Victoria’s Story
Part I
On October 26th, 2002, my life changed forever. It was a crisp autumn day in Muskoka, Ontario. I was doing typical carefree nine-year-old things, playing with other kids and running around; however, little me did not have the faintest idea that my life was going to radically change in an instant. To this day, the weeks after the incident are still a blur. The only thing I can remember is that I was in pain, distressed, and frightened.
The fire pit that the soup was cooked over.
An example of what the pot looked like.
It happened before dinner while the adults were chatting around the table and the kids were all playing tag. I had tagged one of my friends and stepped backwards so that I wouldn't get tagged back. I felt something poke into my calves, and I immediately lost my balance, fell backwards into something, and quickly lunged out just as soon as I fell in. I let out a scream which my mother describes as “a scream from someone being attacked by a bear.” I had fallen into a large pot of soup which was sitting above the fire for the entire day.
The spot where the pot was placed on the ground.
The moments in between falling in and the emergency responders arriving were pure chaos. There was a lot of commotion from frantic adults and children all trying to figure what the hell had just happened and trying to help me until the ambulance came. It felt like an eternity. The firefighters arrived first and immediately carried me into the bathtub to pour a solution over my legs. I don’t remember what they said to me, but I remember that they comforted me– they even got me to smirk– and for that I am so grateful!
The ambulance took me to emergency so that the medical staff could pull off all of the dead skin. After, I was airlifted to Sick Kids Hospital where I would spend the next four weeks. In total, I had 3 skin graft surgeries. The doctors warned me that my skin would look like a fish net because they had to stretch it to cover as much area as possible. During my stay, I had my morphine button to help quell any pain. Fortunately, I’m not able to revisit that pain, only the memory of how uncomfortable I was. After not standing for weeks, I had also lost the ability to walk since I had not used my legs since the incident– but, I got to experience what it felt like to learn to walk. I am so appreciative to have had my parents with me: we cried and laughed together through it all. I’m also deeply appreciative of all of the nurses and doctors who cared for me during my stay.
After four weeks at the hospital, I was able to go back home. Of course, there was the initial physical discomfort: I had to wear tights on my legs for a year so that the grafted skin could properly fuse onto my legs– it was unbearably itchy. But more importantly, there was a deep and lasting psychological discomfort. I remember being afraid the floor was lava. When I finally told my godmother, she assured me that I was safe, that there was no lava, and that I was going to be okay. To support me, my mom put another bed in my room to sleep beside me while I recovered. Looking back, I was incredibly lucky to have my family's unwavering support despite how difficult the whole ordeal must have been for them.
As I write this, it's been 18 and half years since that autumn day. I wouldn't be the person I am today without having gone through what I did. I've slowly come to appreciate the hard lessons it taught me, and continue to take apart and put back together the ways in which it affected me. I’ve learnt the most about myself and the world around me through my pain. And with that, I believe it is imperative to embrace each challenge that comes my way, whether tiny or life altering, as it is always an opportunity to grow.
Part II
It happened at one of my favourite places; however, I decided that I wasn’t going to hate that place because it happened there–
When I first stepped back in the kitchen, I don’t know what I expected. Violent flashbacks? Screaming? Explosions? But there was just silence; emptiness between my ears. It was odd… It was as if I was almost hoping for something crazy to happen again. I walked through the dining room and living room and arrived at the bathroom where they carried me that night. It all looked exactly the same, but yet it felt so different than it did then… I was finally at peace.
Throughout the years I’ve made little adjustments to things to make myself feel more comfortable in situations: I put large pots on the stove’s back burner (with the handles always facing inward); I hold my breath when I carry a pot to the sink to drain pasta; and I keep hot mugs of tea at a distance. If I am in a situation where there are pots filled to the brim on a front burner, or even extra-large pots on the back burner, I keep myself, and others (including pets), far away! I don’t feel these measures hinder my experience, rather, they are precautions I take to keep myself and others safe.
Despite these precautions, I’ve been burned since. Mostly, it’s been minor burns on my hand from cooking! And sometimes I’m clumsy while I ladle soup and spill the hot liquid all over my hand. Yet, I don’t live in fear. Fire doesn’t even bother me– although if I was burned by fire, I would probably have similar rituals when encountering flames. At one point, I worked in a kitchen. At first, I was terrified of the fryer, but I eventually ended up volunteering to be on the fryer for events! Being comfortable in (what I perceive) as risky situations took time, however.
My advice is to make recovery your own: make those little adjustments for yourself so that you can enjoy life. The same accident most likely won’t happen again, but definitely still try to avoid walking backwards! As your mind and body work through the trauma, you will learn marvellous things about yourself. Just remember to honest with yourself and those around you: people will understand. Most importantly, forgive yourself for having fears that others might not– you’ve been through a lot, so it is more than okay.
