Day 2

“I love you so much. We will be okay, and I will see you soon.”

Before we were taken into separate rooms at the first hospital (Lloydminster, SK), those were my last words to you. The last words you would consciously hear me speak for three weeks. The reality of those being the last you would ever hear from me was all too real. But not you, Jason Reece. Blessed and highly favored man of God. You called out to Him in the face of trouble, and you were willing to sacrifice your life without even hesitating… How could He not honor you with long life?

I couldn’t see you for 24 hours. Both of us being quarantined due to the risk of infection limited my ability to visit with you. I was allowed to see you through a glass window for the first few days. Seeing you like that; my heart sank to a depth it never has before. At that moment, I realized how much of a miracle it is that we even made it out alive.

He woke us up and made a way out for us…He wasn’t going to stop there. I knew He had you.

His plan is more significant than we can imagine.

You are a living miracle...Nothing, nothing broken.

This was my first time seeing Jay.

June 12th, 2017

*Written June 12th, 2018*

That 24 hours without seeing Jay was the most painful part of my first full day in the burn unit. The scraping and peeling of my flesh was simply a minor distraction. He was just down the hall from me, yet the distance seemed much greater. I had begged every nurse that walked through my door to take me to see him. They insisted that I remain in bed and rest- reminding me that I was "quarantined" due to the high risk of infection. Therefore, it was recommended to stay in my room until my burns were downgraded. Then they would caution me, thinking that I would be too frightened once I saw him. I understood their concern...however, I continued to ask every time someone came to check on me.

My begging was futile for most of the day. That is, until Louis (name changed for privacy) returned on shift. He was one of two nurses who admitted me into the burn unit just 24 hours prior. A kind, compassionate man who had the gift of making even the most painful moments somehow barrable.

When he came to check on my vitals and bandages at the beginning of his shift, he asked how my day was. Tears filled my tired eyes, and I said, "Louis...I need to see my husband."

His kind eyes squinted as a thoughtful grin came across his face. It’s as if he had heard of my pleading all day. He glanced up at me while adjusting my arm bandage and whipped the tear rolling down my blistered cheek. "Yes, you do", he confirmed.

He finished checking my vitals and said, "I will be back, Mrs. Reece."

A few moments later, he returned with a wheelchair, a few spare blankets fresh out of the warmer, a gown and mask, and a fellow nurse to help transfer me.

Since I was still technically "quarantined,” they had to make sure I was covered from head to toe.

He did not try and guard me against what I was about to see. He knew I was aware of the situation at hand. He had heard me go into detail about escaping our blazing home and seeing all the fleshing hanging off Jay...looking into his grey, smoke-damaged eyes. He knew I had already seen and experienced the unthinkable. He also understood that I had laid this at the feet of Jesus.

He knew this was the best thing for me...and Jay.

__________________________________________________________________________________________________

*the photos below are from earlier in the morning, during my first "dressing change"

A team of nurses had come in with handfuls of supplies for my first of many dressing change.

This was a bit of an out-of-body experience. They had given me an extra dose (or two) of morphine to help with the coming pain. They explained that this would be a "light" debridement and that tomorrow would be a bit more intense because I would have scans done to measure the depth of my burns (to indicate if grafting would be necessary). Therefore, I was going to be scrubbed and peeled, leaving no dead skin behind. BUT...that is tomorrow. Today would be barrable.

I was able to breathe through the pain and discomfort, for the most part. What was odd to me was seeing the damage to my skin and watching them CUT blisters off my arms and fingers. This whole thing was a lot to wrap my head around. I was stunned by my burns’ severity because not a single flame had touched me. The closest I was to the actual flames was a few feet and for a fraction of a second. My burns are from the heat in our home that morning...it quite literally melted my skin. Can one fathom that kind of heat? Can one imagine what it was like trying to breathe in there? Imagine not being able to see through the smoke and trying to escape from a vacuum-sealed inferno. Nearly five years later, I still search for the words to articulate and convey with accuracy what that morning was like. In the meantime, I'll let the images speak.