A Kat Tale - The End - Or Is It?

...I stand amazed every time I look at the legs of my child. I saw them at their worst, and I now see them as they become the very best they can be. There is still a slight discoloration on her legs. The spots look like huge strawberry birthmarks. The skin itself is as soft as a baby's skin and as smooth as silk. The sun is still a major nemesis and we must watch the time of day that Kathryn is out in full sun exposure. This time next year I hope that all that will remain on her legs is just memories. But whatever remains I will not complain. My daughter is alive today and bears but a few scars of what could have been but wasn't thanks to the prayers and quick actions of so many.

Labor Day weekend Kathryn returned to the place of the accident. Three months had passed and she felt ready to face her fear of Wind Creek State Park, so she attended a church-wide picnic. She handled it with the grace and style that she has handled the whole ordeal with. I am proud of her. Throughout the whole experience, I witnessed a fourteen year old handle things that many adults would never be able to handle. I watched a child blossom into the full bloom of young womanhood....and I was amazed at the beauty and grace that she possessed. God definitely has been the author of this tale....because of his omniscience and his constant love......this story doesn't end.....only one chapter is over. This story is just beginning and if I know God....this story is bound to be a best seller. Rock on Kat!

A Kat Tale Part 2

...I tried and tried to get my mother, who was in Albany, GA for the weekend, but was unsuccessful. The mother in me wanted to be mothered....needed to be mothered. About six that night I caught them as they walked into their house. Small talk eluded me, so I dropped the bomb and heard the connection break between us as the hum of the line replaced our voices.

Prayers continued. People heard the news and came. Kathryn slept. With the help of the medication the weekend slid by with ease for her. She needed to rest because the hard part for her was just beginning. Sunday and Monday we returned to the ER for dressing and debriedment(removal of the dead skin). Sunday was hard for us all. We had to take turns being with her for support as the treatment process took place. I lasted no more than ten minutes, Ronnie lasted even less. My cousin, Amanda, who is a nurse, was a real blessing. On Monday I felt at peace, so I stayed in the treatment room the entire time they were dressing her legs. Tuesday we had to see our regular doctor. Dr. Harrow was quasi-optimistic as he touched, sniffed, and then dressed Kathryn's legs. A million questions ran through my mind. Would there be scars? Would they be grotesque scars? How long would her legs take to heal? Dr. Harrow finished his examination and turned to face me. His comments left me feeling hopelessly hopeful. In his calm, reassuring voice Dr. Harrow shot straight from the hip. "Karen and Kathryn, I won't lie to either of you, this is bad. There is a great deal of damage, but Kathryn is young and the young heal faster than someone older. There may be some scaring and there may not be. Hopefully the burned areas will fade, but it will take a long time. Kathryn is such a fair-skinned individual. She will have to be kept out of all sunlight for the rest of the summer and you will really have to watch her sun intake for a long time. Anytime she goes out into the heat, protextion will be a must. You are one lucky young lady, Kathryn. I know you don't see this now, but in time, you will definitely see how fortunate you are." Dr. Harrow felt that physical therapy was a definite plus, so he scheduled us for ten days of whirlpool therapy and wanted to see us at the end of the ten day period to decide a further course of action. We left the office quietly. Kathryn and I had wanted Dr. Harrow to tell us that this would be better soon, and we didn't exactly get what we wanted.

When we got home I called the Physical Therapist to make an appointment for our first visit. The Therapist told me to make sure that Kathryn was well medicated when we came because the treatments would be very painful at first. I would not understand the full impace of these words until the next afternoon when we showed up for our bath and dressing....

A Kat Tale Part I

Ok, while I am on my woeful journey I thought I would share another story I wrote about my daughter....It happened one Memorial Day Weekend. I have actually got this one in the works for publishing....so I am going to do it in parts. Todays segment....is the beginning of a long road back. Sit back and relax. You are in for a long haul.

The telephone rang in the car and Dale answered it, "Ronnie, it's Eric, for you," he called out in his thick New Jersey accent. I felt a cold chill grab at my heart. Ronnie came in with a twisted look on his face and told me to get my purse and go for a ride with him. I did as I was told. I knew better than to argue. His face told me that this was not going to be a pleasure ride. The car flew past the familiar and I finally asked the question I did not want the answer to. "How bad is it?" My shakey voice was deliberate, yet emotion-filled and then he replied, "there was an explosion." "Are they alive?" My husbands response to my question caused me to grasp for my next breaths...."I don't know."

I closed my eyes as we crossed the river bridge and began praying for strength, grace, and a miracle. We squealed into the Emergency Room parking lot and my son Eric, met me, held me, and told me to be strong. I was confused yet drew strength from my son's arms and tears. I entered the ER Treatment Room and felt my knees buckle when confronted by the sight and smell that met me. My youngest daughter, Kathryn, had taken the full impact of the explosion. My child, my heart, lay face down on an emergency room table and her legs......her beautiful legs grotesquely stared at me as I entered the door. The smell of burnt flesh and hair penetrated my brain and the nurse softly shoved me past the legs to the face of a terrified little girl. I had seen this face before when storms had awakened her in the middle of the night and she would seek refuge in the comfort of our bed. I smiled a watery smile into the eyes of this being that I had brought into this world nearly fourteen years ago. She knew it was bad. I knew it was bad. We knew we would have to trust each other.

Leaning down close to her ear I whispered an emotional, "I love you Munchkin" and then the nurse told me I would have to leave so they could work. Outside, in the hallway I searched for my son, his fiancee, my niece, and the two of her friends that were on the boat with Kathryn. They were all hurt. Ugly blisters and angry red patches popped up everywhere and terror filled each little face. We all clung together and waited for news of Kathryn. My pain-filled prayers went up with every breath I took and finally a pleasant numbness clouded my mind.

Everyone I knew was out of town for Memorial Day and I needed prayer power fast, so mustering up what little sanity I had left I called my deacon, David Patterson. The conversation between us was short, and incoherent on my part, yet relieved that prayers had begun, I hung up the reciever. David called the pastor after we ended our call, and both men raced against time to get to the ER.

The nurse came out and told me that Kathryn was asking for me and I could go in and be with her, but I had to be strong. I entered the putrid smelling room once again, rushed straight to Kathryn's head, and began praying over her silently. She reached out and grabbed my hand. I brushed twigs from her hair with my hands. The nurse and doctor worked on. We both grieved in silence.

The nurse and doctor told us what we could expect, equipped us with bandages, medication, and ointments, and with wrapped legs, sent us home with orders to return the next morning. The next 16 hours would be critical for us all, but especially for Kathryn. She would have to be completely bed-bound for the next sixteen hours or swelling could set in and cause the healing process to be hindered. "She might not walk again." the last words the doctor said to me would play over and over in my head all night long.

Rev. Stoner and David helped us transport the six injured ones home. Food and medications were picked up by church members who appeared out of nowhere. The congregation of Wayside Baptist definitely showed us the definition of stewardship and Christian love. People popped in and out all evening and five of the six relived the tale several times, called out-of-state parents, and cried. We all cried - outwardly. Kathryn, bless her heart, slept. Her crying was done in the form of moans that escaped from her morphine-induced nightmares.

Stay tuned for Part II