Land Between the Lakes, October, 2016:

After returning from my first trip to Yellowstone late 2016, my boys asked me to take them camping at Land Between the Lakes. Four days after I got home, I broke my right foot, making any camping trip seem impossible. Two weeks passed, I had a boot on my broken foot, but I couldn’t deny them one more weekend in the wilderness before the start of winter. I worked out the logistics in my head, and I decided to camp at a backcountry campsite (now known as basic camping at LBL) with a picnic table, fire ring, and vault toilets. It was dry that October, burn bans were issued all around us in Kentucky. I stopped at the North Entrance Station to check the regulations for that weekend and contained fires were allowed in designated camping areas. I bought my permit, and we were on our way.

We arrived at the campsite mid-afternoon with plenty of daylight left to establish our camp. There was one camper at the campground, but the rest of it was empty. We drove around the gravel drive selecting our spot in the back away from the only other person in our vicinity.

Struggling to unload our camping gear and set up camp, I thought for a moment, “this is crazy.” I was responsible for these four young boys, in the middle of nowhere, barely able to bear weight on my foot, but I was determined. I set up our tent, Ethan prepared the air mattresses, Logan and Jackson unpacked our clothes and food, and Hayden sang songs from the top of the truck entertaining us as we slowly organized our home for the weekend.

As I worked to start the fire, I commented to Ethan how dry the leaves were next to the ring. I guided Jackson and Logan to remove the leaves so as not to spark a blaze outside of the enclosure. The flames were quick to ignite in the arid environment, and I knew we were going to consume more wood than usual. I also understood it was going to be hot; the way I like it.

Unlike any of our other camping excursions, there would be no hiking. I packed more games to play at the campsite than usual, and I had several plans up my sleeve to keep them entertained. We spent most of the rest of the afternoon laughing while we challenged each other to competitions of Uno. I had kept the fire small while we played, and shortly, it was time to start dinner.

We ate pork chop sandwiches, asparagus, and potatoes while we played a modified game of “Would You Rather.” We each made up scenarios and asked the others our questions. After dinner, I retired to a chair adjacent to the fire, my wounded foot propped in another just inches away. It was throbbing from the activities of the day, but the discomfort was worth every smile on their faces. The younger boys took turns climbing on my lap, asking me a question, and running away to rejoin their brothers playing in the dirt and leaves. Ethan was in a chair next to mine, and we talked about anything until darkness spread over the campground.

The temperature dropped after sunset, so I stoked the fire to a full blaze, heating the fire ring to a glowing red. We donned our layers and sock hats and proceeded with the evening in our typical fashion; telling stories around the fire, roasting marshmallows, and expelling the last of our energy before we went to bed that night.

As we set around the fire, I broke a golden rule of mine; Ethan and I were watching entertaining Youtube videos on my phone. The younger boys had moved back to the picnic table playing a game their imaginations had created throughout the day. They were in my line of sight, and every moment or two, I would laugh at their funny game before returning my attention to the screen in front of me.

I saw Hayden climb off the picnic table. I heard him call, “momma.” I knew he was heading in my direction. I felt him behind my chair. He was mid-sentence, asking me another “why does something do whatever it does,” question, when his foot caught on Ethan’s chair. His body fell toward the fire. His hands, reaching out to break his fall, landed on the rim of the fire ring I had heated to unimaginable temperatures. Only seconds had passed; I had little time to react. I saw his helpless and frightened eyes look into mine, and I was out of my chair in an instant. I clutched the back of his shirt, uprooting him from his painful landing. He didn’t cry. He held his hands in front of him, and I yelled for one of my other kiddos to bring me a flashlight. In the glow of the light, I could see his charred hands, blackened from his wrists to fingertips.

I kept saying, “it’s okay, it is going to be okay, you’re okay,” when truthfully, I didn’t believe it. During the day, I had minimal signal at the campground, and I feared I wouldn’t be able to call for help. I retrieved my phone, called his pediatrician (and a good friend of mine) on his cell. Miraculously, he answered and could hear me well. I explained the situation.

“Do I need to call an ambulance? Can I drive him to the emergency room? How bad is this?”

I was panicking. My friend could not calm my nerves, but his advice, “calm down, take some deep breaths, and take him to Baptist Hospital in Paducah,” was all I needed to hear.

I didn’t pack up camp. Ethan extinguished our fire with the ice and water from the cooler while the boys were piling in the truck, but I left everything else as it was. Hayden sat silently on the picnic table. I scooped him up and carried him to the vehicle, buckling him in the back with his two brothers. I called my mom and my ex-husband, Jacob, to tell them of the night’s events and our current destination. I asked them to pray.

We were 45 minutes from the nearest emergency room. The Trace, the main road running through Land Between the Lakes, is long and winding. I was topping speeds of 70 MPH, knowing the speed limit, but failing to obey the signs. A hawk flew across the road, almost slamming into the windshield of the truck as he glided by. Ethan and I exchanged glances as if to say, “you’ve got to be kidding me,” and I slowed to 55 MPH for fear of encountering other wildlife and careening out of control.

Logan started crying from the backseat. I thought it was Hayden. “It’s okay, buddy, we’ll be there soon. They’ll fix you up, I promise.”

Logan answered, “NO! I didn’t want to leave the campground!”

I rolled my eyes, “your brother burned his hands. If you aren’t Hayden, you don’t get to cry."

Jackson interrupted, “mom, I am going to throw up.”

I remember glancing at the sky through my windshield speaking to God, “really?” I asked Him for patience as I handed Jackson a plastic cup and told him to use it. He vomited everything he had eaten; the smell was atrocious.

“Ugh! The cup is full, and I am going to puke again.”

Oh, son of a bitch!

I slowed down and instructed Ethan to take the cup and dump it out the window. Ethan was a trooper, stretching back and obtaining the cup from his brother, he hurled the vomit toward the side of the road. I was driving too fast, and the liquid splattered onto Ethan’s arm, but he didn’t seem fazed. I slammed on the brakes, grabbed the wipes I keep handy in the truck, and cleaned him off. Delivering the cup back to Jackson, he emptied the remainder of his stomach before we pulled away to begin again.

It wasn’t until we merged onto I-24 that Hayden started to cry. His hands hurt. I had wrapped them in sterile gauze soaked in saline, but the bandages had warmed, and he was feeling the trauma. I was happy to hear him cry. He hadn’t uttered a sound since the accident, and his lack of reaction was weighing on my frayed nerves. I continued to race toward the hospital desperate to find him some relief.

We arrived at the emergency room a little after 9 pm. As the other kiddos unloaded from the truck, and I pulled Hayden from the backseat, I noticed how terrible we all looked. We were all covered in filth, Ethan had evidence of vomit on his shirt, I was hobbling on my broken foot, and we smelled like stagnant smoke from the campfire. Walking through the doors, I felt every eye in our direction. I signed him in, and we were quickly called back to an exam room. Ethan stayed in the waiting room with his brothers. Jacob came in not long after we had been called back and graciously agreed to take the other boys home and collect my camping supplies on his way.

When they removed his make-shift dressings, I saw the burns in the light for the first time. Both hands were black with soot and ash, but the injuries were isolated to the palms of his hands. About two inches in width and five inches in length, the wounds were much smaller than I had initially thought. His right hand was red and angry; a blister spread almost the length of the burn. His left hand, much worse than the right, was a full thickness burn for 2-3 inches with a small welt in the middle and another full thickness burn on the opposite side. His fingers were not injured. I shed tears of happiness when I saw the injuries; his hands would recover without much intervention. The nurses debrided the wounds, painted them with Silvadene, and covered them in gauze. The doctor released us, and we began our journey home. We were exhausted, mentally and physically, and we had a long two-hour trek to our house. Hayden slept most of the way home.

The next morning, Hayden asked when we could go camping again. He made me smile. I thought the accident would ruin his good thoughts of camping; however, he was as eager to go as ever. It took a few weeks before his hands healed, but today, there is barely a scar.

We talk about that camping trip often; sometimes laughing at the unfortunate chain of events that occurred leading up to and following the accident. We still camp frequently, but I am more cautious with my campfires; reminding my kids to “be careful" anytime they are near the flames. I use my phone only for pictures or videos I am taking, and I adhere to my golden rule of "no screen time" when we are camping. We were fortunate that night he wasn't injured more severely. Although I don't fondly remember this camping trip, we all learned lessons that guide us through our other expeditions. I thank God often for sparing Hayden's hands. Logically, that ring should have scarred the hell out of them. He had a guardian angel that night; most likely the same one who watches over me from time to time, and I am grateful.