Kept Apart: Finding Community in Isolation

When he left for work that December morning, Brian planned to see his wife later that evening. But he didn't see her again for almost three weeks. And when he did, he wouldn't even recognize her.

Brian and Heather Linnemann's life together started with a swipe on a dating app many years ago. The first years of their 12-year marriage were filled with travel, cruises, hiking, adventure, and the companionship of the best dogs anyone could have. Brian's career in live event production had him on the road regularly. And Heather spent long hours at the hospital where she had been working as a respiratory therapist for 17 years, a career that turned grueling during the pandemic in 2020.

After months of exhausting work amidst hospital lockdowns, every day off was a welcome one. And December 30, 2020, was one of those long-awaited days for Heather. Brian was working locally that day, and Heather decided to use the time to run some errands.

That's where the details get fuzzy. She was driving down a familiar but narrow, winding road not far from home when something went tragically wrong. Her car left the roadway, collided with a tree, and erupted into flames.

A passerby came upon the fiery crash and rushed to Heather's rescue, cutting glass and seatbelt to pull her from the burning wreckage. She was barely alive when she was airlifted to the very hospital where she was employed.

Brian was riding with a coworker when he got the phone call every husband dreads. But the call left him with more questions than answers. All he knew was his wife had been critically hurt.

He started calling hospitals to find her, and when he finally did, he was met with news of COVID restrictions. Brian could not go to the hospital. He could not get real-time updates on Heather's condition. He could not see her. He could only sit at home, his phone in hand, waiting for someone on her medical team to call.

Brian slowly began learning the extent of his wife's injuries. The impact had so critically broken her body of the crash that her burns seemed like a secondary concern in the initial reports. But as soon as she was stabilized, she was transferred to Johns Hopkins Bayview for treatment in their specialized burn center. It was then Brian learned that first responders and the hospital had a difficult time even identifying her. She had burns on 65% of her body, including 95% of her face.

For weeks, Brian held vigil while Heather was fighting for her life— separated, disconnected, and isolated from one another.

It was mid-January before it was considered safe for Brian and Heather's mom to begin brief visits with her. She remained in a medical coma, enduring surgery after surgery for broken bones, internal injuries, and treatment of her burns, including partial amputation of her right hand

For months, Heather's condition remained critical. It wasn't until late February that Brian felt confident he wouldn't lose her. As for Heather, her first memories since before the accident began a couple of weeks into March. By then, most of her injuries from the impact of the crash had healed. But it was only the beginning of a lifelong recovery from her burns.

In the middle of the isolation, it was her medical team at the Burn Center at Johns Hopkins Bayview in Baltimore who became her bright spot and source of hope. While most of her family and friends were kept away, the members of her burn care team were there every day. They became her community and her connection to support.

As a Phoenix SOAR (Survivors Offering Assistance in Recovery) hospital, Bayview partners with Phoenix Society to connect survivors and loved ones with others who have experienced similar trauma, whether through their own burn injury or as the loved one of a burn survivor. Because of that connection, both Brian and Heather learned of Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors early in her recovery.

When Brian was able to visit, he often picked up Phoenix Society's Journey Magazine. It became a source of awareness and inspiration to him throughout Heather's hospitalization. And when Heather was healthy enough to move to the step-down unit at Bayview, her occupational and physical therapist, who also serves as the Phoenix SOAR Coordinator, helped her log in to a Phoenix Society's Virtual Support Group for the first time.

She was immediately met by faces and voices who understood. The connection was instant. And the impact set the tone for Heather's recovery.

From the first meeting, she was hooked. She became a regular attendee, and the virtual support groups became a lifeline in those long, lonely days. She listened to the stories and learned about the lives of other survivors. In each one, she found different kinds of inspiration.

Meanwhile, back at home, Brian had the support of his and Heather's families. He cared for their dogs, worked long hours preparing for Heather's homecoming, and talked to her as much as possible. As she got closer to coming home, he began adapting their home to accommodate her physical limitations. He stayed busy to help pass the time until his bride could return, and they once again could be together. And he carried with him the hope he found in the stories of other survivors and families he'd read about in the Journey Magazine.

Heather was released from the hospital in May 2021. The rest of that year was filled with recurring hospitalizations, countless surgeries, and ongoing therapy. By the fall of 2023, she considered herself to be in the reconstructive phase of recovery. While she still had many surgeries and treatments in front of her, the couple had adapted to their new life. And when they were given the opportunity to attend Phoenix World Burn Congress (WBC) that October, they were both ready.

"As soon as we knew about it, I wanted to go meet others who look just like me…to be surrounded by my own people," recalls Heather. "And it was amazing!"

Brian felt a similar sense of belonging.

"It was nice to talk to other spouses that have been there. Some of what we experienced seemed really crazy. There were times when what I was feeling seemed irrational. It was validating to have someone say, 'Yeah, I went through that too,'" said Brian. "It helped me process and make sense of things."

The community they discovered at Phoenix WBC was a welcome relief for both Brian and Heather. They knew what it was like to be isolated and disconnected in your most difficult times. The separation they experienced highlighted just how critical it is to have community from the very start.

It was both the initial separation she experienced and her growing connection with survivors that planted within her a desire to help others. Only three years later, still in the active process of healing, Heather has completed training to be a Phoenix SOAR peer supporter at Bayview. And she can't wait to get started, to carry hope to new survivors early in their recovery.

Heather and Brian's story is a powerful testimony to how shared experiences and understanding play a vital role in promoting healing. As peer supporters, volunteers, and donors, each of us is essential in supporting and strengthening the community where survivors and their families can connect, share, and heal together. Because together, we can create a world where, even when challenges keep people apart, early connection and ongoing support are possible…and critical.