Brushing Away the Ashes

I could only think," Dear Jesus, how could this happen?" Mary Schuiteboer and her daughter, Amy, entered the hospital at this point. I started toward them. They guided me to a chair. They told me that they had just come from my house, and the babies were still sleeping. Judy had everything well in hand. She had contacted Cameron's mother and she was on her way. Mary's husband, Steve, and son, John, were volunteers on the fire department. John had been one of Rick's former students. She told me that John had called and told her what had happened and that she should get to me as fast as possible. Somehow it was comforting that Steve and John were among those who were first to get to Rick. Rick and I had always thought of Schuiteboers as family.

Finally, a doctor came to see me. He explained that Rick had been badly burned and would have to be transferred to Bronson Methodist Hospital Burn Unit in Kalamazoo. Bronson's Burn Unit is the best in Western Michigan. Rick had been soaked in chemical lacquer thinner and at this point they were showering his body to try to remove the chemical. They would then prepare him for the half hour trip to Kalamazoo. I would be allowed to see Rick but only if I could be in complete control of myself. Rick must not know that I was so upset. He must not see fear in my eyes. The doctor did not want to risk any further upset to Rick at this point. He needed only to concentrate on himself.

When I saw my husband, the man who never had a minute to waste on pain before this, he was shaking out of control with agony and shock. As his arms flung with shivers, blood and body fluids flew across the room. Skin hung from his shaking body. His flesh was charred and peeling! Rick's beard was frazzled, his hair singed. The nurse asked if I would like to see Rick's legs that were under a sterile white sheet. I couldn't even speak the words. I only shook my head that I could not bear to see any more.

I had never heard my husband even mutter an "ouch" in the past when he had hurt himself. I remember one time Rick had cut himself deeply with a hunting knife, and I had to beg him to go to the hospital. When he finally gave in to my nagging, he asked the doctor in the emergency room if he could try stitching the wound himself.

As I stood next to him now, his screams echoed through my body. "It hurts! It hurts! Oh my God! It hurts!"

I wasn't sure Rick was even aware of my presence. I spoke to him in total control. "Rick, the doctors say you are all right. They are sending you to Bronson. A Doctor Nitsch will meet us there. Honey, you will be fine. Do you hear me?" Rick was conscious but in shock.

The emergency room doctor told me where to meet Rick. By that time, Paul VandenBerg was by my side. I could not comprehend even the simplest direction that the doctor spoke, so Paul listened and knew just what we were to do. Paul drove me back to my house where he made arrangements with his sons to take care of my car and Rick's truck, which was still at the school. When I walked through my door, it was as though I was in a slow-moving fog. I had many responsibilities to tend to and no time to fall apart. As I looked around my kitchen, there were many friends, all moving like fine-tuned machines, organizing loose ends for me.

I started my list of duties by calling Rick's mom. I reached her answering machine. At the beep, I slowly spoke each word. "Mom, Rick's been burned in an explosion. It's bad. We need you to come." I hung up the phone.

Next, I tried Rick's dad's office. I reached him. I repeated the message that I had given the machine. "Oh God, how bad is bad, Terri? Is he alive?"

I told him Rick was alive but hurt badly. How badly I was still not sure. "Just hurry please!"

He assured me they would be there as soon as they could. I knew that meant at least three hours because they live in the Detroit area and probably more by the time he picked up Mom from her office.

Now it was time to call my parents. At this point, I was crying. Through my tears, I managed to explain to my dad what had happened. He told me not to worry about Jeffrey, that they were leaving immediately and would take care of him. I then turned the phone over to Mary Schuiteboer who had volunteered to take Jeffery to her home until my parents could get to Plainwell. It would take them three hours since they also live in the Detroit area. Mary gave my parents directions to her house and to the hospital. As Mary talked, Judy and I packed a bag for Jeffrey. With Jeffrey's life under control and the parents on their way, I set off for Bronson Hospital in Kalamazoo.