“I heard some other girls talking about her. They said, ‘Why does she wear short sleeve shirts when she is scarred like that? I felt bad."

We are all learning a lesson in the value of delaying gratification in this year of COVID. This ability could save all our lives.

When you think of a surgeon, what comes to mind? A man striding in his white coat, barking imperiously, staff trailing behind? A self-important man (usually it’s a man right?) exiting the doctor’s parking lot in his black Jaguar? Most likely, you aren’t picturing what I saw last weekend, a group of surgeons sharing, singing, and skiing. Last fall, my surgeon, Dr. Eberwein, asked me to keynote for a “ski society.” It turned out that her “ski society” was a professional group o

Welcome to the new followers who have recently come on board. I thought it would be good to re-introduce myself and my work for those of you who are new to this blog. So, I have consented to be interviewed by… myself Who is Flashback Girl? I am. That is the nickname my attorney gave me, decades ago, when he presented my case for law lectures, and even to the United States Senate. I used this nickname as the title of my memoir, Flashback Girl: Lessons on Resilience from a Burn

I spent three days at my own personal Disney Land last week. In truth, I stayed just two miles away from the actual Disney Land, but I never went there. Instead, I entered a different magical land, a place where no one stared at my scars, and I fit in not despite my burns, but because of them. I didn’t have to work to make friends. I didn’t have to compensate for the unexpected sight of my scars. I attended the World Burn Congress. The Phoenix World Burn Congress is an event

I write today wrapped in old clothes I don’t care about, so the bleeding won’t matter. Half of my body shines luminous scarlet, as my skin heals from the latest laser procedure. I am hot, I am itchy, I am tight. My brain bumps at half-speed, recovering from this week’s anesthesia. But I am prepared to be cheerful. Nobody likes a whiner. Why am I getting treatments on fifty-year-old scars? I have been asked this question by numerous people. Some of them mean it as a complement

I am hunkering down at home for a week. I wear sloppy clothes that I don’t mind staining with blood. First I am in pain, then I itch, then I am overcome with heat. I nap every four hours, and I can’t really remember yesterday. I do all of this repeatedly, every few months, and while I can’t say I look forward to it, I am so grateful for the opportunity. “This is your 14th laser treatment,” smiled my surgeon, the serious but also charming Dr. Sigrid Eberwein. Thanks to the ane