Forged By Fire

I've got a huge announcement! I've partnered with the International Association of Fire Fighters (IAFF) to raise money for their burn fund. The fund uses donations to provide education, awarness, advocacy, burn research and to improve the quality of life for burn survivors. They sponsor an annual Burn Camp in Washington, D.C. to bring together youth affected by burns and help them return to a normal life.

You might be wondering why this matters so much to me. Let me just preface this with a warning. Be prepared to cry if you read on. I will certainly be crying as I type. These are painful memories but ones that may serve to save many lives, maybe even the life of someone you love. So if you want to stop reading now please take a moment to visit my donation page. Even $1 helps! And please stop back in a few days because that small donation could net you some BIG prizes! I can't say anything for certain yet but I'm putting together a very nice package of prizes for a few lucky winners who make a donation.

Now on to the tough stuff....

When I was about two years old I climbed onto my grandmother's kitchen table while she was making breakfast. I was wearing my footed pajamas and happily awaiting breakfast. What I didn't expect was the pot of boiling hot coffee on the table. It poured down my leg, melting my pajamas to my skin. I don't remember much about the ordeal except for the sickening pain and terror. I know the ambulance was called and I remember that they couldn't get a stretcher through the narrow hallway to the kitchen. Instead they passed a backboard through the kitchen window and then slid it back out to the ambulance with me attached. The actual details are vague and fuzzy but I can never forget the searing pain and the fear that gripped me. It almost makes what came next worse because I have had a small taste of that unimaginable pain and I can not fathom what severe burn victims suffer through. But before I get any further let me introduce you to the hero of my story.

My father's name is Michael. He was born on March 17, 1956. My father was the epitome of class clowns. His Donald Duck impression was dead on! Despite his biker facade with tattoos and an unkempt beard he was fun-loving and helpful. I spent many weekends at my father's side helping a neighbor with yard work or fixing a dirt bike at the track. I can still remember how much I loved to ride in my daddy's big blue truck. It was a stick shift and I thought it was the greatest thing in the world when it backfired!

Before my parents had me they worked together as volunteer firefighters and EMT's. My daddy served Hampton Township VFD #1 from 1977-1981. In 1981 my father joined the Army and served as a Fireman at Fort Ritchie in Maryland. In 1984 I came along and ruined all the fun and my parents settled down in Pittsburgh to raise their family.


My father in his Army photo

In the early 90's my father fell on hard times. He took a job at a rendering plant to make ends meet. This rendering plant had a spotty history with OSHA and no regard for their employees' safety. My father hadn't been working there very long when misfortune struck. On February 17, 1996 he slipped on the rendered fat and oil covering the floor and landed in a scalding pit of water and animal fat. My father was stoic as ever and pulled himself to safety. He somehow made his way to the shower room and undressed. It must have been excruciating! The first responders found him there curled into a ball under the running water with second and third degree burns over 75% of his body. All of his skin from his neck to his feet was blistering and peeling off.

My father was taken to Mercy Hospital where he spent the next 56 days. I will never forget my mother telling me that daddy was hurt and taking me to get him a get well card. I felt so sure my daddy would be okay. He was too strong not to be! At first the hospital scared me. The beeping machines and glaring lights adding to my state of distress. I grew less afraid of the hospital over time as it became the place where I spent most of my time. Friendly nurses and staff brought my sister and I puzzles, coloring books, and games. We decorated my father's room with cards and pictures and notes from friends around the world.


My father's VFD badge

When my father's immune system couldn't fight anymore he developed infections that ravaged his body. His beautiful brown eyes, exactly the same shade as my own, turned a brilliant and terrifying blue. His heart had to work overtime and started to fail. The doctors thought amputating a leg, or both, might help since that's where the infection was taking hold. When I saw my father with a flat spot under the blanket where his legs used to lie I was scared. But I also had visions of pushing him in a wheelchair, sitting in his lap, and maybe even racing him on my bike. My daddy HAD to be okay now!

The infection wasn't giving up though. For my father's 40th birthday we were blessed with more bad news. His heart was being damaged by the strain. My father went into cardiac arrest several times but he always fought and came back to us. I would light a candle every night and pray harder than any 11 year old should have to. I promised God I would become a nun or whatever he wanted if he would just heal my daddy. I would stand by my father and tell him about my day as calmly as I could. I didn't want him to hear the terror in my voice as my burly father wasted away in front of me. I'll never forget that, even in his drug-induced 'coma', he would still squeeze my hand when I told him I loved him.


My daddy and I

On April 12, 1996 my sister and I told our father we loved him for the last time. My family made the horrifying decision to end my daddy's suffering. That night doctors removed the ventilator and my sister and I sat in shocked silence while we waited for the confirmation that it was finally over. I'll never forget the faces of my family when they came back into the waiting room for us. No one should EVER have to watch their loved one die. I would give my own soul to erase the grief I saw on the faces of everyone I love that day. It is etched into my memory and I never knew what to do about it... until now.

When I ran the Savannah Marathon I was introduced to the American Cancer Society (ACS). At first I decided to run the Rock n Roll D.C. Marathon for them. Until something clicked in my brain, March 17, 2011. My father's 55th birthday. I decided then and there that ACS would have to wait. This race was going to be special! I started researching and contacted the IAFF. They were more than helpful in helping me get a fundraising page set up and I've got a uniform to run in on its way to me right now!

Having run two marathons and several ultras I understand pain. I even seek it. I understand mental toughness and enduring when it seems impossible. But I will never suffer like some of the IAFF's best. I saw a shirt on an ultra runner that read 'meaningless suffering without a point'. That may be the case for most races but not this time! This time my suffering is going to benefit a family that's facing long stays in the hospital, lost income, painful choices, and children that are losing their innocence way too young! I am going to make a difference for someone that I don't even know but that I am bonded to by shared grief and loss.

Maybe everything I went through myself had a purpose. Maybe I am a 'crazy' ultrarunner because of the things I endured and survived! Maybe, just maybe, a soul can be forged by fire and come out stronger!

So please, if you have a dollar to spare, donate. I promise you that even the smallest donation will change lives! If you made it this far, thank you! I'm forever grateful for you, my friends that live in my computer!

XOXO,
Sara Brunazzi and the IAFF