My brave girl proved everyone wrong Survivor
Sarah Zofkie, 46
Chatting on the doorstep, my daughter Natalie, then 11, and her best mate Christian, 11, made the cutest pair. ‘I can’t believe she said that,’ Christian exclaimed. ‘I know,’ Natalie grinned. Me and my pal Kristi, then 48, laughed as our pre-teens gossiped like a pair of old women.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ I said, getting into my car. ‘Thanks for looking after her.’ ‘Pleasure,’ Kristi replied. It was October 2020 and I was off out with some friends while Kristi and her husband Brian, then 48, were looking after Natalie.
Natalie was the youngest of four. Her siblings PJ, then 27, Andrew, 25, and Sofia, 18, were all pretty much grown up.
But Natalie was our baby, an old soul and very serious.
As a single mum, I was grateful for Kristi and Brian.
We were neighbours first, then friends and now were more like family.
Eating together, holidaying together.
And Natalie and Christian had enjoyed more sleepovers than
I could count.
Me and Brian even worked at the same construction company.
‘I’ll pick her up in the morning,’ I called, waving goodbye and driving into town.
After a lovely night, I got home just before midnight and went to bed, shattered.
I’d only just closed my eyes when the phone rang.
I answered and heard Brian crying.
‘What’s happened?’ I begged, panic rising.
‘Natalie’s been hurt in a fire,’ he said. ‘She’s been taken to hospital.’
No time for questions, I slammed the phone down, scrambled out of bed.
Through sobs, I drove the 50 miles to the hospital.
When I got there,
I was shown to my daughter’s room.
Through the swarm of doctors and nurses, I saw my girl, naked on a table, her skin red.
‘I’m her mum, let me through,’ I yelled, pushing past the medics.
A doctor laid a hand on my shoulder and guided me into the corridor. ‘Natalie’s been very badly burned,’ she said. Gently, she revealed that my daughter had burned 93% of her body, much of it was thirddegree burns
– the worst of the damage would show itself during the coming hours.
‘I’m sorry, Natalie won’t survive the night,’ one doctor said.
I stared back in disbelief, a lump in my throat.
My little girl was just 11, her whole life ahead of her. But I needed to be brave. Called my ex-husband and our older three kids before returning to Natalie.
Conscious, my darling girl was writhing in agony, her skin red and angry.
Doctors sedated her, then someone led me away.
Needing support, I rang Brian and Kristi, who were at home with Christian.
‘They said she’s not going to make it,’ I blurted, when Brian answered.
With a sob, he told me the kids had been watching Harry Potter, then they’d gone outside.
They’d made a firepit to roast marshmallows.
When Kristi went
inside,
Natalie had picked up a can of petrol.
‘She saw it was empty, and tossed it on to the fire,’ he said. It had exploded. ‘We rushed out and saw Natalie on fire,’ Brian said, explaining how he’d thrown a blanket over her, rolled her on to an old piece of carpet, putting the flames out.
‘I’m sorry,’ he blubbed. ‘You did everything you could,’ I said.
It’d been a harrowing, tragic accident.
I sat alone in shock, non-stop tears flowing.
Natalie was all that mattered, and the precious time we had left with her.
Only, by now my girl was unrecognisable.
Covered in bandages, her face had swelled to twice its usual size.
Heavily sedated, she kept trying to sit up and open her eyes. Family arrived and we took turns to read and talk to her, never knowing when she’d take her final breath. Incredibly, by morning Natalie was still alive. Stunned, the burns specialist told us treatment might be possible. ‘Please try,’ I said. Over the following days, surgeons scraped tissue from Natalie’s scalp. Those cells were flown across the country each day to a specialist lab team 1,000 miles away, where they could be used to grow skin grafts. In November, Natalie turned 12 and the skin was ready to graft on to her body.
She was put into an induced coma for the procedure. We weren’t allowed to see her for a week while surgeons worked their magic. In December 2020, after two months in a coma, doctors said Natalie was stable enough to wake.
She blinked her eyes open, my heart swelled with love. ‘I’m here,’ I whispered. Together with the nurses, we unbandaged her and put her in a bath.
Natalie saw her naked body for the first time and let out a horrified scream. ‘I’m so ugly!’ she wept. ‘You’re injured, not ugly,’ I soothed.
But Natalie’s recovery wasn’t easy.
Surgeons amputated three of her fingers, and she struggled to eat or move.
But Natalie was as beautiful inside as she was out.
Day by day, she got stronger and in March 2021, after five months, Natalie could eat and walk.
And she was finally declared fit enough to leave the hospital.
Didn’t think this day would come, I thought, bundling her in the car as if she was precious cargo.
Outside, the streets were lined with people – college friends, neighbours, townsfolk who all wanted to wish us well.
And a fleet of fire engines followed us the 50 miles home.
What a homecoming! At home, Natalie was weak but, in time, she got stronger.
In August 2021, Natalie prepared to return to school.
Her hair still hadn’t grown back, she had missing fingers and needed to wear special clothes to protect her new and tender skin from infection.
How will she cope? I worried.
But her school friends were kind and caring, especially Christian. Natalie’s confidence and health bloomed.
She no longer needs to wear special clothes, and has adapted well to life without her fingers.
What happened was a terrible accident, but Brian, Kristi and Christian have been a tower of strength.
We all went through hell, but thanks to the love and support of some very good friends, Natalie and I have survived.
We didn’t know when she’d take her final breath
Bag, £14.90, Uniqlo