Tasneem Buksh
Trial By Fire
July 19th, 1995 was a humid, but glorious summer afternoon. A day both wonderful and dreadful. A day that I would never forget.
I was 12 years old. I was enjoying the warm summer day, riding my bike around our neighborhood. My mother was in the neighboring suite at my family’s duplex home which was being renovated. I entered the suite as I heard my mother’s voice inside. It smelled of solvent and paint. As I bent down to tie my shoelace, the nightmare began within seconds. I heard a terrifying sound, as if someone were striking a match. Suddenly, the whole suite was engulfed in flames. The room became filled with light. I could see my mom burning and yelling for me to get out through the back door. I could not run away as the soles on my shoes melted to the floor and stuck to the ground which was covered in industrial glue. I felt my body being attacked by the flames. The freshly painted walls began caving in on us, as the paint fell down in sheets. I struggled to reach the door, as my dad came running only to hear my mom yelling for help. He helped me out of the building and then ran to her. I ran towards our home next door, somehow managing to open the front door with my house key. Not realizing that I was still on fire, I yelled, which got the attention of my older sister, who came running and saw my battle against the hideous flames. She then wrapped me in the nightgown she was wearing to smother the crackling blaze. She immediately called for help. I cried, screamed and laughed hysterically all at once, not knowing why. My mother, whose sandals firefighters would later find melted to the floor, miraculously was able to climb out of a window which was over 5 feet high and landed on a narrow patch of grass. Her legs and feet were badly burnt and bleeding.
Firefighters arrived within six minutes of the accident. With their back facing my mother, the firefighters gathered around her in a circle, to shield her from the crowd as the paramedics cut and peeled away the melted silk clothing from her legs. I could hear my younger sister screaming. The minutes to follow seemed like an eternity of pain. I began to fall into a deep sleep as the paramedics injected me with painkillers. I had entered a darkness only to awaken to another nightmare.
When I woke up, I was in a hospital where my mother and I would spend several weeks; our beds placed foot-to-foot and neither of us able to move without a great deal of pain. We continued to receive treatment, including surgeries, for years to come. My mother, Jinnat Buksh and I are burn survivors today.
After my accident, there were many consequences that I had to face. We quickly learned that burns often take an extremely long time to heal. Both my mom and I ended up staying in the hospital for almost two months initially and underwent multiple skin graft surgeries. The pain was so unbearable that we were constantly sedated under medication. Because I have burns in various areas of my body, it was very difficult getting around. For the longest time I became dependent on other people, not even being able to go to the bathroom by myself, or turn over on the other side of my bed. As I got closer to being discharged from hospital, I had to re-learn how to walk, use my hands to write and feed myself, train my mouth to pronounce words clearly, along with many other activities I used to take for granted. To help reduce the effects of scarring, I had to wear face masks and pressure garments for nearly four years for 23 hours a day. People would stare when they’d see me in this condition. Since I was just starting High School at the time, going back to school was a challenge. I had insisted on returning to school despite my injuries, and began grade 8 just two days after leaving the hospital. Unfortunately, some of my friends from elementary school who were entering High School with me decided that they no longer wanted to hang out with me because of my change in appearance, as I would go to school in a mask, pressure gloves, and a baseball cap. Students always wondered what had happened to me, since some of my burns were in visible areas. As their curiosity grew, they would stare at me and talk about me to their friends. I would even hear the phrase “What’s up scar face?” as I walked down the hallways at school.
Worse, I later returned to the burn unit for more surgeries. The doctors reconstructed the right side of my face since the thick, deformed, burn scar had begun to pull down my face, restricting basic functions such as speaking and seeing out of my right eye. I even had trouble sleeping as I had developed a fear that if I went to bed and something was to happen, I would be helpless. I would have nightmares about situations in which members of my family or I would be in grave danger. I had developed a fear of death, and had horrible visions of loved ones dying in every way imaginable: plane crashes, murders, car accidents, and especially fires. I didn’t want to lose anyone close to me and began to make excuses to keep from having to go to bed. These nightmares didn’t stop until years later.
I found out, as all burn survivors do sooner or later, that getting burned is a lifetime injury.
In spite of the nightmares and the difficulties of undergoing treatment, I was motivated to give back in order to show my appreciation to the many hospital staff, fire fighters, and members of the community who had helped my mother and I throughout this ordeal. In addition, during my own lengthy hospitalization, I realized how useful it would have been to have had a burn survivor who had already experienced what I was going through, share his or her experience with me throughout the healing process. As a result, within 6 months of my accident, while still undergoing treatment, and still suffering from the emotional and physical effects of my injuries, I began to volunteer on the BCPFF Burn, Plastic and Trauma Unit at Vancouver General Hospital. I was able to encourage and provide emotional support to patients as a volunteer, by sharing my experiences and encouraging them in the areas of nutrition, physical movement and positive thinking. As well, the physiotherapist who I had worked with invited me to speak to a class she taught on burn therapy at UBC. As a 13-year-old wearing a facemask and pressure garments, it was daunting to speak to fourth year University students, but I knew that I could help them gain an understanding which would empower them to help other burn survivors in the future.
In May of 1998, I visited a Grade 6 class at Hollyburn Elementary in West Vancouver to deliver a presentation about preventing burns. To my surprise, I learned that the young Hollyburn students had raised $1,000 in one month -- enough to send a child to burn camp for the summer. Amazingly, they had done it with little help from parents or teachers. Inspired, I returned to my high school the following year and pitched the idea of a dual campaign that would teach Grade 10 students about burn prevention while raising money for the outpatient burn clinic at Vancouver Hospital. After getting approval from the school, I arranged for a teacher to supervise, prepared a presentation on burn prevention and awareness and invited two other burn survivors to speak about their experience. I stood before over 500 students that year, and told the story of how a pilot light touched off a fire that changed my life.
The impact on the audience stunned me. When I brought up this personal experience of mine during the presentation and explained all the feelings I had, I learned that I was able to create a whole new relationship with my fellow students. They seemed to understand that asking a person about what happened to them makes the person feel much better than when you just stare or whisper about them. The campaign also featured a 50/50 draw, class collections, and a car wash, and donations from school groups and local businesses, and, in the end, it raised almost $3,000 for the burn clinic. The money helped purchased a specially designed chair for the clinic, a chair in which people with burns on their legs, back and buttocks could rest before their appointment. I continued to present the Burn Prevention and Awareness Program to various high schools in Burnaby and Richmond for 5 years to follow, and help raise funds for the BCPFF Burn, Trauma and Plastics Unit.
Over the years, I have continued to work on various projects around the community to benefit various organizations and charities, including the BC Professional Fire Fighters’ Burn Fund. The experiences of being a burn survivor and a volunteer helped me to discover that I had a deep passion for helping others. These opportunities have been a blessing in my life, as they have allowed me to learn valuable life lessons and experience the rewards of giving. As a result, I was inspired to pursue a career in nursing, in which I see people who are faced with challenges the way I once was.
Reflecting on my experience, I am reminded by a quote from former South African President Nelson Mandela:
“It is our Light, not our darkness, that most frightens you.
We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?’
Actually, who are You not to be?
You are a child of God.
Your playing small does not serve the World.
There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won’t feel insecure around you…
As we are liberated from our own fear,
our presence automatically liberates others…”
Everyday, I am thankful for the opportunities I have to share my story in order to inspire others. Although my mother and I will never forget what happened on that fateful summer afternoon, we know that the experience strengthened us as individuals, and taught us the importance of cherishing every moment that we are blessed with. Each day is a truly a gift.
By: Tasneem Buksh
« Back to Survivor Profiles |
