Party horror – I was barbecued alive!
A kids’ birthday party almost turned deadly for Renee
Kissing the birthday boy on the cheek, I popped his gift on the pressie table. My friend’s son was one and we were having a picnic at a park to celebrate.
A hot windy March day, the blokes were huddled around a small coal barbie.
Smells good, I thought, heading over to chat with some mates.
Moments later, I felt a hard punch smack in the centre of my back.
What the hell? I wondered. I was at a kids’ party – who on earth would hit me?
The shock was quickly replaced with a white-hot burning sensation, which increased by the second.
Spinning around, I saw orange flames had engulfed my left hand.
I’m on fire! I realised, frantically waving my arm.
Soon the flames had travelled up my body to my neck, cheek and ear.
Terrifyingly, just behind me were babies on a picnic rug. ‘Help me!’ I screamed. Diving onto the ground as far away as possible from the little ones, I rolled in the grass in an attempt to smother the flames.
But as I flailed from side to side, my left leg was suddenly alight too, along with the turf beneath me! I was unwittingly
stoking the fire I was trying to extinguish.
Worse, I was rolling in the blaze!
I’m being burnt alive, I thought, horrified.
I was a human fireball!
Suddenly, my friend, Lauren, who is a firey poured an entire bottle of soft drink over me.
Then, Leah, a police officer, suffocated the rest of the blaze with a picnic blanket.
The pain was indescribable.
‘Are the babies okay?’ I choked.
‘It’s just you,’ someone answered.
Letting out guttural, animal screams, I realised that I could no longer smell the sizzling sausages.
Instead, my nostrils filled with the horrific stench of burnt skin. My skin. Then I noticed my left hand – it was charred black.
As people continually soaked me with water from the taps, the pain was so intense it felt like I was still on fire. ‘Stop!’ I cried.
In the ambulance I kept blacking out.
I don’t know if I’m going to survive this, I thought, drifting off again.
Coming to in Emergency, a dozen medical staff were working on me, before I was knocked out.
Waking up in intensive care that night, my parents Anne and
Phil were by my side.
Choking back tears, they told me how much they loved me.
I felt like a zombie. And glancing down, my entire body was bandaged like a mummy.
Will my face be scarred for life? Will I ever walk again? I fretted.
The next day, I had surgery to scrape the singed skin away and clean my wounds.
‘You have third degree
My friend poured an entire bottle of soft drink
over me
burns to 25 per cent of your body,’ a doctor said, gently.
How had this even happened to me though?
It turns out, the man tending the barbie had poured gel fire starter – an accelerant – on to it, to stoke the flames.
As the stream of flammable liquid hit the coals and ignited, he pulled back. Then, a spurt of the liquid flew in my direction.
Carried by the wind, it created a fireball, which launched right over the bubs, and into me. I’d been standing seven metres away.
It was an accident, but it was so stupid – you never pour accelerant on a fire!
What if a baby had been hit? There’s no way a tiny tot could have survived.
A week later, a patch of skin was taken from my left thigh and used to graft my left leg and arm. Two days later, docs unwrapped my bandages for the first time.
Looking down, I saw my body was a patchwork of red raw and blackened skin.
It looked like I’d been burned on the barbecue!
But I was determined to recover – just a few days later I took my first steps.
And only three weeks after the accident, I was discharged from hospital.
Moving back in with Mum and Dad, I had to wear compression bandages 23 hours a day for a year.
The emotional scars were even harder to deal with. At night, I’d wake up smelling the reek of burned flesh.
I had to give up work. Aged 33 and single, I worried about my future, too.
I’ll never find anyone, I thought, devastated.
Soon after though, I met James, 35, through friends.
I’d try to hide my scars and was embarrassed of having to wear my compression suit.
‘You should own it,’ he’d say.
When I had a custom-built suit for my chest, arm and back made, he gave it the seal of approval.
‘It’s top-of-the-range,’ he gushed. ‘The Lamborghini of compression suits!’
Two years on, we’ve had a baby boy, Tyson, six weeks.
My scars have faded, but I’m proud of them now – they tell the story of my survival.
With summer fast approaching, please be aware when using a barbecue.
Never use an accelerant, including petrol or kerosene, on a fire.
It’s just not worth it. I was one of the lucky ones.