- A birthday camping trip left Dani Taylor with second and third degree burns after she fell into the campfire
- Dani was drinking and dancing around the campfire when she tripped on the rocks and fell on top of the pit
- Now three years sober, Dani has embraced her scars, returned to camping, and hopes her story encourages others to stay safe around campfires
Here Dani Taylor, 39, tells her story in her own words.
As the sun kissed my skin, I plunged my kayak paddle through the crystal blue water.
It was July 2019, and to celebrate my 34th birthday I was on a two-day camping trip with my hubby, Eric, then 36, and kids, Ava, eight, and Blake, five.
Joining us were my best friend Lacey, 34, her hubby Anthony, 36, and kids, Nevaeh, 12, and Aiden, nine.
It was perfect. We spent the days on their boat and swimming.
On the last day of our trip, we went fishing then headed back to our campsite, where we grilled what we’d caught over a fire.
After dinner we all sat around the campfire sharing stories and singing songs, while the adults had a few drinks.
A few hours later Eric and Anthony put the kids to bed, before turning in themselves, while Lacey and I kicked on.
‘Have fun, love you,’ Eric said, kissing me goodnight.
We had a blast dancing around the campfire to our favourite songs as we downed a few more tinnies.
I was wearing a short dress, so when a chilly breeze blew through, I moved closer to the fire for warmth.
Just then, as I turned from my back to my front, my foot caught in the rocks bordering the firepit.
Tripping, I fell directly on top of the pit.
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Throwing my hands out in front of me, I was able to hold my face and chest out of the crackling fire’s reach, but both my thighs and left shin were in the scorching blaze.
I was being barbecued alive on the roasting hot coals.
Within seconds, the flames caused my dress to set alight too.
Unable to push myself up off the ground, I screamed in horror.
Thankfully, Lacey came to my rescue, wrapping her arms around my waist and heaving me off the fire.
As I rolled on the ground to extinguish the flames, Lacey screamed for help.
Hearing her panicked cries, Eric and Anthony came rushing to my aid.
‘This is really bad. We need to get you to hospital,’ Eric said, terrified.
Numb from shock and the effects of the alcohol, I didn’t feel a thing and had no idea how severe my injuries were.
Lacey found a first-aid kit in the car and smothered my blistering legs in burn cream.
With no phone reception at the campsite to call for help, and all of us over the limit to drive, Lacey woke a neighbouring camper.
While Anthony stayed behind to watch the kids, Lacey and Eric helped me into the front seat of their car.
Thankfully, the kids were still fast asleep as we left.
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Although I couldn’t feel any pain, my body began shaking uncontrollably on the hour-long drive to the closest hospital.
Once we’d arrived at the emergency room, doctors administered pain relief, assessed my injuries and confirmed I’d suffered second and third degree burns.
But as they didn’t have the proper equipment to treat my wounds, I had to be airlifted to a bigger hospital three hours away.
With no room in the chopper for Eric and Lacey to travel with me, they returned to our camp to pack everything up.
Heading home, Eric organised family to look after our pets, then dropped off the kids at Lacey and Anthony’s place, before driving to be by my side.
By the time he arrived the next day, the pain had well and truly set in.
Catching a glimpse of my charred legs, I was so embarrassed.
If I’d been sober, this might never have happened, I tortured myself.
‘It was just an unfortunate accident,’ Eric soothed.
Every day nurses scrubbed the blackened skin from my legs and changed my dressings to avoid infection.
It was excruciating.
When the kids came to visit me in hospital, I felt racked with guilt.
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They shouldn’t have to see me like this, I thought.
‘When are you coming home, Mummy?’ they asked.
‘As soon as I can,’ I assured them.
Two weeks later, I underwent skin grafts, where skin was taken from my thighs.
Incredibly, just 24 hours after the surgery I was taking my first very wobbly steps.
And after 30 days in hospital, I was finally discharged. I had to change my dressings myself every three days, but was just grateful to be home.
Eric did all the cooking, cleaning and looked after the kids’ school and sport commitments, and I took time off work to focus on healing.
When Lacey came to visit, I threw my arms around her.
‘You saved my life,’ I sobbed, grateful for her quick thinking.
Afterwards, I swore off drinking, and today I’m three years sober.
My injuries mean I still have trouble regulating my body temperature in hot weather, but I’m back
camping again and cherishing every moment with my family.
And while it took me a while to get used to the scars on my body, I’ve learned to embrace them.
They remind me how lucky I am to be here.
