Full Disclosure: This is a detailed description of my experience with second degree burns. I am sharing this now, because I have finally become comfortable talking about it publicly. I will not show you the gruesome pictures of my wounds. It isn’t necessary. Please be aware that I am sharing my version of these events. Some of my story may be disturbing or uncomfortable. If this subject matter in any way triggers you, please don’t continue to read this.
We were all getting ready for the debut of our newest project, a food truck. My coworker and I were out behind the brick-and-mortar restaurant, designing the chalkboards for the menu display. Another coworker was inside the food truck, repairing the tri-sink. The owner was running around like a chicken with her head cut off. Everything was all starting to come together.
We really thought that tomorrow’s debut was going to go off without a hitch. The last thing we needed to do before shutting it down for the night was to hook up and test the gas lines. Hindsight being 20/20, we should have done this weeks in advance. But such is life.
Gas Lines & Fireballs
The owner and the coworker who was fixing the sink tested the gas line to the flattop with soapy water. (Don’t ask me how this is all done. I actually have no idea about any of that) At this point, I was inside the food truck making sure we had everything we needed to run smoothly for tomorrow, double-checking our supply lists and the like. Everything seemed ok, so they hooked that line up. They lit the pilot light. Everything was good; no problems there.
Next, they tested the line for the fryer with soapy water. Everything again seemed ok. They hooked up the gas line. My coworker crouched down to light the pilot light. That’s when everything changed.
Whoosh! A ball of fire about the size of a beach ball came hurtling toward us. The owner and my coworker both ran to the door, tripping over each other. I started running for the door. I jumped over the owner, who had fallen out of the door and on to the asphalt. My coworker had crawled over to a nearby car to lean against. He immediately started calling 911.
The owner started yelling, “Call 911,” not realizing that my coworker was already on the phone with someone. She crawled over to a nearby bench, a streetlight shining down on her. I looked down at her and saw the skin melting off her legs. She was crying and trembling. I laid her down on the sidewalk, and ran into the back of the restaurant.
The first person I saw was the dishwasher. I ran to get the ice bucket, threw it at him, and told him to fill it up and bring it outside as soon as possible. I am sure that he saw the panic in my eyes, because I have never seen him move so fast.
He landed the ice bucket next to the owner and ran back inside to get another one for my coworker. (To this day I have no idea why I thought ice was the right thing to do. There was so much adrenaline running through me at the time.)
Out of nowhere, a guy came running to us holding zip top bags. I grabbed a handful, and he took the other half to my injured coworker friend. I started filling up the bags of ice and laying them on top of the owner, who had started convulsing at this point. I looked over at my injured coworker friend; another off-duty employee friend was doing the same for him.
Another coworker of mine, the one who was managing the actual restaurant at the time, came running out the back to see what was going on. I screamed at him to get the other coworker, who was helping me with the chalkboards earlier. At this point she was done with her job, and was having a post-work beverage. When she ran out, I threw my phone at her and told her to call all of our emergency people.
Ambulances & Fentanyl
It was going to be okay. I could hear the sirens blaring down the road. I looked down at my feet in the light. Shit! My feet and ankles were bright red and raw. I immediately took off my sandals and put some ice on my feet.
When the firetrucks and ambulances arrived, they went first to the owner. They told me they were going to take care of her first. I told them that was fine, because she had worse injuries than I did.
Yet another coworker friend of mine held me while I waited and cried. She told me to squeeze her hand as hard as I could. Finally they took me off in a stretcher to the third ambulance that had just shown up. I remember waving to the people on the patio, as tears stilled flowed from my eyes.
Chalkboard friend rode in the ambulance with me to MCV, to the burn unit. In the ambulance they gave me two IVs, one in my right wrist and one in my left inner elbow. They also gave me Fentanyl, and boy did I need it.
On an ambulance, narcotics are kept in a lock box inside another lock box. The EMT that was taking care of me had to relay all procedures and medications to the other EMT who was driving. The whole time chalkboard friend was keeping in contact with all of our emergency contacts, while I was trying to breathe through the pain until the Fentanyl kicked in.
Interns & the Burn Unit
When we arrived at the emergency room, I was wheeled into a sectioned off space. There were, I kid you not, at least 40 student doctors and nurses awaiting our arrival. They moved me from the gurney to a bed. They cut off everything I was wearing below the waist. They did allow me to sit forward and remove my shirt and my bra, so there’s that.
The owner and my injured coworker were in curtained off areas next to me. Once all my clothes were removed, they started looking at my wounds to see what needed to be done. I was wheeled across the way into another curtained off space. Chalkboard friend stayed with me until Ben showed up.
It was then that the real nightmare began. From across the room, I could hear the owner screaming. She was yelling, “Please stop!” I had no idea what they were doing to her; all I knew was that I was going to go through it next.
There is a term for what we had to endure for the next 2 minutes of our lives. A term which I wish that I never knew. That term is debrade. To debrade means to remove all infected skin and hair. They gave me another dose of Fentanyl, and began the procedure.
This, my friends, is the most painful part of being burned. It’s not the initial burn; it’s this moment right here. They took two pads which looked like the rough side of a scrubby sponge. And they just began peeling the skin off my feet and ankles. I screamed. Ben and a friend of mine held my hands, practically holding me down, until they finished.
They smeared my now open wounds with Collagenase then covered them with skin protectant pads and gauze. At this point, I started yelling for more Fentanyl. My husband was trying to keep me calm. I was in full on panic mode. The pain was so intense that I thought I was going to come out of my skin. They brought my OxyContin instead. I didn’t care what it was, as long as it would make the pain go away. After about 20 minutes, I calmed down. Oh it still hurt; it was just bearable at this point.
They finally got me a room in the ICU Burn Unit. I couldn’t eat or drink anything for 24 hours. I was on an IV of liquid nutrition and a cocktail of pain medications. My husband slept in a recliner next to me the whole night. I barely slept. Between the pain and them waking you up every hour to check my vitals or give me drugs, there wasn’t any use trying to sleep.
XOXO – Jenna
For more about my recovery, see this post.
