About six months ago, I experienced the most terrifying event of my life. My boyfriend of three years, Nic, got caught in a tragic fire in my back yard. It just so happened to fall on September eleventh, a day I will never be able to etch from my brain.
The day started just like any other, he woke up at seven thirty in the morning to work construction for my dad while I continued to sleep. Nic was instructed to jackhammer out all of the tile in the laundry room and clean up the construction debree. Instead, Nic took it upon himself to go to the back yard and empty a large trailer of debree into the fire pit. About an hour later from the time he woke up, I was abruptly woken up by the sound of blood curtailing screams, like nothing I have ever heard before. He ran through my house strait into my bathroom to the shower. He bolted into the cold shower so fast he could hardly get his boots off in time. I tried communicating with him asking what was wrong but he could not talk, just scream from pure agony. It was then that I began to smell burnt flesh and realized he somehow burnt himself. Without knowing what else to do, I immediately called 911 and they showed up about five minutes later. I rode with him in the ambulance to the Hilton Head Hospital where they were able to douce him with a cocktail of drugs. The doctor explained that his burns were too server to treat locally so they rushed him off to the Augusta Burn Center.
His mom, sister, and I took off immediately, following the ambulance to Augusta. I was still in my purple polka dot pajama pants and large t shirt, never even had time to take a shower. That was the least of my worries at the time. The two hour drive was dreadful. We were all left feeling so hopeless while driving behind the ambulance through the rural country towns. When we finally arrived we were not able to see him yet. We were in the waiting room for about two hours with the rest of his family that showed up as well.
