the burntguy blog

A thankyou long over due.

9/18/2017

by James January

Thankyou Crown Honda of Southpoint in Durham.

About a month ago I visited with Scott W. and accepted a generous contribution from him and his group at Crown Honda of Southpoint in support of all the work BurnSurvivor.org does.

Charitable donations like this help us maintain our monthly goal of feeding the families at the Chapel Hill Ronald McDonald House. We cook out every time and trust me when I say we know how to fire up a grill and get food done right. It's something our Triangle Burn Support Group has been doing for over a decade because at times families housed there have had children treated at the UNC Hospital's North Carolina Jaycee Burn Center (my burn center Alma Mater).

These generous donations help us continue to be involved in other areas as well. Included among the whenever-wherever-however's are lectures to care givers, programs that prevent burns & assist with motivating burn survivors, work with family & friends as well as first responders, burn camps, and gathering at the annual World Burn Congress where you can measure your thoughts alongside hundreds of other views and opinions shared by burn survivors and those connected to the issue in one way or another. Support from businesses & individuals helps us maintain & grow our footprint in the "non medical side of the burn business".

This isn't the first time. Crown Honda of Southpoint has given annually for years...and they aren't just about the dollar dollar bill y'all. In addition to giving money, they've sent volunteers to flip burgers & dogs for the families on many of those CH RMH cookouts as well.

Like I said, a thankyou long over due.

My girls tagged along and got to sit in a Danica Patrick race car they have on site. I have to admit that it was pretty cool to hear my girls talking cars and racing.

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In Her Own Words...Gina Trombino, Burn Survivor

8/4/2017

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This is one of our "In their Own Words" postings...as part of an every now and then series within our blog, we like to present the work of others. It is raw & unedited. What is presented is as it was delivered to us - writings & pictures & all. If there is a website, email or other social media link included, it was done so with the permission of the author for readers to connect if they feel like doing so.

Feel free to email us your "own words" if you have something to share from the perspective of a Burn Survivor, Family & Friends, Firefighter, Burn Care Provider, etc. that may benefit any of our readers.

Gina Trombino

My Story
June 8, 2017
                Do you ever wish you could take an action back? Un-Do something from the past? Un-say words you spoke? This is my story of an action I did that will affect me for the rest of my life. I accidentally set myself on Fire. My flesh was burning for close to 3 minutes if not longer before the flames died. When the fire finally died out, at that exact moment a piece of me burned away with my flesh. I felt stupid, helpless, confused and primarily scared. Scared for my life. The un-known of what was to come next drew so much emotion from me, I was truly lost. I didn’t know how to cope. Not to mention the most excruciating pain I have ever felt and will never be able to explain. Every heartbeat, every pulse of blood coursing thru my burnt flesh burned and even bigger hole in my reality, I knew I would never be the same.
                It started on a good day, I left visiting my 90 year old grandmother. Driving away from her house I hit a point in the road where if I went left….I would sit in over 2 hours of traffic to get home, If I went right I could go visit a childhood friend that I had not seen a quite a while. The choice was easy to me, I went right. Arriving at my friend’s house and being greeted with familiar, loving faces was an instant joy to me. We started catching up, talking, and listening to old songs that reminded us of memories. Then we started drinking beers and telling old stories. She has 4 kids and I have an aunt like bond them. I was playing baseball with her oldest son and teaching him how to bat and throw e.c.t… Her son liked a metal bat that I had in my car and asked if he could have it. I had no problem with giving him the bat, only problem was the bat was covered in graffiti, swear words. So I told him he could have the bat only after we spray painted the graffiti off of it. Later in the evening we were sitting outside and he came out with 2 cans that both had black caps on them. I automatically assumed it was spray paint… I held the bat in between my legs while he sprayed the bat. The excess spray was going all over my pants. After about a minute I noticed the graffiti was not going away with what he was spraying on the bat. I told him “Dude, I don’t think this is paint.” He replied with “OK Tia I’ll go to the garage and look for paint.” He took off to the garage and I was sitting there, I lit a smoke since he wasn’t around and an ember ash from my smoke hit my leg. All of a sudden, WHOOOOMMB! I went up in flames from my knees to my V! My first reaction other than shock was to stop, drop and roll. So naturally I did, well….It didn’t work. The chemicals on my pants were flammable and the S, D and R didn’t work. Frantically trying to figure out how to put the flames out I saw a patch of grass in her backyard and I ran to it, hoping the grass was damp with water and would put the fire out. I did the stop, drop and roll on the damp grass, same outcome. I am still on fire now sustaining burns to my hands trying to pry my pants off of me. Just then her son came out and dropped what he had in his hands. I am in shock about to pass out from the pain. I yelled at him to open the pool gate that had a fence and a lock on it. I couldn’t get the fence open. He ran over an unlocked the gate. I am losing consciousness, falling to the ground and giving up and in to the pain. Just then I heard words that I still hear in my night terrors, “Tia, THE GATE IS OPEN!” He yelled to me. My strength, my soul, my, ME! I wanted to survive. I was able to find it in me to get up, and run and JUMP as far as I could into that pool….Instantly, the numb sank in. The relief I felt when my body hit the water I will never be able to describe it. As I stand on the steps of the pool I look down at my body to see my pants burnt away, smoke steam still coming off of my legs. That day I had underwear, board shorts and a thick pair of black pants on, the fire burnt thru all 3 layers of my clothes and my legs were charred black and smelt of burnt flesh. Even if I tried, I could not describe the smell. I told him to go get his grandmother from her room. When she came down and saw me shaking in shock standing in the pool I looked at her scared and asked, “Is it bad?” Tears flowing down my face she replied with “YES” I managed to get my pants off and get to the front room where I was sitting on the floor with a towel covering me. Then the pain came. I had her son running back and forth from the kitchen with a bucket dumping cold water on my legs which only dulled the pain momentarily. We discussed going to the hospital and his grandmother offered to drive me there. As she was putting her shoes on I said let’s just call 911. Waiting for the fire department to arrive felt like forever. The pain was getting worse. I was screaming at him to keep bring buckets of cold water to dump on me. When the fire department finally arrived, they had special blankets that were covered in an ointment that alleviated the burn pain.   I asked the firefighter what I should do, I said take me to the closest hospital. He replied with the severity of my injury required me to go to a special burn unit. There are only 2 in California, 1 in Santa Clara and the other being in the L.A area. He said he could take me to the closest hospital but they would only transfer me to one of these clinics and the best course of action was the ambulance to take me straight to the Santa Clara Burn unit. I had no other option so I agreed. They loaded me up into the ambulance and I was preparing for at least an hour of transport before I arrive at the burn unit. The memories I have of the ambulance ride are vague, I only remember the blankets they put on my lap not working after a certain time, getting an IV inserted into my arm with fluids, and pain medicine. I kept asking, screaming for more medication for the pain was unbearable and mostly the only thing I remembered. I had maxed out on the amount the paramedic could give me before getting to the hospital. Crying, shaking, being scared, haven’t even called my mother yet…When I finally got to the hospital, I remember getting onto the ER table, seeing the doctor who saved my life and the nurses cutting off all my clothes. I kept yelling “I need to call my mom!” I was petrified of my injury and I wanted my family to know about this before the doctors put me under into an induced coma to prevent my body from further shock. I remember talking to my mom on the phone crying to her saying “Its really bad mom, I’m scared.” I believe I gave the phone to the nurse who informed my mother of the severances of my injury. After that…. I don’t remember a lot

feel free to contat Gina Trombino directly at g.bino86@gmail.com

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my visit with Gottfried Medical, Inc.

5/30/2017

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...by James January

I met Darla Hredzak many many years ago at an Annual Burn Association conference. I jumped at the opportunity to travel to Toledo, Ohio when she called me up earlier this month and asked me to visit with and speak to the employees at the company she is now in charge of. That company is Gottfried Medical, Inc. www.gottfriedmedical.com

Precise measurements at close intervals along someone’s arm or leg, or other body area, are sent in to their facility. Those measurements are then applied to a material which is cut and sewn by hand to create something unique to the only user who will ever wear it. They make pressure garments.

When I was burned, pressure garments came in brown, brown, maybe black, brown, maybe white, and brown…did I mention brown. Now days, they come in many cool colors and patterns. If such were the case back in my day, garment wearing compliance would have been an easier get. I’d have been sporting some flames and skulls along my arms and legs. In the burn world, pressure garments are vital for vascular support and, in some cases, scar management.

I was honored to share my story with the fine folks that work at Gottfried and enjoyed entertaining their questions. The audience laughed and cried during our time and we accomplished our mission of putting a face to the survivors that their garments are made for.

Darla and her husband were great hosts…thanks for the cigars Jim. Thanks for having me and I hope I gave you what you were looking for. For my part, it was worth every moment and I hope to do it again in the future.

Thank you for your generous donation which we will put to good use toward accomplishing our BurnSurvivor.org mission.

hello reader;
feel free to connect with us if you have questions about what we do
let us know if you’d like us to visit your business or group
let us know if you have something you'd like to post here at BurnSurvivor.org

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9/11...Gil's recollection (a firefighter, a counselor & a good friend to many burn survivors)

9/10/2016

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911 is just a few hours away as I ponder a blog...
rather than write on this occasion, I share the words of a good friend;

Grab a cup, a glass, a beer or on behalf of FF Dana R. Hannon, a Makers Mark. I was asked to write my recollection of 911 5 years ago. Here you go. ..
9-1-1. It used to be an emergency number. Now it’s a day in America that identifies and asks a retrospective of where you were at the time. For most people it’s a list of tragic events against our country. As a fire fighter it’s the beginning of a professional debut of commitment to our "new" servitude.
FDNY lost 343 on that dreadful day. I lost four firefighter friends that I’m linked with by our profession and our desire to teach our experience and knowledge to other firefighters.
FDNY. The name says it all. They are a “Fire Department” in New York. They have their priority stated. Fire Department first, New York second. NYPD, they are a city with a Police Department in it. Maybe all firefighters should change their label and have the similarity as FDNY.
FDNY, they belong to the fire service, to the preservation of life and property. All firefighters are committed to life and property, albeit for a price. A price paid by 343 brave men on that day, and challenged in every city, every day in America.
I remember on the 5th anniversary of 9-11 that our firefighters put out 343 American flags with each firefighters picture on a staff, on the grass in front of the Vallejo Ferry docks. Many stopped to observe and still “those” people thought we were grandstanding. Grandstanding, sad state of affairs.
I don’t remember, I really don’t remember. I just can’t recall what my shift entailed before I got the “call”. I was on duty at station 21 in Vallejo. I had been a firefighter since 1981 for Vallejo. I cannot remember the shift. I know I reported for duty on the 10th, checked out my Ladder truck in the morning, went to training, ate lunch and dinner, within the shift of emergency calls and services.
But I can’t picture or recall the incidental activities of the day. Emergency calls through the night left me with little energy. I finally laid my head down to rest.
At 06:15 I received a phone call on my cell phone from a fellow firefighter from Miami-Dade Fire Rescue. They told me a plane just hit the World Trade Center and that I should get up and turn the TV on. I left the dorm and told the other firefighters what had just happened.
Why would my friend call me to tell me that you ask? I was a Fire Service Instructor as was my friend that called me. I literally have friends all over the country that I taught with. A bunch of them were FDNY members. I went into the day room and turned the TV on. OMG. Unbelievable.
I asked my fellow Vallejo Fire Service Instructor Greg Falkenthal which one of our FDNY instructors were on duty and what shift was coming on duty. He said he didn’t know. We called several friends and to no avail. Nobody was answering their phones, and rightly so. Later, any word we would get was sketchy, meaning it came from a friend of a friend of a friend.
We pooled our information we did get. We tried to figure out which firefighters were in what part of the city. Who would be first in and who would be coming in for the greater alarm? What ladder companies, what engine companies, what rescue companies would be called out?
We found that the street box alarm was identified as 8087,Two World Trade Center. We knew the boys were going to be busy and this was the “job” of all jobs. A fire is called a job in the field. Meaning that it is a working structure fire and that all hands would be needed to respond and mitigate an emergency, wherever the job was in the country. The World Trade Center’s Towers would prove to be “the”emergency of our time. Our country took the hit, not just New Yorkers.
We were glued to the television. All the firefighters in the station were now downstairs with us. We were awestruck. We could not believe it. Then in horror we watched the second plane hit the Towers. As the coverage continued it was somewhat rewarding that we, as firefighters, were literally rallying with the responding firefighters. Yeah, you go boys, get’em, save’em, save ‘em all.
The average person would look to see what was going on by visually seeing the coverage. Firefighters view it different than most people. We looked for numbers of engines and ladder companies. Once we caught a glimpse of the units we could figure out what stations the firefighters came from. Our attempt at finding out who was where.
I remember the helicopter video coverage and the reporter giving us a glimpse of his observations. Then in a huge puff of smoke… the first collapse at Two World Trade Center. The implosion and collapse sent him into a cry of bewilderment. He said as I recall… “it’s gone, it’s gone. The Tower is gone”.
After a few minutes as I saw the repeated video, I thought that what I saw was crazy, but then I also thought “what a engineering marvel that they could design a building that, based on its proximity to other buildings in that dense of an area, could collapse straight down. Little did I know the reality of the pancake collapse would not be know until years later.
We started to get other accounts of planes crashing and hijackings. Pennsylvania, then the Pentagon. We first heard the news service refer to us as being under attack. My friend called me back and asked if I had heard anything and that Miami Dade was on alert and their fire crew and unit was headed to a nuclear facility to provide protection.
We thought that the collapse certainly killed firefighters and civilians. But we were not expecting the next thing to happen. Less than 30 minutes later, the second tower collapsed. How many lives? Which of those lives were firefighters? We were speechless.
As hours and hours went by, our grief was becoming a reality for the family we lost. Our brothers in New York could not survive such devastation. Our speculations were confirmed as our other comrades called us to confirm the possibilities and probabilities of our personal friends that lost their lives.
When the first plane hit the first tower, it was at change of shift. Many were exchanging the previous shifts pertinent information, were waiting for the morning traffic to clear before going off duty or just enjoying a cup of coffee before they left for home. Any firefighter worth their salt would have wanted to stay to see if they could get to the “job”.
FDNY has a roster board in each fire station that puts a name and an assignment of the shift in full view for the firefighters.
All assigned personnel know what rig or unit they are assigned to for the day. They use a chalkboard, and the board usually dated back to the date the station opened. (to this date all the chalkboards of 911 still hold the original crew assignments and new chalkboards replaced the dated ones. It was unknown for days and days which personnel were on duty or off duty or who jumped on a truck to go to the job or who were standing by for a firefighter coming from another section of the city.
Beyond administrative knowledge within the fire department, the chalkboard represented who was actually working. Meaning a firefighter could have come in early for a firefighter that had a doctor’s appointment, and his name may not have been known at city hall but it was known in the firehouse. Or at least we thought.
As an example, Fire Company 288 had 19 firefighters jump on their rigs. Not one survived.
Search and rescue efforts were being conducted from all departments in the area. Within hours of the collapses, firefighters from 200-300 miles away were on their way in their own vehicles, knowing that they were going to a dig, for survivors. They would get there in plenty of time to help. Local departments sent their firefighters and units, to cover the City’s emergency services as needed.
In the United States, we average 100 firefighter fatalities per year. On September 11, 2001 between 09:59 and 10:28, not even 30 minutes, we lost 343. Three and a half years of firefighter deaths at one time, at one place.
Never before in our service and country had that happened. Many of our fellow instructors would survive. It wouldn’t be long beforewe would find out which of our friends were missing. Specifically, Andy Fredericks, Chris Blackwell, Billy McGinn, and Dana Hannon.
We were all instructors for Fire Engineering, a trade publication that each year put on a national Fire Department Instructors Conference in Indianapolis, called FDIC. We were all tied together by that Instructor’s conference. We all taught “HOT” training.
HOT is an acronym for Hands On Training. Training that takes a firefighter and puts them in a situation of practical application by personally giving them the experience we were teaching. We all taught many subjects that firefighters would sign up and travel for just to be taught by us. The best training in the world. If you or your department wanted or needed specialized training, we could do it. Building construction, auto extrication, disaster preparedness.
For me, as an Aerial Truck Operator, I specialized in Ventilation for fire conditions, forcible entry (getting in the structure without a key) or power tools and accessories and how to make them work for each fire department.
These 4 brave firefighters came to Sacramento for FDIC West Coast. To bring it even closer to Solano County, Dana’s crew of instructors taught their portion of “live fire training” in Dixon while the rest of us were at different areas in Sac.
Three days after the attacks, I was scheduled to go on vacation in Miami. Needless to say, I was held up until the air space was opened. A week later, I made it to Florida.
Greg called me. I hated getting calls from Greg. Then the real call came. They were all presumed dead. Lt. Billy McGinn* was memorialized on October 5, 2001. Lt. Andrew Fredericks* was memorialized on October 8, 2001. Firefighter Chris Blackwell’s service would be October 20, 2001. Dana was still missing.
*Billy and Andy were found in a stairwell of one of the towers.
In a book titled “Last Man Out” Captain John Jonas remembers seeing them before the collapse in the stairwell that he miraculously survived in.
Greg said Billy’s service was the day he called me on vacation. Andy’s service would be in 3 days. I was in Florida. I made the arrangements to go to NY. Greg and I discussed our trips. He would fly from California and I from Miami. Our New Jersey brothers would pick us up at the airport. . Greg had to go to my house to get my Class A uniform. He brought it to NY for me. This was not going to be a fun trip.
Going to a fire service funeral is unique. As a paramilitary based organization, fallen firefighter services were the most respected and somber dedications you could attend. Somberness through the drums and bagpipes of a traditional service, gave you a total body quiver.
At first, there was “a” funeral, then as more and more firefighters were recovered and confirmed deceased, the funerals increased. Two, three then four services in the morning and six or seven or eight in the afternoon. It was an evolution of respect for fallen firefighters. For the families, just finding a church to have a service in was quite an event.
To go from one funeral to pay respects, then to the next, then the next was difficult. Rows and rows of Class A dressed firefighters from all over the country in attendance. Saluting the hearses or fire trucks carrying the bodies as they arrived.
“Amazing Grace” was playing out of the bagpipes. Just the logistics of the services was amazing. And all the while that these funerals were going on, firefighters were working on “The Pile” at One World Trade Center, recovering other firefighters and victims.
Fire Fighter Andy Fredericks was a water flow genius. His classes taught about effective fire hoses and water streams in all structure fires. If you wanted to get a viable fire stream to the moon, Andy could teach you how to figure gallons per minute, friction loss and how much hose in between each fire truck would need to relay pump water to the moon.
We went to Andy’s requiem viewing the night before his service. Never have I hugged and cried with so many firefighters. I was happy to see some of my friends and saddened to hear of those still listed as missing. Andy’s closed casket was draped in an American flag with his fire gear adjacent to his casket guards. At each end of the casket were two honor guards.
The first ones I saw were from Ohio and Florida respectively. I knew their faces and couldn’t help but notice the tear streams streaks on their faces. We couldn’t embrace the honor guards but eye contact and a compassionate nod made the acknowledgement for us. Each firefighter that “protected” the casket was relieved at each half hour. Not because they were tired but because emotionally they couldn’t keep up the demeanor.
As FDIC instructors, we had several Emergency vehicles to travel in. They were arranged by firefighters from New Jersey. We had surviving FDNY fire instructors escorting us. They were a part of our HOT crew. The next day, we lined up in front of the church amid the firefighters, and unusual to see, civilian spectators crying as the hearse rolled up and the bagpipes and drums played.
We sat in the 5th pew of a Catholic church. Just the ‘sitting’ took 1 hour. Fire fighters were lined up in the isles, the balcony, anywhere you could fit a body. We exceeded the occupancy load by a group, but no one was going to enforce it.
As I looked back over my shoulder, I saw rows and rows of firefighters. Up front, distinguished members of his company, or should I say his fire house that he worked with since all of his crew that day died.
Andy’s wife, his son and daughter were on the first row.
As I flashed back, all the faces brought me a sense of pride and affirmation of Andy’s impact on us all. I mean, when the HOT training was over and I could attend classes I remember taking Andy’s class. I’m sure if you asked him, Andy could figure out how much beer is consumed after a firefighter convention. He was that good.
It was a traditional Catholic service, with the added intensity of the catastrophic event. Jerry Tracy placed a brass fire nozzle on his casket at the church. After the service, we lined up outside of the church. After Andy’s body was placed in the hearse, we traveled to the cemetery. It was a sunny but cold day, literally.
The night of Andy’s service, we were invited to Wyckoff Fire Department across the Hudson River in New Jersey. It was two-fold. The volunteers of the station provided our food and beverages.
It was where many FDNY members got their fire department starts. Dana Hannon was one, as was a surviving FDNY fire fighter named Mike Ciampo. And it was for us to decompress and to get the latest information. Ciampo and other FDNY in attendance told of their experiences working on the pile. Also, in attendance were Dana Hannon’s father, a retired FDNY Fire Officer, and Dana’s fiancé, Allison Dansen.
To have his dad and Allison there was very hard, because Dana was still missing. Dana was memorialized that December, but his family didn’t bury him until years later. I was notified of Dana’s discovery on St. Patrick’s Day 2002. They recovered his helmet, his shield and one boot. His boot and face piece bracket had tissue which was DNA tested to affirm it was him. His family waited until all the remains were found so they only had to have one funeral.
Some families were not that fortunate and had to “add” to buried members. Allison, to this day, has not dated anyone. Dana was the love of her life. She has since graduated from Nursing school and works at a local hospital.
The next day while I was waiting at the airport, I pondered so many things about the events I witnessed and participated in. Tears welled up several times. Decided it was best that I put on my sunglasses. I wore a golf shirt that had an embroidered American flag with September 11, 2001 under it and the words “Never Forget”.
As I boarded the plane, the flight attendant stopped me and asked me how I was doing. She caught me off guard. The ticket staff must have told her I was on the flight. I was upgraded to first class. As the plane prepared to depart, I was staring out the window. Tears were rolling down my face when she brought me a drink and a Kleenex.
She told me she kept the second seat empty so I wouldn’t have anybody sitting next to me, and if I needed anything to let her know. It was a very long flight emotionally and I couldn’t imagine going to the next memorial.
I returned to New York and ground zero last year. I also went to visit Wyckoff Fire Department. To this day, Dana’s volunteer fire department helmet and bunker gear are still hanging on the turnout rack. A memorial statue was erected in front of the station.
I am proud of my career and the lives that I have touched, and those that have touched me. To Andy, Chris, Billy and Dana, I will never forget.
I close using a quote. “I have no ambition in life but one, and that is to be a fireman” Chief Edward Croker, FDNY. Andy, Chris, Billy and Dana, I am proud to have filled the same ambition as you have.
May God Bless your souls and those of your families.
Gilbert C. Baiz
Retired Fire Engineer
Fire Department Vallejo
Truck4lifeg@aol.com

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Slaying Those Last Dragons…

8/28/2016

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Slaying Those Last Dragons…always another one somewhere…some are old, sneak up on you, and make you think.

Today is my 46th birthday. One month shy of 25 years as the burntguy.
I don’t know if it is the proximity to being 50 or the birthday cigar and birthday whiskey talking, but one or the combination of all of the above got me thinking.

A few days ago, I drove to get 9 big bags of 100% organic soft red winter wheat. I took it to TOPO Distillery in Chapel Hill, NC so that it could be used as God intended it to be used. I made the trip once before a few months ago for 10 bags on May 26th, 2016.
...and that is where I wanna go back to light the fuse that starts this story...

I’m fortunate enough to work at Topo Distillery. We do it right and we do it by hand.
When I say we do it right, I mean we do grain to glass…making vodka, gin & whiskey from locally sourced wheat grown in Scotland Neck, NC which we pick up from Rocky Mount, NC every few months.
When I say we do it by hand, I mean we wash, label, fill, and package every bottle by hand. I’m a distillery grunt, so I get to do some of that and more. (In my free time during cigar & whiskey moments, I like to think I am part of quality control.)

Upon hearing our distiller talking about taking the truck to pick up the grain, I volunteered to go. Picking up wheat needed to make liquor seemed as good a cause as any in my mind.

As I started driving I realized, damn, this is the first time I’ve driven, let alone been in, a truck any where near the size of the one that "got me". (This one’s actually bigger.) In September of 1991, one month after turning 21, I was driving a half-ton (what we called a mid size moving truck) to cary some gear from Campbell University to Fort Bragg, NC so we could teach the younger cadets water survival skills. Long story short, it wrecked and exploded on me before I got out. A lot of years and a lot of friends and a lot of things got me from that time to now.

But that, my friend, is a story for another time.

This story is gonna focus on my drive taking that beautiful grain to a place where it will be used to make some of the best liquor on earth. On that day, the adrenaline was pumping. That big muscle we all have in the middle of our chest was thumping against my rib cage in a way that made me take notice and my hands were gripping the steering wheel. I did not freeze but I was certainly aware and alert.

This is strange.
I drove the truck day before. Drove around the block with our head distiller to prove I could without a second thought. I remember joking that as long as the gas tank wasn’t behind the seat, we’re all good. Maybe my mind was in the “he ain’t really doing this” mode. Maybe it was such a short loop that there was no time to process it all.
Who knows.

The fact was that now, a half hour in with an hour to go, my blood was pumping and my chest was thumping. It dawned on me that the drive from Chapel Hill to Rocky Mount was not much different in distance than the drive from Buies Creek to Fort Bragg was those many years ago. It kinda took me back to that day in 1991. This day, the truck was a bigger, but it definitely brought back thoughts. I remember thinking move faster...make sure my win isn’t close this time around if that demon, that tried to take me out last time, pops up wanting another shot at the title. I didn’t freeze, but the adrenaline was definitely flowing and I was gripping the wheel. Had it really been almost 25 years.

THEN & NOW

YEP and now I was feeling the rush.
Why?
I own a “big boy” truck. I had driven the neighbor's tiny uHaul moving a few items down the road. None of that counted but this, in my head, did count.

I made it there and by the time the grain was loaded and I was driving back to Chapel Hill, my mind had processed it all and told the rest of me “woohoo, we made it”. As I drove back, I was comfortable enough to call a good friend of mine and pick her brain. We are very close and I value her opinion as a friend and a burn survivor. She survived a bus accident and I wanted to know if her guard went up in similar fashion around buses. We questioned the strange moments in life due to the fact that she was following a bus the exact moment I called. She does pay attention to where she sits and is aware of the places others sat and how they fared in the accident. We shared observations like the fact that fire wasn’t the trigger but the method it was delivered to our feet certainly was. I told her thanks for the good talk and hung up just in time to get pulled over by the police.
That too, is another story for another time, but you know I rolled up my sleeves to show off the burns to my arms, hunched over the wheel and grimaced a bit when he approached…all geared up to play my burn card and get out of a ticket that was not my to get anyway.

I hope my story meant something to you.

If you would like to post something you think would benefit others or donate to our cause or inquire of our services, don’t hesitate to contact us.

Thank you for spending some time reading what I had to write.

January

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