- Staci suffered devastating burns to more than 45 per cent of her body when a pot of boiling chicken noodle soup exploded
- The freak accident severely burned her cornea, leaving her temporarily blind in one eye
- After months of treatment and three years of recovery, her eyesight has returned and she has learned to embrace her scars
Here Staci Coronati, 56, tells her story in her own words
Chopping onion, carrots, and celery, I added the ingredients to a pot. This is going to be delicious, I thought, giving the vegies a stir.
It was November 2022, and I was making a pot of my famous chicken noodle soup for my son, Nicholas, then 14, who was coming down with a cold.
Over the years, my soup had become renowned in our family for its healing abilities.
‘Mum’s soup can fix anything,’ my eldest Michael, 19, and Nicholas would always say.
I’d got to work making a pot, so I could deliver it to my ex-husband Rick’s place, where the boys lived.
Needs garlic, I thought, after giving the soup a taste test as it bubbled away on the cooktop.
Stored in the cupboard above the stove, the garlic was too high up for me – at only 5ft tall – to grasp.
Fetching a stool, I placed it in front of the stove to stand on. As I reached up though, I accidentally knocked over a mini fire extinguisher that had been sitting on the shelf.
As it landed in the pot below, which was rapidly boiling, I gasped.
That’s going to blow, I fretted.
Hopping off the stool, I grabbed the handles of the pot to move it to the sink, when… BOOM!
The cannister exploded inside the pot, sending molten hot soup in the air like a spurting volcano.
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The eruption was so strong, it knocked my glasses off my face, meaning I couldn’t see.
But I could feel the scalding hot liquid covering my face, neck, upper body and arms.
Still holding on to the pot, I placed it on the mat on the floor.
Then… clank! The extinguisher exploded again. It happened so quickly, I didn’t have time to react, as my body was showered with more scorching broth, the blast knocking me off my feet.
I could feel my skin sizzling as searing noodles clung to my cheeks and arms.
Wiping the soup from my eyes, I realised the vision in my right side was blurry.
But there was no time to dwell on that.
Home alone, I knew I needed help – and fast.
Scrambling to my feet, I raced out the door and over to my neighbour’s house.
‘Please help!’ I screamed, knocking on the door.
But sadly, they didn’t answer. I tried another house, also to no avail.
By now, my skin was red raw and blistering.
Back at home, I phoned my housemate who was at work.
‘I’ve had an accident,’ I said, explaining what had happened.
‘Hang in there. I’m calling an ambulance,’ she said.
Minutes later, ambos arrived and raced me straight to hospital.
On the way, I phoned my ex-husband, my kids and my friend Freemoor.
‘We’re on our way,’ they all said, worried.
At hospital, doctors administered pain relief and assessed my injuries.
The entire front of my body, from face to foot, felt like it was on fire.
‘You’ve suffered second degree burns to your face and third degree burns to over 45 per cent of your body,’ they told me.
Shockingly, my right canvas sneaker had completely melted to my foot.
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Rushed to ICU, there nurses wrapped me up like a mummy, covering me in gauze and cool dressings from head to toe.
‘I can’t see out of my right eye,’ I explained to the doctors, but they told me I’d need to see an eye specialist after my burns had been treated.
‘We love you, Mum,’ Nicholas and Michael said when they saw me.
For the next three weeks, my burns were debrided daily, as nurses removed the charred skin from my legs, stomach, chest, neck and arms, and changed my dressings to avoid infection.
It was excruciating.
I had two skin grafts, where skin taken from my left thigh which had suffered the least impact, as well as cadaver skin, was stapled over my right arm, chest and stomach.
My friends and family never left my side, keeping my spirits high.
After three weeks in hospital, I was finally discharged, and moved in with Freemoor.
At home, Freemoor took amazing care of me, sorting the cooking and cleaning, helping me shower, and driving me to every appointment, while I focused on my healing.
In December, I finally booked to see an eye specialist, who confirmed that my cornea had been badly burned in the explosion.
I couldn’t believe making a batch of chicken soup had left me blind.
I underwent several treatments over the next few months, where amniotic fluid taken from a donor placenta was placed in my eye, in the hopes of repairing my cornea and restoring my eyesight.
Miraculously, after three months, my sight slowly began coming back.
And after eight months, when I needed a more permanent place to call home, my best friend Jennifer and her husband Barry made room for me.
‘Bring our girl home,’ Barry had told Jennifer.
Now, three years since my freak accident, my sight has completely returned.
I still struggle with chronic dry and sore eyes, but it’s a small price to pay to see the faces of my beautiful boys, Michael, now 23, and Nicholas, 18, clearly.
After having to hide away from the sun for a year to prevent my skin grafts from being damaged, I’m also now back outside enjoying the sunshine safely.
And while it took me a while to get used to the scars on my body, I’ve learned to embrace them.
They’re my reminder of just how lucky I am to have survived.
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