Happy birthday to me! 20 years ago today! Was it me or was it God? Please excuse the writing. Its 20 years old and I dont feel like its very good. Since the accident, I have spent a lot of time learning about the entire burn process. Initial treatment, aftercare, psychological effects - all have become an interest to me. I wanted to be an expert in all these areas, so I would not be surprised by anything that may happen to me. I began reading books written by former burn patients. I wanted to see if my experiences were unique to this area, or if they were basically the same throughout the world. I had never spoken to any former patients at support group, but they had all been treated by Dr. Fratianne, so their treatment had been rudimentarily the same as mine. I needed to find out how others were handling their new life. As I began reading, a few things instantly became clear. One was treatment has come a long way. I read books about people who had been burned as far back as 1958, and as recently as 1985. I received treatment which was far more advanced than anything I read in their books, and I was grateful. Most of the people I read about had been forced to be awake during the most painful incidents of their treatment, the debridement. They told horrifying tales of agonizing pain while nurses took brushes and scrubbed open wounds down to the muscle. While this is scary, what is even more frightening is the fact that this was done to me as well. Luckily, I don’t remember this agony. Modern Medicine has invented a drug that allows patients to not remember what is done to them. This drug was used on me, and from what I’ve been told, I am extremely grateful. There was a theme that lingered throughout every book the other people had written. That theme was God. Most of them told stories of God speaking to them, encouraging them to go on and not quit. Some spoke of miracles. One person wrote that God had carried her husband out of a plane, in the shape of a man. The husband had been passed out when he felt a man get him to his feet and lead him through the flames to safety. Once he reached safety, he questioned his wife as to the identity of the man, who she hadn’t seen. They assumed it was God. I read a lot of these passages to Georgetta. They sounded hokey to me. Miracles, voices, spirits of dead grandparents telling them what to do and how to recover - none of these themes were clicking with me. When I read these passages to Georgetta, she would react by asking me if these books were religious in nature. They weren’t, but they all shared this point. Georgetta and I, however, didn’t share these types of experiences. No one had spoken to either one of us. No spirits of relatives passed away were guiding us. I guess the point could be made as to how I got out of the furnace room immediately after the explosion. Somehow, I got up and walked out under what seemed like my own power. I should not have been able to do this. As badly as I was burned, I should not have had the strength to get up and move to safety. I did however. Had God come into the furnace room and picked me up? Was it God telling me that I had to get up when I was laying on the ground immediately after the explosion? I have thought about this a lot. It seemed to have been MY voice telling me to move or die. The whole God issue has become an issue to me. Why hadn’t I experienced the things the others in the books had experienced? Was I not loved by God? Were these people lying about their experiences? I don’t know. Of the many questions I had regarding God’s involvement with me, one stands above the rest. Why would God let something this bad happen to me? This question has been contemplated by me, Georgetta, and my mother in discussions since the accident. I want to be clear about one point. I do now, and always have, believed in God. My family covers the spectrum of religion. My grandparents are die hard Catholics. Church twice a week, participants in church functions, prayers on the rosary nightly; the whole deal. I believe my parents believe in God, but church was never a part of our weekly routine. I think this stems back to when my mother was a little girl. Her parents, being so into the church, forced her to be a constant participant and she didn’t like it. So, as a form of rebellion, she stopped going once she was on her own. I know my parents wanted my brother and I educated in religion. We went to Bible School 6 or 7 summers. My brother graduated from a private Catholic high school, the same one I attended my freshman year. My brother sits at the other end of the religious spectrum, proclaiming himself an Athiest. He does not believe there is a higher power controlling the universe, instead he opts to believe in the scientific approach. Of the members of my family, I probably attended church the most during the last 20 years. When I was 13, I worked at a church. Once a month, I would go up on a Sunday and see what the pastor was talking about. When I was in the Army, I would go every once in awhile. I went twice to the service they had while I was in the hospital, searching for answers to the same spiritual questions I had revolving around my accident. The answers would not be found there. Simply, going to church doesn’t mean you believe in God, and I know that. I believe there is a God, but I do not believe in many of the extremisms the church preaches. I don’t believe God will reward a person who goes to church every Sunday of their life any differently than one who simply lives a good, honest life. Many people who attend church regularly cheat on their spouses, lie, and do many other things identified in the “thou shall not” pages of the Bible. If you believe in your spirituality - truly believe - I don’t think attendance will be an issue in going to Heaven. Back to the real questions. Why did God let this happen to me? The truth is I don’t know. If there was some meaning like “live each day to the fullest” or “do onto others...”, I can think of many less horrifying ways to get these points across. Still, there were no magical voices speaking to me as in the books I’ve read, so I probably won’t ever know for sure why it happened. Maybe it was simply an accident, with no intent spiritually or otherwise. That’s a concept not thought of by too many people. While God is the almighty one, is it clearly defined somewhere that He is perfect and incapable of making mistakes? Does he have to be watching every movement of every creature on the planet at all times? Maybe he was simply paying attention to someone else at the time of my accident. Nobody knows, and I probably won’t find out until after I leave this world. If nothing else, the solving of this mystery leaves a definite goal to pursue once I head up to Heaven. Do I think God helped me to live at the time of the accident, and is still helping me with my recovery? Yes. I think he was helping me to get through this for the 26 years and 2 months prior to my accident. I feel he helped me by guiding the development of my personality. I think God created situations throughout my life which made me a fighter; one who doesn’t quit when faced with adversity, but instead takes it on 100%. It is my opinion that God decided to test me, as I test my children on their alphabet and numbers. My tests are far less severe than his test to me, but it is still a test just the same. I don’t know what grade he gave me on this test, but I’m pretty sure I passed. youtu.be/pwfL5FtepSs
Posted on: Fri, 12 Dec 2014 13:02:40 +0000
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