December 2, 1985 started as a day like any other. The next day my son would turn one year old. We had his party the day before. And sometime around two o'clock in the afternoon I made a near fatal mistake.
I tried to install a disconnect bucket in a 480V/4000A switchgear without any supervision. It nearly cost my my life and set me on a path I could never have imagined and wouldn't wish on my worst enemy. I only remember the sound of a frieght train running over me leaving me 1st, 2nd and 3rd degree burns over 42 % of my body. 32 days, 4 surgerys and 1 helicopter ride later I was sent home. I can't imagine what my family was going through. I had a hard enough time processing what I was going through. In the process of all that, there were several pictures taken of me at different stages of burnt-up recovery (thanks mom). 10 1/2 months later I was back to work.
I am still an electrician, and in the process of getting some company required certifications we are shown several graphic pictures of people in much worse condition than I was. The first time I saw these pictures I felt like I was in a sacred place that shouldn't be disturbed. A very personal place that only the victims could inhabit. Almost like being in an Indian burial ground or something. I felt almost embarassed for the victims we were looking at. Somewhat ashamed of invading their tragedy. Of course I put on my toughest face and passed through, knowing others around me were aware of my past and were looking for my reaction.
I had looked for the pictures of my recovery and couldn't find them. But recently the pictures were found and brought out for a specific purpose and I was wierdly disturbed. I've looked at them before and didn't mind them. I don't know why I can't look at the pictures now. I've told my story to quite a few people and I really don't mind talking about it. I suppose that's because I can control the conversation and most people are respectful when in my company. But pictures let people into an area that no one normally goes. Pictures let people into my burial grounds. Pictures expose us to others interpretations of that event and leave us very vulnerable.
You would think that 23 yrs would be enough to be able to put this aside, but sometimes I wonder...
