Written by Sam Fowler, BA, MDiv, and Kimberly Calman-Holt, BA on September 03, 2019
The moment you step onto an ice rink for the first time as a competitive skater and hear the crowd cheer you on, the sound of your name being introduced at a beauty pageant, your own scream of joy on that first big contract signed for your start-up company...
And, when you hear the words “we’re going down” in your headset on that final helicopter ride of the day.
Sarah Bazey knows this all too well. Her change moment occurred October 26, 1994. Enter drama, crisis, and her role as the lead character. Never again to be the same, never again to be “normal”, never again to know what that is.
Of course, this wasn’t just mere disappointment. You don’t allow yourself to be critically reviewed on the whims of judges in competitive skating if you can’t handle the disappointment. You don’t walk on stage of the Miss Minnesota pageant if you aren’t aware of the possible disappointment that may await.
Sarah Bazey’s company, Simplex, had just completed a large highway construction project. In order to give the construction team a sense of accomplishment and show her gratitude, she chartered a helicopter to give them tours of the project all afternoon.
Trip after trip took off and landed, with the crew being rewarded for a job well done. On this beautiful day with clear blue skies, the last ride came––Sarah stepped onboard and into the last seat on the chopper to get a glimpse of what she had helped to accomplish.
The power company had recently strung some lines over the newly constructed bridge. When the helicopter came upon the lines, the pilot attempted to fly under them, but the rotor was quickly tangled in the lines, only to be ripped away from the core of the copter.
Immediate turbulence, violent shaking, and that sinking feeling of being hurled toward the earth.
Sarah never thought she was going to die. It just didn’t cross her mind. When you’ve trained to be successful and fought the wars of business and athletics and navigated the competitive nature of pageantry, you don’t ever think “die.” It’s just not part of your DNA. You think “obstacle” and rise to meet the challenge.
But then, Sarah had never seen the roof of a helicopter ripped off and the complete devastation of an aircraft. She’d never been blown backward by an explosion with such force that she had to unbuckle her seat belt upside down. She’d never heard the sounds of panic and fear of others so eerie that her own senses could not possibly understand the degree to which her life was going to change. She didn’t know how to respond to all of this naturally because she was not aware of the gravity of what was happening to her.
Sarah tumbled out of the wreckage and quickly realized the flames in her peripheral vision were in fact her own clothing. She instinctively hit the ground and stopped, dropped, and rolled to try and extinguish the flames. After her futile attempt, she realized she was soaked in jet fuel and the dry weeds around her were catching fire—making matters much worse.
She screamed.
And then she crawled to a nearby mud puddle. She caked it on her face to soothe the pain. She stood and started to walk around, not realizing that the majority of her clothes had been burned off. She was in shock, but could remember vividly the assorted details later.
Her friend and colleague was burned over 90% of his body and died 3 months later. A Department of Transportation worker was at her side until the medics arrived, holding her hand and refusing to let go.
With media swarming the scene, she remembered profusely disagreeing with the ER/hospital personnel. No needles, no IVs, that wasn’t her. She fought hard against intubating.
The doctor intubated while she was conscious. The agony and sheer pain was beyond belief and Sarah spent fifty days at the Ramsey Burn Unit (now known as the Regions Hospital Burn Center) in St. Paul, Minnesota.
She had been burned over 40% of her body. Once, Sarah had gauged many things in life—indeed, her own life—on physical appearance, athletic ability, and the “it” factor that had helped her succeed.
After discharge, she struggled for 18 months in physical therapy trying to regain what she had once taken for granted.
The Miss Minnesota pageant seemed so far away.
Just weeks after her release from the burn unit, following another day of intense therapy and traction, Sarah finally lost it. She allowed herself 30 minutes to mourn what she had lost. Thirty minutes of pure bitterness, sadness, hurt, anger, and tears.
And then: hope.
After all, “I can do this” was a refrain all too familiar to her. It was time to echo that conviction again. Her father served as a rock through the ordeal. And yet, even that succumbed to the crisis of the drama as he passed away on her road to recovery just 14 weeks after the accident and 10 days before her wedding. The stress was overwhelming at times.
She got back to work. It took her two years to get her psyche back and ability to focus. It took her two years to be able to sleep through the night. Over time, she was finally able to drive to work again. She went back to school and graduated from Harvard Business School. She was back and regaining what she had “lost” in the fire.
Sarah, encouraged by her husband, Joe, (left) and friends, competed in the 2010 Mrs. United States pageant, where she came out a winner in more than one way.
But the former beauty pageant contestant was still hiding her scars with a great wardrobe and a wonderful personality. But, for all the inward work she had done to regain her life, the outward work was still a source of concern. She knew the scars were still there. Would she ever see past them?
It was the love of her husband and the love of adoring family and friends that gave her the strength to face another challenge. They encouraged Sarah to compete in the 2010 Mrs. United States pageant. For the latest chapter in her “new normal,” Sarah mustered up the courage to allow herself to come all the way back.
In finishing as 3rd runner-up in the contest, which was held in Las Vegas, she won something even greater—she not only competed in a swimsuit, but the next day she wore one to the pool for the first time since the accident and completely forgot about her scars. People cheered her bravery poolside and she remembers that sound like it was yesterday.
Sarah came to the realization in that moment that people don’t care about the scars. It’s the burn survivor’s issue that we make and we need to get past them. Besides, the scars in life don’t define us. It’s up to us to decide how our stories end.
Sam Fowler is the Executive Director of the Boys & Girls Club of Magic Valley in Twin Falls, Idaho, and a motivational speaker.
Kimberly Calman-Holt, Sam's sister-in-law and co- author, is a 26-year burn survivor and also a motivational speaker. In addition, she volunteers as a Phoenix SOAR peer supporter and serves on the American Burn Association's Membership Advisory Committee.