A day I'll never forget

I've said it before and I'll say it again: April first brings out bad memories for me. I've written about this many times here, and now I'm doing it again, for my newer followers. I hope no one thinks this is an April Fools joke, 'cuz it's not, it's very real and painful. Well, not physically painful; not anymore, but psychologically.

When I was a young kid, when I still lived in my childhood home, we had this neighbor that me and my sister spent a lot of time with. She was my grandfather's sister, actually, and she passed away last year. Either way, she had horses, and me and my sister often helped her around the stables, and just generally spent a lot of time with her. She also had a little flea market, or loppis, as we call it in Swedish, so she had a constant flow of knick-knacks and oddities in her home. One of these was a special kind of photography lamp, shaped like a white, plastic T. The upper, horizontal part had the light in it, and the vertical part served as handle and housed the electronics. I still remember the strong heat that generated in the handle as you held it, as it was a very strong lamp. Bright like headlights, in a pretty small device. I was fascinated by it.

On the first of April when I was six years old, I managed to get ahold of the lamp in secret. I was in the living room, and my grandfather's sister was in the kitchen, completely oblivious to what I was doing. I played around with the lamp, and then directed it towards a window. To this day I'm not sure how it happened, but I've been told that the windows in that house had three panes of glass, rather than two, and that that somehow reflected the light, and the heat, back at me. In an instant, my pants caught fire, the left leg set aflame. I remember searing pain. I dropped the lamp, screamed and hopped in place in a wild panic. My relative came running, and she yelled at me to drop to the floor. Somehow, she managed to get my pants off, and rushed ne intio the bathtub to hose down my leg. But it was already too late. The outer part of my left thigh was burned to a crisp, and I still remember seeing my own skin, rolled up, shriveled and black like burnt parchment. I cried and wailed as my parents came, and my relative's husband called the hospital in Eskilstuna. They told him they had no room for me until next week, and I still remember how furious he was, shouting and cursing at the operator. They did what they could, and 40 minutes later, we arrived at the hospital.

I was immediately taken into the ER, where I was placed in a row of beds next to each other. I don't remember if I was crying or not. There was a man in a bed next to me, somehow injured too, but I never saw what was wrong with him. He took a few deep breaths and asked if someone was having a barbeque. We started talking and joking, and despite the horrible state I was in, he got me to smile and laugh. When they brought me away, I remember him shaking my little hand and wishing me luck. I never learned his name and never saw him again. To this day I wonder who he was and what became of him. Whoever he was, I'm eternally greatful that he comforte a hurt child and gave him some hope and raised his spirits. I honestly wish I could meet him again one day and thank him.

EIther way, I got third degree-burns on my thigh, and came very close to actually amputating my leg. Thankfully, I didn't. I spent six months in hospital and underwent more surgeries than I can even remember. They took healty skin from my right thigh and transplanted it unto my left, so that my body woudln't reject the tissue. Once I was able to go back home, I still had to return weekly to change my bandages and apply salve and creams, and holy hell was that painful. The doctors and nurses sai my screams could be heard throughout the entire hospital. But I made it through it. Six year old me, barely old enough to understand the world, went through immense pain and suffering and almost lost his leg, but he pulled through. I often feel amazed at how I managed to get through it, at such a young age.

After that, I stopped visiting me relative. I wa afraid to go back to where it happened, of course, but most of all, I was ashamed. Ashamed of what I had done, that my foolishness had put so many people through such suffering and worry, to see a burning child in their own living room. I can hardly imagine the pain my parents must have felt, seeing me in such a condition. I'm still ashamed of myself.

But thankfully, my life hasn't been any different because of this. I do have a massive scar on my leg, but it has never bothered me or anyone else. It doesn't hurt, doesn't get in the way; it just is. It's not beautiful, but it is harmless. It can be removed with modern tools, but I kinda.. want it to remain. It's become a part of me, in a way. LIke it belongs where it is.

I'm just so glad that, despite the seriousness of the injury, I still got through fine and didn't loose any part of my life, or my body.

So there you have it. April first is still a rough day for me because of this, as it brings back memories of the pain I went through. I'm still thankful for the wonderful doctors and nurses who cured me. Without our modern medicine, even back then, I would most certainly have lost my leg, or maybe even died from possible infection.

But here I stand, scar and all, still alive.

If you made it this far, thank you for listening. Or reading, I guess.