Everyone always tells you not to play with fire and gasoline. I'm not sure there is a single teenager out there that actually follows this rule. I know I never did. I always made huge looging circles of gas around th bon fires as well as other shapes. I also used gas to help burn the trash since where i lived that was what you did.
Unfortunatly one trash burning went very wrong.
I was 15. I was burning a large pile of trash and there were a few plastic items on the one side of the pile. The old lady I was doing this for told me when I left to go out I should put some gas on the plastic to make sure it burned. This wasn't unusual. The smaller gas can was empty but the larger one had a small bit left in the bottom. After just barely starting the paper side I picked up the gas can and went to the other side to start pouring the gas. If I had only remembered to put the gas on before lighting it, if I had just realize there was vent hole in the large gas can, or if I had simple not used gas at all I would be in my normal skin condition right now. But that isn't the case...is it?
Almost no sooner had I started pouring the small stream of gas onto the yet unlit plastic garbage a sudden BANG overwhelmed my senses. I realized what happened immediatly, I was now doused in gasoline and burning. Luckily I'm a very smart girl and good under pressure. I KNEW the gas had soaked my clothes so would not just go out by stop dropping and rolling, but it would dampen the flame some. I also knew the grass 8 feet away would be better to roll on then the gravel on which I was currently standing. I also knew that those gas soaked clothes had to come off if I were to survive. all this was realized in a split second and I started running to the grass and snow as I began stripping my shirt. As an after though while running I screamed for help from the people inside. I screamed twice but the flame and smoke hurt my throat and I didn't need internal damage. I started rolling right as i got my shirt off. I had to continue to ***** my burning clothes and shoes, which meant undoing the button and zipper and kicking off the shoes while simultaniouly rolling on the ground. One shoe got stuck for a moment and had my buring pants stuck on that leg longer. Finally with all the clothes strppied I was no longer burning I stood, in shock, in nothing but my bra and panties.
Living in the middle of no where meant that we had no 911. We had to look up the actually phone numbers for first response. It also meant the nearest hospital was an hours drive away. After getting scolded for standing in the front yard in my underwear and frantically trying to convince the woman to call for help we started to get the numbers. It didn't work. It took 20 mins just to reach help on the phone. Another 15 for them to get there. When the lady saw me she immediatly called for the ambulance and the helicopter. I guess my skin was so burnt I was going into hypothermic shock because I couldn't retain my own heat. Also, thorughout the entire ordeal, helicopter flight, and initial washing of the wounds I didn't have any pain medication. They simply could not locate a vein.
2 months and 3 surgeries later I was allowed to leave the hospital. My face, chest, right side, and right leg all had thick skin grafting scars. My left leg has skin grafting scars as well though not nearly as bad. The only normal skin left on my body now is on my arms and shoulders, everywhere else is either burn scar or donor site. But I have the same facial and body shape as everyone else.
I have no regrets about my past, I'm 20 now, engaged to be married, and having a very normal and successful pregnancy. I've been considered extremly sexy by all of my best friends guy friends which is honestly a very reassuring thought. i suppose the fact that I have always been part of what you may call goth culture helped in my recovery. Many people, male and female, have this slight obbsession with the scars. My future husband probably wouldn't have given me a second look in the begining if I hadn't the attitude to match the appearance. I'm one bad *** chick, and I like it this way.