Survivor Profile - Sandra St. Pierre

A JOURNEY OF HEALING and ACCEPTANCE

My name is Sandra. I’m forty-seven years old, married and a mother of three terrific teenagers. On November 1, 2007 I put out a fire that started on the stove and was rapidly getting out of control. My immediate reaction was to move the burning pot of oil off of the element. Surprisingly, the handle was not hot, but the heat coming from under the lid burned both of my hands second and third degree. While I felt the air in the kitchen near the stove to be very hot, I had no idea that I was burning my face and exposed skin on my upper chest. The cabinets erupted into flame while I was pouring baking soda on the pot. My eyebrows were spared; however my forehead sustained third degree burns, the top of my cheekbones deep second degree, and the rest of my face less severe second degree burns.

As I was living a horrific minute, my daughters called 911 and looked for the fire extinguisher, which will now forever be in the kitchen (not in our camping gear). I had no idea that the sunshine light above me was melting and dripping onto my head. The fire was spreading so fast, it was time to call it quits. The priority now was to get the birds, the dog and my daughters out of the house. Hallelujah, the girls brought me the extinguisher and, to my great relief, it was extremely effective. As far as I could tell, the fire was out.

Concerned about the air quality, we got the animals out and then the fire department and ambulance arrived. My husband and son arrived soon after. I felt my eyelids swell on route to the hospital and for the next 48 hours they simply would not open. Anne, a long time nurse on the burn unit, took great care of me that first night, when all I could think of was ‘What have I done to myself?’ It’s natural to second-guess your actions, and it’s easy to torment yourself with questions. Why didn’t I think of a better way to handle the situation? What could I have done differently? I wished so much that I could have had those brief moments back. The next morning, I chose to forgive myself and accept that I simply did my best reacting to a crisis.

I did not have the courage to look at my face during dressing changes until the day before my surgery, about three weeks after the fire. Looking at my hands was enough. For the first eleven days, I felt completely useless. When you can’t use your hands, you can’t do much. Bless my husband for being my 24/7 nurse. I was told I would be in the hospital for two weeks, but after four days they sent me home. I had tremendous support from my direct and extended family, but the nurses and my family felt that my release was premature.

I made nourishment and stretching exercises my priority for the following weeks and months. Eventually I was told that skin grafting to my forehead, under my eyes, the V in my upper chest, and approximately a third of each upper hand would be needed. The donor skin would come from my scalp, which was fine by me. A result of this would be baldness. I’d always been curious to see how I would look with a clean-shaven head, like Sinead O’Connor. The scalp heals surprisingly quickly and my hair started growing back immediately. I found my new look kind of cute! I must admit however, the thought of grafts under my eyes truly scared me. I imagined suture line scars that would never be remedied, even with makeup. That news was the first time I cried since the fire; the second time was when they removed the staples from my chest and hands. Before the removal of the staples, I had switched from subcutaneous morphine injections to Tylenol 3’s. That was a big mistake. Once you decide to get off the morphine, the nurses won’t let you use it again. So a word to the wise, wait until the surgeries and aftermaths are done before giving it up.

Several weeks passed, and the next phase was pressure garments. The expensive pressure garments that were custom made for me did not do the job well. The worst was my chest garment, as it is a challenging area. They listened to my concerns, and respected my efforts to design my own pressure garments. I used athletic wear worn backwards and augmented it with sponges from the OT’s in order to increase the pressure on my chest. The other areas of difficulty were my hands, as the designed gloves had seams that were very uncomfortable, if not hurtful. In the end, I had to use temporary gloves from the OT’s to anchor silicone sheets as a barrier between the fabric and my skin.

Three weeks after my surgery I started to wear my mask that covered my face like “Batman’s”. For the first two weeks that I wore my mask, I went through weepy times. I felt confined behind a non-breathing barrier. I was frustrated by the constant awareness of its presence, the seemingly daunting task of coping with it, and especially not knowing how well I would heal. Then my face actually felt uncomfortable when it was off during bathing, and eventually the mask became a source of comfort. As well, I came to realise that it was a necessary part of successful healing. I made massaging my face and hands twice a day with lotion, as well as stretching them with exaggerated movements, my priority.

Seven months later, my surgeon advised me that I could start weaning myself off my mask. But I found that I still needed a couple of more weeks of 23.5 hours a day. Then I was able to free myself for a few hours a day, and eventually wore it only at nights until my scars seemed stable. It is fortunate that I work at home, as I could heal in private. In public, I was relatively comfortable, and rejoined my outdoor boot camp as well as other activities. I knew I would be on a personal journey of healing and acceptance. It unavoidably overflowed to my friends and family, and sharing with honesty and openness brought me closer to those around me. I’ve learned to accept the scars as a part of the fabric of my life. I’m pleased with my face. Do I look a little different than before? Sure, my eyebrows are a little higher, but my eyes have less of the mid-forty sags, bags and wrinkles. Overall, I exchanged some minimal scarring for a more youthful appearance. There is some discoloration that may improve over time, but makeup does well to conceal. My hands are the worst, but I really don’t care; they function, they tell my story.

I know my experience shares some common pain and challenges to all burn survivors, but not as bad as some. I was inspired and encouraged by Karen Bond, who survived and came through much more severe injuries than mine. When I hear of new burn injuries through the news, my heart and prayers go out to them. I hope for strength and peace in every aspect of their journey, and for them to claim the inspiration THE FUTURE IS MINE.

Thanks to those who have shared your experiences. You gave me inspiration and hope.

By: Sandra St. Pierre

My face six days after fire	My hands six days after fire
Eight days after skin grafts	My mask
Sandra St. Pierre today

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