THE PHOENIX SOCIETY FOR BURN SURVIVORS
Spring, 1999
Bill Ester: Celebrating The Journey
You have two choices... to be bitter or better," states Bill Ester, entrepreneur, CPA, and burn survivor, a lilting voice revealing which option he's chosen. "I believe that contentment is not getting what we want, but wanting what we have," he elaborates. This is more than a philosophical attitude; it's a way of life. Bill, sustaining third degree burns over 60% of his body, has learned to build on what he has and grow both towards who he once was and who he can become: mountain climber, cyclist, pianist, CPA, ice cream franchiser, father, husband, believer... burn survivor. You won't see Bill driving a gas rig again. That's how it happened, on that fateful May 28th in '94, two days short of his forty-second birthday. This accountant also worked a second job to help provide for his family. Evenings and weekends found him behind the wheel of a semi-tanker delivering gasoline. he moved down a familiar stretch of road and took the curve, but felt something different. The rig, raising up on its right side, tilted into the pavement, ripping a gash into the front and igniting 8500 gallons of gasoline. Bill jumped from the window and did a stop-drop-roll into the grass. John Washburn, an onlooker, wrapped Bill in a blanket and saved his hands by placing ice chunks between his palms.
Bill was rushed to St. Mary's Regional Burn Unit in Milwaukee. He had planned to play piano for his church within hours, yet was destined to battle here for stable signs of life. Bill had always been involved in the Church and avows, "a very strong faith. It was always there... faith, family, friends. I had all those strengths at my fingertips. i thought I had my act together... and I still struggled."
Bill's therapy began, involving his for two years in a five hour per day, five day a week series of physical exercises. Certified hand therapist Julie Scurek helped him in "creating challenges" by mixing things in putty and having him find and identify them. "She knew me, she knew I hated to lose... and she created games to keep the boredom away," he reflects.
Bill reminds us that the physical is only one aspect in healing. "I had all that focus and I still ran out of energy at about six months. Linda, my primary care nurse, then called me and asked about starting a support group. This was crucial to my well being. It was a sign that the pain does go away one day," he says reassuringly, validating the group which he helped to initiate and to maintain.
Although Bill still visits survivors in the burn unit where he was once treated, he claims that the psychologist never visited him. "The most profound part of healing in a five year span occurred early on. My parents brought me a photo of Mt. Rainier... with me on it, at eighteen years of age... what a feat," he explains. This was an experience so powerful that it stayed with him, helped him bond with his wife, and inspired him to aspire to greatness. "It was one ingredient in the recipe of who I was... my parents knew me and knew that this would help," he says. This image provided the mental strength and spiritual lift to carry on. "Our experience of Nature brings us closer to God," Bill believes. It worked well indeed, for his mental imaging of his triumphant climb sustained a faith which allowed him to reclimb that mountain in the summer of '96 and will accompany him on his family back-packing trip to the base of the Grand Canyon this summer.
The achiever in Bill identified with this victorious athlete waving from the peak of an obstacle conquered. yet what of those aspects of Bill which lingered voiceless in the shadows?
He speaks of the difficult moments poignantly and positively. "I know that we as survivors can isolate ourselves, shelter ourselves because of our physical difference.
Although I have no facial disfigurement, what I do have doesn't matter to those who care about me," he affirms. His daughter Carolyn urged him to relax in short-sleeved shirts at the summer fairs where he sells ice cream. "My priorities have changed. Every day is free now," he clarifies the agenda of many survivors.
Once a self-described "independent go-getter, positive on the out-side, working so hard on the inside," he now had time to process internal changes. "I saw that I was working sixty to a hundred hours per week, and this disguised how much I needed others, how connected we are," he acknowledges.
His spirit was buoyed by the family circle and friends who sent him greeting cards which stood as a sign of support. "I'd remember that these people were behind me... I couldn't give up," he professes, reminding us that kind acts nurture the healing process. Bill believes that wife Nancy and his children are survivors as well, dubbing them "survivors and thrivers." "The experience drew us back to the roots of our marriage... for better or worse," he says. The sacred trust and devotion found full exercise in the experience on all levels of commitment and caring.
Bill's connectedness extends towards his co-survivors. "I am proud to be a part of this group. It's almost a badge of honor, showing that I endured," he attests. his right side was more severely burned that the left, and circulation was restricted. On his first day home, Bill asked his son to get his bicycle so he could simply look at it. He pushed the keys on the piano again. "It is important to touch the things that are important to us," he appreciates what the physical dimension can do as one who has brushed up against its possible loss. Bill wore Jobst garments and gloves. He shored up his immune system with positive mental imaging, dedicated physical therapy, and heartfelt emotional ties. Two years elapsed from the point when he first touched the piano to the day he played a song he'd performed and recorded for his doctor. Dr. Gerald Govin then confided that they once thought amputation of the right hand might be in order. Bill was shocked. His belief system had never allowed him to entertain the thought.
Similarly, Bill sustains healing beliefs still. Perhaps because he capsized on a familiar stretch of road traveled daily, he now urges us to "stop worrying about the potholes and celebrate the journey." He speaks of turning setbacks into strengths, of drawing on experience rather than dwelling on it. His evolving plan as a professional speaker on behalf of burn survivors seems grounded in talent and insight. Yet it is his concluding remarks which move beyond the realm of philosophy and growth potential into that of full presence and joy: "My checklist is not complete... It is an honor to live," he exclaims.
