Virtual Open Mic: Amber Wilcox

My name is Amber Wilcox, I’m from Ormond Beach, Florida and I am a burn survivor. This is my story. 

When my husband Tyler and I first heard the term “COVID-19” we seemed to think of it as if it were just another Florida hurricane—we thought, “doesn’t sound too bad”...and “maybe it will all blow over in a few weeks”. We had honestly taken full advantage of some time indoors in the company of one another, with some occasional time spent alone with nature. Although at the time we thought we were taking the pandemic seriously, and had taken the recommended precautions...none of this directly impacted us so we had just hoped for the best and continued to think positive thoughts. 

All of that changed however on April 4th, 2020. It started a regular Saturday in the Wilcox household—my favorite day of the week. We slept in, took a beachside ride in our Jeep, and ended with an errand run to Publix. It seems quite simple—but I look at pictures from that day and often think about the innocent girl that now has an entirely new perspective on life. 

I’d decided that evening that I wanted to make something sweet for Tyler. I’m no chef—but my husband has a sweet tooth and I’ve been known to try out the occasional recipe as a gesture of my love for him. Most of my desserts end in the phrase “no promises”—a long standing joke about whether or not the proposed menu item will actually turn into something delicious. 

That evening after we returned home, Tyler hopped into the shower while I unpacked the groceries and got started on a pumpkin cheesecake style dessert. For whatever reason this evening—I wanted to take it up a notch. Perhaps it's from watching too many holiday baking championships on the Food Network—but that particular evening a caramel drizzle didn’t seem all too difficult....I’ve watched it a 1,000 times on T.V.? 

I’d googled the best recipe I could find that seemed easy enough‚ and dropped the sugar into the stovetop pan to begin. I was so proud of myself. This was going to be perfection. I remember watching the sugar turn into a hot brown liquid, and thinking “WOW, I’ve outdone myself”. The blog I’d been reading at the time said to place the caramel to rest in a glass dish. It didn’t specify, and in retrospect, I probably also should have let the liquid “rest” on the stovetop. 

I could spend a thousand hours thinking of the “I should've here” but if I’ve learned anything from this incident—it’s that I can’t look back on what could’ve been. As I poured the caramel into the glass jar, I remember the pride of what I’d just made. As quickly though as that feeling came, I picked up the sizzling caramel to stare at it. 

It was in that moment that I remember my world completely stopped. For a split second, it all went quiet, and I remember thinking that something wasn’t right. 

POP. TING. 

Just like that—the glass shattered, and the contents of my masterpiece dropped straight below onto my right hand and legs. For a brief moment, time stood still. I don’t know that I remember much from there until the bathroom. I’d been screaming—it was all I could do. Not the “hey grab me some socks” scream...but the bone chilling, take my skin off of my body scream. 

My shower bound husband emerged from the bathroom and to this day will forever be traumatized by that sound. His showers—will never be the same. The first few weeks after we returned home, he’d find himself in a panic at the slightest noise from the other room. So much so that he’d want me to sit tight and not move for fear of what might happen. 

Running into the bedroom, he frantically began piecing together what had just happened. New pieces of that day continue to unfold in our home. Just the other day he remembered that all he could do was say “okay” on repeat. While dripping wet—he began to put on his clothes while leading me to the sink to put my hand under water. 

It was at that moment that I remember thinking “I need help”. On repeat, through sobs and yelps I began screaming for him to call 9-1-1. I’m not really sure much after this, as he talked the dispatcher through his version of what had happened. He asked me to lift up my black biker shorts and it was when I got a first glimpse at my white skin that I knew something wasn’t right. 

The hot caramel was stuck on my skin. We tried wiping it off—and the skin began to come off with it. Desperate for some type of relief, Tyler had the idea to put me in the shower.

While he really wasn’t sure if it was the best choice, the dispatcher gave him the go ahead to put me in —fully clothed. He carefully led me to sit in the shower and turned on the frozen ice cold water to let it bead on my body. He recalls the dispatcher commending him for reminding me to breathe. For what seemed like eternity, we waited for help. 

Just before the arrival of the first responders—I remembered where I was...and what was unfolding out in the world. Hospitals weren’t allowing visitors, and it was at that moment that I thought—I’m going to have to do this alone. It was at that moment that I remember the sensations of the stinging float away as my anxiety shifted into facing the unknown solo. This couldn’t be happening. 

I remember the instant relief I felt when seeing the paramedics for the first time. I just wanted it to stop. As they turned off the shower to began to assess the damage—the numb from the ice cold water began to fade and the throbbing began to tug at my body from all angles. Bringing an IV bag into the shower, they carefully began to assess the damage. After several radio calls and counting up my limbs—it was determined that 20% of my body was covered with burns in the 2nd and 3rd degree. 

“We have to stand you up”—it took everything I could to breathe...and you want me to stand? Knowing it was my only way out of this fiery hell… they gently lifted me onto the gurney and once again began discussion of what to do with me. Realizing that the local hospital couldn’t take burns of this size, I’d have to be sent to the hospital 1.5 hours away from home. 

What unfolded in the next few hours, days, weeks, and months were nothing short of rough. I’d be lying to you if I said they weren’t awful. Not just for me—but for my husband, and family too. After having just shipped me off to the hospital, for what we both thought would be a quick few hours he drove out to Orlando to be told he could spend just 3 minutes with me to learn that I’d likely be there at least a week. 

Our story is far from over—and it continues to unfold. Just a few weeks ago he told me that the paramedic pulled him aside to have a “serious” talk about my injury—just moments after he had pulled chards of glass from our dog attempting to eat the mess of the kitchen. He’d also panicked when my phone was at 10% battery and unusable from the explosion...so we’d swapped phones in an attempt to stay connected. 

Shortly after he left that Saturday evening, I’d face new experiences of my own. I’d been admitted to the burn trauma ICU stepdown unit where I met Brian—a nurse that sat down in front of me and explained to me everything that was about to happen. He explained that this wasn’t going to be fun—in fact, it would be awful but I was going to be okay. He let me chat with him for the next hour before I agreed to allow him to give me “the medicine to forget” the monstrosity that was going to be allowing them to strip off all the dead skin from my body. 

I don’t remember much of that night—just the delicious chicken sandwich and french friends I ate just before it began, and singing along to Grease in Spanish with the kind nurses assistant that laughed along with me as we rummaged through my bag to locate a cell phone charger only to discover that Tyler in a panic had provided me with a pair of his boxers, and gym shorts as my “take home” outfit. 

The next days and weeks weren’t a trip down memory lane that I like to take that often ... but we learned a lot about our lives and our relationship in the time that has since followed. Tyler would be the only visitor allowed and restrictions were tight, he could spend the day, but not the night. 

Today—I’m 2 surgeries down, fully functional, and have scars that continue to heal. My right thigh is entirely skin grafted from my left, and my legs face significant scarring. My right hand made a full recovery, and I continue to see significant improvements with each passing day. 

Returning home from the hospital was probably the scariest of times for Tyler and I. We were staring trauma from the accident right in the face—and we were doing it all on our own. We didn’t know how to do any of it—the dressing changes, the strange diets, the inability to regulate my body temperature...but we figured it out. 

It was just 2 weeks after the accident that we’d discovered The Phoenix Society. We’d just been up overnight from uncontrollable itching when we both sat helplessly looking for something that would relieve my pain. We found an article written by the team at The Phoenix Society and then discovered a series of other resources for people like me. The virtual support and assistance that followed continues to be and was nothing short of miraculous. 

I will never be the same. —we will never be the same. When telling others about my accident, I often am hit immediately with “I’m sorry”. I’m not sorry it happened. It’s changed my life. I’m nothing but humbled and grateful for what this accident has given me. It could have been worse. I wouldn’t have met the amazing nurses, doctors, friends, and supporters had this not happened. My husband and I have a new outlook on many things—everything from newfound safety measures, increased appreciation for others so willing to go out of there ways to help us, to a deeper understanding of what it means to look “different”—everything in between.  

I spent a lot of my recovery sharing my story—something not all burn survivors are comfortable with doing. It was never really a thought in my mind not to share. I needed this story to be shared so that others might be able to have an understanding for the importance of burn safety, to be inspired to have hope and strength even when times get tough, or to just simply see from the lens of another’s experience. 

It can be hard to keep faith during times like these. There were many nights I sat sobbing into Tyler’s shoulder crying out “why me”? It took more strength to be strong than it did to let it get the best of me. I was angry, frustrated and lacked an ounce of hope. It was in those moments that I found myself. Some days, standing straight felt like I’d just climbed a mountain. I had to try to do things that before had been second nature.  

I’m not sure at what point my “why me’s” turned into “what’s next”—but I can promise you I wouldn’t be here without having done it with my husband standing by my side. 

To the survivors out there just starting on your journey—it will get hard, it will feel impossible but there is another side to this story, one that is full of hope, resilience, and pride. To the caregivers out there—continue to show up and take things one step at a time. You won’t know all of the answers, but the smallest things can mean the most to those that we love. To the girl in that hospital bed facing her journey alone—you are resilient, you are braver than you’d ever imagined, and you are a survivor—let them hear you roar.