OMG, Carol. That sounds brutal.
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I'd love to be able to tell you that my legs caught on fire as I was trying to outrun a vicious wild fire as I was saving campers from a burning campground. But the reality is as stupid and senseless as it often is.
Many of you know I was a state park ranger before I retired 25 years ago. It was a remote desert park on the Colorado River in the southeast corner of California. It was late summer, 117 F, I was due to retire in one week. One of my final projects was to burn a brush dump that held the summer's slash from cutting back tamarisk (salt cedar) from the campsites and roads during the off season.
The park maintenance man gave me a can of boat gas that had gone bad to dispose of on the fire. He then proceeded to leave the park on a shopping trip, leaving me completely alone, no campers, no other park employees. Did I mention it was 117?
I had already been working most of the day, and went to torch off the brush at the end of the day when it was hottest. Your brain on that kind of heat isn't working at peak efficiency. I dumped the gas and intended to light the opposite end of the brush pile, which was around at least a thousand square feet.
My brain short circuited and I lit the end where I had just dumped the gas. Yes, I was literally standing in a puddle of five gallons of gas as I lit the fire. I recall the flame on the lighter growing huge and saying, "Uh oh."
It's impossible to describe the sensation of being engulfed in a huge fire ball. My hair was on fire. I threw myself backward out of the inferno, picked my burning self off the ground and ran over to the park porta-potty pumper truck and turned on the spigot to run water over my burning parts to try to halt the cooking process.
I stood back and assessed the damage. My hair was singed and curled into a Brillo Pad, all the fuzz was burned off my cheeks, along with my eyebrows and eye lashes. But my legs were cooked to a medium rare, skin hanging in tatters like long strips of fried bacon. (Smelled like it, too.)
I got into the truck and drove myself to the ER, thirty miles away. That's where I got to experience debriding for the first time. OMG, did that ever hurt. The nurse who did it was practically in tears having to hurt me like that. But I was going to be doing it to myself every day for the next month.
The worst part wasn't the burns, second and third degree over both legs. It was the cooked muscles. No one mentions how much it hurts when your muscles have been barbecued. I continued to go to work for the next week, and when I was talking to park visitors, I would have to sort of run in place to keep from collapsing from my leg muscles cramping up.
And I retired at the end of the week, and you know the rest of the story.
Fantastic progress! Thanks for updating! Be sure to stick with the daily wound care and keep the wound site moist until the new tissue meets in the center. The day that happens, we will require a photo and we shall celebrate with dancing in the streets.