Today I happened onto a blog of a woman that I've never met or even heard of. As I scrolled down her previous posts, I was overcome with tears. This young mother was going through something that was all too familiar. Though our stories are very different, much is the same.
She tells of laying in room #9 in the burn unit. She talks of wound care, and the blood rushing through her legs down to her feet as she goes to stand after laying in bed. She talks of how one of her burn unit neighbors didn't make it. She talks of surgery where she's had skin grafting done. She talks of trying to gain weight. She talks of her children and how she'll have to express her love to her daughter through words for her sixth birthday.
My heart aches for her. For her husband, her adorable innocent children, and their families. I can't control the tears. I wonder why on earth does someone else have to go through that? The horror, the fears, the unknown, the pain. It's almost been 13 years and five kids later. I remember as though it were yesterday. I just want to be there and hug her and tell her that I KNOW what she's going through. I want to sit next to her and answer each other's questions. I want to comb her hair on a bad day, or rub her pinkie toe when it's gone numb. I want to hold her when she has a flashback and reassure her that it's not real. I want to do her dressing changes while she sleeps comfortably. I want to gently remove the staples from her new skin. I want to help her put on the pressure z garments for the first time. I want to tell her that she's beautiful. Because after everything that she's going through, and will continue to go through...she's even more beautiful! I want to talk about our relationships with our Heavenly Father and how it's different than before. I want to share our miracle stories with each other. It's overwhelming how many there are. I want to cry with her. Cry about the things that no one understands. Cry about not being there for our children. Cry about the countless blessings, out pouring love, and miracles that come when we need them the most. Laugh with her about the funny things like scratching those dry itches uncontrollably, or pacing in the store because your legs hurt, how only children notice that your skin is different, and the silk flower arrangements. I want to hold her hand that's in a glove between both of mine and tell her that I, a stranger, love her.
I made a phone call today. I'm going to go to the local University Hospital and visit the burn unit again. I think I'm ready. Ready to reach out to someone that might need me. There may be tears, and that's okay. They're tears of, "I know how you feel".
So with lots of tears of sorrow and hope for Stephanie and every other burn victim out there...there can be miracles, if you believe. I do.
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