Chapter 2
Leah�s Story�Nov. 20, 2003
. . . My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness . . . II Corinthians 12:9 KJV
This chapter is told from the point-of-view of Leah Quinn, Johnny�s twenty-three year old sister.
I prayed for a miracle as the lights of the emergency vehicles cut through the twilight, and watched as my 4-year-brother, Johnny, was airlifted to Le Bohner Hospital, in Memphis TN. Even as the paramedics bandaged my hands, my mind was on him.
The day started out deceivingly ordinary. As I fed our 8-month-old daughter, Elizabeth, my husband, Jason, prepared for work. When I told Jason, �see you this evening,� I had no idea what would transpire.
*****
After rushing through household chores, I prepared Elizabeth for a visit with her grandparents. Being a homemaker and caring for my family seems to come naturally, as I am one of ten children. Since my twin sister, Rachael, and I are the oldest, we have always done a lot of babysitting.
Ours was a noisy home, naturally, but never lonely. There was a lot of good noise, too. My dad, Allan Quinn, and my seventeen-year-old brother, Adam, are gifted musicians. They both play piano and write music. I love music, too, and learned to play the madolin. The three of us began performing together at our church. We were occasionally invited to perform at other churches, too. My dad wrote songs for us to perform together on a CD. I sang the solo song, Come to Him. The simple and profound lines of the chorus go like this:
You need Jesus now�
More than ever.
All you have to do is�
Come to Him.
As much as I loved my home and family growing up, I felt blessed to find Jason. Moving from an active household to a family of two was quite a change. Our home seemed more complete with baby, Elizabeth.
*****
My parents asked me to watch some of my younger brothers and sisters while they took care of some family business. I was happy for Elizabeth to visit her aunts and uncles. My youngest sister, Suzie, wasn�t even a year old and Johnny was only four.
Things can get very busy sometimes so I decided to make the afternoon homework and study time while my parents were gone. My brothers, sisters, and I sat at the long, wooden dining room table to work on math and English.
All seemed surprisingly peaceful in the Quinn household. I played teacher to my siblings, looking over their shoulders to see that they were working their problems correctly.
Eventually, the younger children became restless. Though Johnny became a distraction to the older children, I could not become angry with him. When the sandy haired boy cut his huge eyes at me and asked to go outside to play, I tried to give him a soft reply.
Seven-year-old Joanne turned her head, her long, brown hair hung well over her shoulders. Her dark eyes danced below her bangs.
�Finished with my work. Can I play with Johnny?�
Soon both children were begging to go outside.
�All right,� I finally consented, knowing that I could see the back yard from the kitchen window.
�You can go outside as long as you are finished with your homework. �But don�t go into the front yard!�
�We want to play Boxcar Children in the shed,� Johnny replied, quickly. He turned to his sister and added, �Let�s go.�
Mother had been reading from The Boxcar Children, a series of adventure books. The younger children liked to pretend that the backyard shed was a train boxcar, like the one in the book. Dad even cleared out an area in the shed for them to use in their imaginary game.
While I turned my attention to the children at the table, Joanna paused and opened a drawer in the kitchen cabinet. Though she did not think twice about taking the candle and matches, I would have stopped her had I known. The little mixed-breed brown dog, Max, faithfully followed behind the children.
*****
The shed was a pleasant place for children, with the sweet smell of straw in the entire room. The area cleared for play had a box full of dress-up clothes and play dishes. Above their heads was a homemade plywood hayloft. This held ten bales of hay for the goats.
The hay was a natural temptation for the children. Johnny quickly went to jump in the pile of straw.
To fight the dimness of the shed, Joanna lit the candle and set it near the door. Moments later, the straw was on fire.
Joanna ran to the nearby plastic swimming pool and grabbed a cup of water in an attempt to extinguish the flames. Johnny was trapped in the back of the shed, unable to escape.
Inside the kitchen I heard Joanna scream, �Johnny�s on fire! Johnny�s on fire!�
I don�t remember rushing through the kitchen door, but I seemed to fly the 80 feet to the shed. I could hear Johnny�s shrill screams rising above the crackling flames. I was sickened by his cries and instantly knew what I must do.
Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and plunged through the flames, searching for my brother through a dark inferno. My lungs soon felt as though they would explode. Through smoke and flames I saw Johnny collapse to the ground. Though I wanted to instantly run to rescue him, survival instincts took over and I fled the heat of the shed.
My brothers and sisters all surrounded the shed, but I was barely aware of their presence. I took a few gasps of air before running into the burning shed again. This time I knew where Johnny was, ran straight to him, and tried to lift him, but couldn�t. He seemed much heavier than I expected. The smoke grew thicker and I didn�t understand why he seemed so heavy. The heat and lack of oxygen was making me faint. Again I had to abandon my brother.
Outside the shed I gasped for air again, panicking with fear and desperation. I knew I must come up with a plan�fast!
Crawl, I thought. I could bend low, below the smoke, where the air would be clearer. That way I could stay near Johnny longer and, perhaps, drag him to safety.
The third time I reached Johnny, gasping the hot air that seemed to singe my lungs. Everything was happening at a maddening slow pace. I was terrified for the both of us.
I took hold of Johnny�s arms and began to move him slowly across the shed. He seemed to weigh twice what I would have expected. Like a nightmare, the door seemed miles away.
�Dear God! Please help us,� I prayed, dragging Johnny as best as I could. Outside I realized why he seemed so heavy. Across his torso lay the remains of Johnny�s dog, Max. The faithful dog had never left his master, and in death, the dog�s remains had insolated the boy�s body, protecting his internal organs.
I tugged Johnny safely from the burning shed without really looking at him. Once I examined my brother, I began to weep harder. Johnny�s body was white--not normal skin tone--but the color of chalk. His face had no recognizable features and he lay still in the grass.
As I tried to pull myself together--to move--to think, I cried out to God, �Please make him breathe! Please God, let Johnny be alive!�
Then I screamed so loudly that the neighbors ran to their porches to investigate. I cried, �Breathe, Johnny, breathe!�
I felt paralyzed, and time seemed to stand still. Then I heard a gasp, a sort of moaning sigh.
HE WAS ALIVE! Thank God! Johnny was alive!
I scooped Johnny into my arms, instantly rejuvenated, and flew to our bathroom. I set Johnny in the tub and began running the cold water. As the tub filled, I splashed water on his ashy white skin.
That was when I first noticed my hands. It looked as though I was wearing melted surgical gloves on them. �But my focus was still on John. I had to keep him alive until help arrived.
In the distance I heard voices. Adam was on the phone talking with the 911 dispatcher. I continued to splash the cold water on Johnny.
�Help is on the way,� the children called to me.
I prayed that they would arrive soon. My strength was spent.
*****
Things were a blur for the next week. My brother, John, the spunky fighter that he is, clung to life, despite the odds against him. He was airlifted from Le Bohner Burn Unit, in Memphis, to Shriner�s Hospital, in Galveston TX. My mother flew to be with him and to help with his rehabilitation.
We learned that Johnny received massive 3rd degree burns. Because Max�s body had protected John�s vital organs, there was hope for his recovery. We were sure God used the faithfulness of Max, just as God had used other animals in the Bible.
I was left alone with my own personal challenges. In the ambulance I realized that I also received some 3rd degree burns to my face, arms, hands, and my back stung from the burns. I had 2nd degree burns over my face which made it puffy and round. My long, brown hair protected me and kept me from having to have the tops of my ear lobes amputated.
I felt so helpless. The next month was spent in cold, sterile hospital rooms, enduring many surgeries and skin grafts.
It is amazing how much you pray when that is all you can do. I prayed that I would not lose my fingers and prayed for my daughter, Elizabeth. We had never been separated from each other for so long. I wanted to hold that sweet baby in my arms again.
I also prayed for my husband, that God would give him the strength and wisdom to care for Elizabeth and himself. Most of all, I prayed for Johnny. We all rejoiced that God had answered our prayers and spared his life. Now we prayed for his recovery.
News crews from all of the Memphis TV stations were broadcasting our story. People from the entire Mid-south area were calling to ask how they could help us�and they were promising to pray.
Still, I felt overwhelmed with sadness. My fingers were black and swollen. For the skin grafts to heal, it was essential for me to protect my hands and make sure they were germ free. I was no more able to take care of myself than my own baby.
--And Elizabeth was a whole separate issue. The baby I adored totally rejected me. Whenever someone held her near me, she cried and clung to whomever was holding her. When I approached her, Elizabeth did her best to escape my presence.
Everyone assured me that the rejection was only temporary, that Elizabeth didn�t recognize me as her mother. How could she? My normally thin face was round and red. The smelly ointment for my burns covered my body�s natural scent. Even my hair was singed.
It was only natural for my baby to treat me like a frightening stranger. I understood that. Still, each time Elizabeth looked at me and cried, I was devastated.
To top it off, I didn�t even have my own mother in which to confide. She was going through her own hardship with Johnny, in Galveston.
I felt overwhelmed by depression and loneliness. I knew that only God could understand the sadness in my heart. I realized that if anyone could understand what it was like to be rejected by someone they loved, it would have to be Jesus.
God brought to my remembrance the scripture, 1 Corinthians 10:1. God would not give me more than I could bear.
Then it occurred to me that, if God could give me the courage to run into a burning shed, He would give me the courage to endure my daughter�s rejection.
As time passed, the swelling in my face subsided and my skin turned back to its normal color. Eventually my ears, neck, and back healed. I no longer needed the smelly ointment on my skin. Elizabeth gradually allowed me to be her mother, again.
*****
My recovery, however, was still far from complete. Painful physical therapy was necessary to help me regain strength in my hands. With hard work, the therapists believe that I may--someday�regain 90% mobility in my hands.
*****
The laundry needed to be done. �Good therapy for my hands,� I thought. Who would have ever thought that I would be joyful about being able to do my housework? I am now thankful to God for every task my hands can complete.
I folded the towels in nice, neat, fluffy squares. Then I carried the pile to the linen closet in the hallway.
There it was, tucked away in the back of the closet�my mandolin. I reached for it, feeling a surge of emotions. Months ago I was playing gospel music with my dad and brother. Now I am getting emotional about folding towels.
�God, why did this have to happen? Wasn�t I serving you when I played the madolin?�
I didn�t understand, but I picked up the mandolin to hold it. Its dark wood felt cool as I cradled it in my arms. I slowly stroked the strings.
Sadly, I knew I couldn�t curl my fingers to play even the simplest chords. Instead, I began to hum, then sing!
Those words seemed so appropriate right now. I do need Jesus, so very much, to help me through this. I go to Him and depend on Him to guide me through everyday frustrations. He helps me when I feel helpless.
To Johnny:
Eventually I was able to visit you at Shriner�s Hospital, in Galveston. You still had tubes and were unable to talk to me. Though you looked much different than you did before the fire, you were recovering.
--And you are still recovering, every day. It seems that each day you are regaining a new skill. Each hurdle you overcome serves to inspire us all. We all love you.
Your devoted sister,
Leah Cochran
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