The Explosion
15th April 2016, an explosion happened at my home. I remember the pungent smell of gas. It was so strong that it awakened me from my slumber. In my dazed and groggy state, I had the realisation that the distinct stench was coming from the kitchen. My room situated just above. I rushed down, switched on the light and approached the gas stove.
That night, I made a mistake that would change my life forever, instead of shutting off the gas from the cylinder located below the stove, I reached for the knob. I tried to make sure it was properly turned off. Suddenly a spark ignited. The next thing I knew, there was a loud deafening sound.
KABOOM!! An explosion happened in front of my face.
"I am going to die!" the thought crossed my mind. I couldn't breathe, my heart nearly stopped. As the horror of this reality hits me, I felt something protecting me, some sort of a shield, especially on my face. Was it my imagination? Time stood still for a few seconds. Thrown back, I was hit by the force of the scorching explosion. My surroundings were melting from the intensity of the heat. A red plastic dish drainer caught my eyes, it had turn shapeless as it melted like wax; ceramic plates and bowls were free to roll off and smash themselves to the ground. Cupboards collapsed and their contents poured out as if they had come to life.
Looking above, I spotted a huge hole above the ceiling where the stove was located. The kitchen was chaotic, everything had fallen, an aftermath of an avalanche, forming piles of rubbish throughout the place. It looked like a war zone, I could hardly see the floor. Flames were dancing on some pieces of wood which were formerly part of a cabinet.
The stank of gas still lingered on. Some shreds of glass cut my legs and hands. My clothes were gone, burnt to ashes. Only a few strands of unrecognisable black strings remained. The smoke and acrid smell stung my eyes leaving a bitter taste on my mouth. Suddenly, everything became eerily dark and silent, the first thing that came to my mind, "I am still alive!". I couldn't believe that I survived. My head felt giddy.
Struggling to get up, I felt soreness and pain all over my body, there were broken plates everywhere. My bloody palm leaned against the wall to support myself, I made my way upstairs to find clothes to wear and took my handbag. The loud blast woke up my elderly parents who were sleeping, they were shocked but unharmed. In fact, the explosion had awakened the whole neighbourhood. Within minutes, neighbours came swarming to my house.
I remember saying repeatedly, "I am hurt, I need to get to the hospital." A teenage Indian boy was trying to take charge, "Give her space, I am a first aider". I sat on a plastic chair. I didn't know where it came from or who brought it there. The same teenager poured water from a bottle on my hands to wash the blood away. My hands, my arms, they looked weirdly reddish under the light from the streetlamp outside my house. I have not seen this colour on my skin before. As my fingers touched my hair, it felt crisp and crumbly to the touch. My eyebrows singed. Anxiety was building up.
"Someone please call the ambulance," I pleaded again.
"Don't worry, we have already called the ambulance, try to keep calm," the boy said. Easy for him to say. However, I was grateful for his presence.
I had never seen such a crowd in my neighbourhood before with many unfamiliar faces. Nosey strangers kept asking me questions, only much later I realised they were reporters. How did they get here so fast? I wished they would just leave me alone. Can't they see I am in pain? I spotted a man pushing his mobile phone towards me, trying to capture a picture. I screamed, "Don't take my photo!" I felt violated.
My agony grew every minute as I spent waiting for help to arrive. The metal fence had dislodged itself from the wall and landed on top of my car, parked outside of my house. Oh god, I didn't realise the impact was so strong. The home I used to know, gone. My sense of security had shattered into pieces. Was anywhere safe?
The paramedics arrived one hour later. More questions from them. They agitated me. Why aren't we moving? I need to go to the hospital now! Clutching my handbag, my hands were shaking as I entered the ambulance. A neighbour had offered to follow me, but I declined.
As the vehicle moved, I recall praying to God. At that time, I would not have known I had eighty percent burns on my body and the doctors did not expect me to live. It never crossed my mind I would be in a coma for two and a half months and spent four months in the ICU. I was unaware healing would be slow and excruciatingly painful. For more than a year, Penang General Hospital would be my home. Being alive is a miracle, like a phoenix rising from its ashes, I learned I am NOT a victim; I am a burn SURVIVOR.