Tomato Soup for the Soul: What My Scars Taught Me
Recently, my daughter learned she has to live with a scar on her face for the rest of her life. Daily she remonstrated about how she doesn’t like it one bit. I don’t blame her. In fact, I could empathize a lot! When I was 13 years old, I had a tragic accident that could’ve caused devastating scarring, potentially ending my life’s dream of becoming a musician and composer.
___________________________
It was the Saturday before starting 8th grade. I was ecstatic for school to start. I had requested a specific teacher and it was granted. I knew it was going to be an incredible year!
I was also preparing for a very exciting recital that would be held in just 4 weeks. My piano teacher was my 4th instructor in 1 year, not because I was a horrible student. Quite the contrary! I was a protege, self-taught, quickly mastering college-level music theory, technique, and 10-plus pages of complex classical music. In Utah, there’s a plethora of piano teachers willing and capable of teaching beginners. But I was no beginner. I burned through teachers to their exasperation. But this teacher met me where I was at and unleashed my musical abilities. For the upcoming recital I had yet to finish memorizing 14 pages of classical music. I was energized by the challenge!
I had just finished a piano lesson that Saturday morning. As my mom and teacher talked, I booked it to the kitchen to grab a late-morning snack of Maruchen Ramen Noodles. (I was always famished after a good piano lesson.) The water came to a boil. I was about to put the noodles and seasoning into the pot when my teacher walked by on his way out. As he opened the front door he teasingly lectured, “Be careful now. We don’t need you getting burned and missing your recital!”
I rolled my eyes and thought, This guy’s nuts. I’ve been cooking Ramen and Mac and Cheese since age 7! I know how to cook – I’m not going to burn myself! I sighed in teenage sigh of exasperation.
He left. I added the noodles and seasoning. (I combine the seasoning to cook with the noodles so the noodles absorb all that deliciously toxic flavor!) Then I did what I always did when cooking ramen. I tilted the pot to get a nice view and whiff of all that cheap, unhealthy goodness simmering away.
Suddenly and strangely, the pot slipped off the front of the stove, pouring half the scalding contents onto my left abdomen and hip. I simultaneously attempted to grab the pan before it hit the ground and splattered me with more steaming ramen. I missed and the remaining portion spilled all over my left hand.
I screamed in agony. My mom rushed into the kitchen, yanked my clothes off, stuffed me into the bathtub, and filled it with cold water and frozen foods from the freezer. She did all this while calling the ER to let them know to expect us.
The car-drive to the hospital is completely blocked from my memory. But I do remember a few snippets from that first (of two) ER visits. I remember violently shaking from shock and hospital staff wrapping me in many of those amazing heated blankets. I think they gave me a shot of pain killer. They bandaged me up and monitored me until I stabilized. They sent me home with instructions to cleanse the burns 2-3 times a day, applying ointment and fresh gauze each time. I was always to put gauze between my fingers so they wouldn’t heal together, creating webbed fingers.
I was so drugged on pain meds that the only things I recall after being discharged and arriving home was getting a priesthood blessing. In it, I was promised that I would heal, and that my hand would not have any lasting damage or scars. I slept very soundly until long after daylight the next day. I awoke to the most delicious smell. A bowl of tomato soup topped with the chewiest, stringiest mozzarella cheese. It was accompanied on the side with Saltine crackers. I had never had tomato soup before until that day, but oh was it divine! I devoured the entire pot. It warmed and comforted me like no other soup had ever done before.
______________________________________________________________________________
Tomato Soup
| 1 – 15oz can tomato sauce 1 cup chicken broth | Garnishes Mozzarella cheese Saltine crackers |
In a medium saucepan, saute garlic in a little olive oil. Add tomato sauce, diced tomatoes and chicken broth. Simmer for a few minutes. Add the fresh basil. Simmer about 3 more minutes.
Serve with garnishes. (I like to place grated mozzarella cheese in the bottom of each bowl, and then pour the soup over it.)
______________________________________________________________________________
Those first few days after the ER visit were a blur. They consisted of sleeping for long stretches, caring for the burns, and eating a lot of food. (Healing is a lot of work you know!) With each bandage change, sadness and anxiety washed over me as I looked over my blistered, wrinkled hand. I had been told it would take 3-6 weeks to heal, meaning I would miss the first weeks of school and my first real recital of tapping into my true musical potential. At the worst, I’d have lasting scars and nerve pain in my hand, possibly impeding my career choice. I wanted that priesthood blessing to come true more than anything. And soon! The most exciting recital of my life was just weeks away.
On the 3rd day after getting burned, I sat on the edge of the bathtub and began unwrapping my left hand for its 3rd cleaning of the day. I slowly and carefully removed the bandages. I gaped at my hand in complete astonishment. The blisters were gone and not a wrinkle of loose, dead or scarred skin was to be seen. I turned it over again and again, wiggled my fingers, made a gentle fist. Nothing but a little stiffness and soreness from lack of movement.
To a young teen girl whose dreams had nearly been shattered, the significance of the miraculous healing occurring on the 3rd day did not escape me. Christ arose from the tomb on the 3rd day. As this sank in, tears of gratitude, joy and humility flowed freely. He really, truly was aware of me personally and wanted to grant me my heart’s desire.
Through gasping sobs of joy I called for my mom to come to the bathroom. She telephoned the doctor who instructed me to leave the hand bandages off and begin gently moving my joints. He told me not to attempt playing the piano for another week or so because he was concerned that the skin might be loose and tear too easily, thus increasing the risk of infection. But I knew my God. If He intended to heal me only part way, He would’ve made that obvious. Since I knew He had healed my hand completely and miraculously, I chose to wait only a few days. Gradually, but quickly, my fingers regained their limberness. When I wasn’t napping, eating or sleeping, I was practicing the piano. God had healed me for a reason and I wasn’t going to waste that reason! I wasn’t out of the woods yet though.
One day, one of the larger blisters on my trunk started weeping, hurting and developing a red ring around it. The next day, another large blister started doing the same thing. I was again rushed to the ER. I was immediately given a shot of antibiotic. Nitrous oxide was administered too and the doctor opened and cleansed the wounds. I was terrified and the procedure was excruciating and vivid. To this day, I catch myself holding my breath at the memory of the pain.
After the second visit to the hospital, healing seemed to go more slowly. I was so fatigued! I’d eat, sleep, do homework that a teacher dropped off, then sleep eat, and practice piano. I lived for piano practice! I tried saving my energy for piano practice, but sometimes my arms felt like anvils. Days like that I’d just lie in bed and stare at my hands, marveling at the lack of blisters and scars. And imagine. I’d dive deep into intensely visualizing how each chord progression and key would feel to my fingers, arms, shoulders. I’d imagine when and where I’d lift the sostenuto pedal. I wanted so badly to perform at my recital that I literally willed the motor memory into every fiber of my body. To this day I still have that piece memorized even though I haven’t played it in many years.
Eventually I returned to school. I attended my piano recital and basked in the thrill of performing. Though the wounds had finally healed they continued to hurt, itch and sting for many years, long after scars had formed and the skin had toughened. The scars were deep and ugly too.
One day, probably many years after the burn accident, I remember silently pouting a bit in my head because of my scars and continued pain. Again I thought back to the miraculous healing of my hand. I was confused at the contrast of the burns happening simultaneously, yet having 2 very different healing paths. Then a powerful feeling swept over me, my mind flooded with a verse of scripture, and my heart pierced with truth.
“Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold I have graven thee upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me.” (Isaiah 49: 15-16 & 1 Nephi 21: 15-16)
In that moment, images poured into my mind and I understood. Christ was resurrected a perfect being – flawless. Yet He chose to keep the scars of his crucifixion. He kept them so He would always remember why and for whom He had died. Me. You. Every human being. He had healed my hand so I could continue developing my music gift. He left the scars on my trunk so I would remember Him, His power, His miracle, and most of all, His love.
Sometimes wounds heal rapidly and without scarring. Other times healing is painful, long and leaves lasting scars – visible and invisible. And when scars remain, sometimes its to help us remember the personal, sacred moments we’ve had with the Creator of the universe. When seeing my scars, I’m reminded of both the miraculous healing, His sustaining power through the entire ordeal, and the gifts He gave me, like knowing that He can and will make all things possible! And most importantly, I know He wants me to remember how much He loves me; that He loved me enough to heal my hand and grant a simple desire to perform at my recital.
What scars do you have?
What sacred moments or blessings do they remind you of?