a little. I wore my leggings and my gloves but refused to wear the chinstrap for this occasion. I remember the announcer welcoming me back to school and to cheering. I got tears in my eyes. It was so hard to hold them back. I was so glad to be back. So glad to be alive, no matter how much scarring I had and how many stares I got. People seemed to still like me anyway even though I didn’t look the same. That meant the world to me. I was alive and that was the most important thing of all.

       During the game something unexpected happened. The fingertips of my gloves were open so that I could manage to pick up objects and have some feeling in my fingers. Otherwise I was unable to do even the simplest of things. Anyway on the tip of my right index finger I had this huge growth of scar tissue, which was similar to a blister that was filled with blood. Sometime during an exciting play or a basket or something I somehow had knocked it off. I had never done that before. I probably had bumped it as I was clapping, but it flew out onto the basketball court and blood starting shooting out of the end of my finger profusely. All of the cheerleaders rushed with me to the bathroom and thought this was some big major medical emergency. I was just fine though. Sure I was bleeding, but a little blood from the end of my finger was nothing compared to what I had experienced the last several months. After the mass confusion and my reassurance to them that I truly was okay, we all returned out to the court and cheered our heads off. It was a truly enjoyable evening. I finally felt like I was back.

       All of my classes seemed to go pretty well. They were not the ones that I had originally planned to take but they were keeping me at school and to me that was all that mattered. I was pursuing a career as a legal secretary before my accident and had a lot of business classes scheduled for my senior year. They were pretty impossible for me to take now, I could no way catch up on all that I had missed and I could not even think about trying to type yet.

       My physical therapy sessions were eventually cut down to three times a week and then to twice a week. I worked really hard at all of the excersises they told me to do at home and was getting more and more mobility and range of motion from my hands as the weeks passed. I was still writing left handed and actually had gotten pretty good at it. I could even tie my shoes with one hand, which is a task most people couldn’t do. There were just so many things about my life that were different now, yet I was used to them, and it was who I was.

       It wasn’t long and I started thinking about boys again. Pat had been over a lot to visit with me or just talk and I found him to be a very likable guy. Eventually we started dating. Sometimes I wondered if he wasn’t seeing me out of pity, or shame or just plain guilt since he was the one driving the car we were in. After more and more time passed I realized that he really did like me for me. Our relationship lasted the better part of two years.

       In the spring Whitmer High had their annual circus. This event drew large crowds and was a highly social event. I had been into gymnastics before my accident and really wanted to participate in this event. However, I still was not 100% and was no way ready to start a work out routine and try to rebuild all my strength for any gymnastic event. There were many things you could do in the circus. You could be a clown, or do mirror imagining, there were talent acts such as dance and singing or playing musical instruments. But there was one thing that interested me. Two man stunts. This was an act were two people do all different kinds of balancing tricks, while the top person never touches the floor during the entire routine. Anyone was allowed to participate from grades Kindergarten through grades 12. So my sister Karen and I started practicing. We started getting really good. The day came for tryouts. Not just anyone could do it. You had to be reasonably good, and not everyone would make it. Each pair made up their own routines to their own music and were judged by numerous people. Our try-out was super. We did it to the song "Ice Castles" and we were very good. No mistakes, all free flowing and we made it look effortless. Well we made it. I had faith that we would anyway with both of us having gymnastic backgrounds. The most suprising thing about it all was that not only were we in the act, but we were the lead. That meant that everyone had to learn our routine, use our music. It was awesome.

       On the night of the circus, everyone was nervous. I on the other hand was not. I had this inner strength that kept my nerves to a minimum. What was there to be afraid of? This was a molehill for me. No obstacles could get in my way now. Life was looking wonderful and nothing was going to change that. Our routine was wonderful; Karen and I were in the center spotlight with different costumes on than the rest of the participants wore and it was truly wonderful. This was it. I finally felt I was recovered. Even though there would be many surgeries ahead of me, even though I still wore the jobst garments, and even though it would take years for my scars to fade to what they have become today I felt I was a whole person again. I loved this feeling.

       Graduation was drawing near. Seven months had passed since I was burned and I would have never dreamed I would have made it this far. My grades were good; I had plenty of friends, a terrific boyfriend and would be receiving my diploma with the rest of my classmates.

       The year end issue of the school paper came out. It was called the "Panthers Pause". Every year the students vote on such things as the class clown, best dressed, funniest, prettiest, most likely to succeed, best couple, etc. Well as I glanced through the paper I discovered my name as the winner of three different categories. I found this to be incredible. My class had voted me the cutest, the luckiest, and the unluckiest. It was amusing to see I received both the luckiest and unluckiest. I guess it depended on how they looked at my situation, and me, but both were true. I was the luckiest girl in the school. I had survived a terrible injury, and still ended up being likable, despite my burns. I never had a bad attitude or was bitter about what happened, and maybe that is why I was voted this. On the other hand I was the unluckiest, because no one deserved to go through what I had to go through. No one should have to endure such pain for no unknown reason. There was always this incredible future ahead for me until the catastrophe hit. Unlucky, yes, lucky, yes, cutest, I don’t think I would agree with that one, but maybe I didn’t see myself the way others did. Maybe beauty really is skin deep. I was just so proud to be named in the list at all.

       On graduation day I remember sitting in my chair hearing our class president give the speech. I didn’t really listen to many of the words. I looked around me and tried to absorb as much of the other students that I could. How many of these kids would still be here in a year? Or five? Or ten? I was so lucky to be alive and to have been at the graduation ceremony at all. I looked at my hands. Still not liking what I saw; yet knowing that these were mine now. I had longed for my fingernails to grow back on my right hand, but found out from the doctors that they never would. The depth of the burns were just to bad, and had damaged the nail beds to much. In fact I would require another surgery this summer to remove the bits and pieces of them that remained. I wore my class ring on my left hand, so different than what the other classmates were doing, but heck; I had a hand to wear it on. My hair had grown enough now that I could curl it a little and it didn’t look all-bad. Despite what the doctors had told me, I had an incredible sun tan. They said I would not be able to tan that I would just burn. I didn’t burn, in fact the suntan helped to conceal the scars and anything that did that for me I liked. I realized that laying in the sun couldn’t be good for my skin, but then I also thought to myself that it couldn’t actually hurt it anymore now anyway. I loved the fact the tan hid the scars more and so it didn’t matter to me. I had always been somewhat of a "Sun Goddess" before and I was not going to let this stop me from being anything different than what I was before I was burned.

        My high school years were now over. The time to become a true adult had arrived. As you grow older, and wiser you realize that high school really is one of the best times of your life, and even though I had went through something so terrible and painful this last year of high school, it really had been a wonderful year. I can honestly say that looking back now I am almost grateful that God had chosen me to suffer through this because it truly changed me and made me a better person. Not a lot of people would have survived this the way that I did. I believe that God will never give us more than we can handle in life, and obviously he must of thought I was a strong person. And I am even stronger one now because of it.

Chapter 5   Summer 1979

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