Six years ago, my family and I were victims of the White Island volcano eruption in New Zealand. We were all on a cruise when we came across one of the tours to visit White Island. My dad, Paul, my sister, Krystal, and I went to the island while my mum, Marie, stayed back on the ship. It seemed to be a very normal day for us and we had no inkling as to what would come.
As we were leaving the island and about to head back to the ship, the volcano erupted. We weren’t at all prepared, and at the time had very little understanding of what was happening.
We were caught in a pyroclastic flow – a huge steam cloud full of ash, gases and rocks. In that moment, our lives changed forever. My dad and my sister both lost their lives, along with 20 others that day. I was left hospitalised for more than six months with severe burns to 70 per cent of my body. I also needed amputations to eight of my fingers.
I was conscious the entire time, so I still have a vivid memory of that day. One of my biggest memories is just trying to keep myself awake. I was extremely worried about my mum, who was back on the ship and had no idea what had happened to us. In that moment, I was trying very hard to hold on and stay alive for my mum.
The early days
During the earlier days while I was in hospital, it was very much one thing after the other. I lost my sister, then I lost my dad, and then I was having to recover and get through the bad news of having my fingers amputated. It was a lot for one person to take on. There were definitely a lot of low moments where I wasn’t sure if I could continue my fight or if I even wanted to.
My mum has been my rock throughout everything, especially those early days. I was heavily medicated for pain and constantly in and out of surgeries or having something to get through each day. My mum was the one visiting me every single day at the hospital. She would put on a front and try to hide her pain just so I could get through each day. While my scars and my pain are very visible – what I’ve endured is there for people to see – hers aren’t. Hers are deep inside; it’s easy for people to forget how much she has also gone through.
Mum really went above and beyond to hold it together for me. She was grieving and suffering, yet she would tell me to just keep fighting. She always put her family first, and that hasn’t stopped. She would remind me that giving up was not an option, and that I had to keep fighting, not only for myself, but now for my dad and my sister. Deep down, I knew she was right. I know they would want the best for me, and I want to make them proud.
The pain of recovery
Physically, my recovery has been relentless. Recently, I had another round of CO2 laser under anaesthetic. It’s a very strong and abrasive laser, which is why, when you have it on such a large area of your body, it’s better to do it under anaesthetic in hospital. They can monitor you because of how painful and stressful it can be. I did have it on a small area once without anaesthetic and couldn’t get through it.
When you wake up from surgery, it’s quite yucky and horrible to look at. It leaves you bloody and weeping because it creates a lot of small wounds all over your scars and the areas they’ve targeted. It leaves you feeling very uncomfortable and tight and itchy and irritated. It takes about a month to settle down. At the moment, I’ve been focusing on my face, my back and my hands – areas with quite thick scarring.
There was a time when I struggled a lot with my recovery and my grief. When I first started sharing my story, I didn’t share it with any expectations. It was more for myself, as an outlet for my own cathartic needs. I was shocked by the response and the amount of people who reached out with supportive and kind messages. That made me want to keep sharing and keep fighting. I am honestly very grateful to the online, worldwide community of supporters I now have. They don’t realise they’ve helped me just as much as they say my story has helped them.
Creating new memories
One of the biggest highlights for my mum and me was returning to New Zealand for the five-year anniversary, and meeting the three civilian pilots who saved my life.
The group of us who were closest to the crater were stuck waiting there for more than an hour. These three pilots were not part of any rescue organisation – just everyday people who decided to fly their own helicopters out and rescue whatever survivors they could find.
They didn’t have to risk their lives, yet they did. If it weren’t for them, I would not be alive today. Being able to thank them in person is a moment that will always stay deep within my heart.
Another meaningful chapter has been travelling to France with my mum to visit the La Roche-Posay Thermal Centre. I was very grateful to be asked to visit, and even more grateful to have my mum by my side. La Roche-Posay is a very small town – everyone knows everyone – and the locals took us in like family.
Every treatment revolved around the Thermal Spring Water, which is full of minerals and has been studied for its medical and healing properties. I had strong shower jets, baths in the spring water and massage therapy using it. By the end of the week, my skin felt more hydrated and moisturised, especially after arriving so dry and irritated from the long flight.
We were also able to extend our trip and spend time together. Mum showed me places she had visited decades earlier with my dad. It was very meaningful for us both; a way to create new memories while honouring old ones.
Strength from within
Six years ago, I couldn’t see a future beyond my injuries. It was hard to believe my mum and the medical team when they said things would get better and that I would live an independent life again. Six years later, I can say they were correct. It just took time. I’m extremely proud of what I’ve overcome and what my body has accomplished for me.
If I could tell my younger self anything, it would be that you are stronger and more capable than you believe.
Even if you don’t realise it, that strength is there, and when you need it most, it will come out. I’ve learnt never to compare your recovery journey to another, and not to set yourself up with too many big goals at once. Sometimes your goal can be as simple as getting through today. Those small feats are more significant than you realise.
Looking to the future
In five years, I hope to have started my own family. I grew up in a tiny, close family who valued our time together. We bantered, we fought, we picked on each other, but we loved each other so hard. I hope to have that again, to love and support my own children as much as my mum has loved and supported me. After everything we’ve been through, Mum and I still live side by side. I don’t think we could ever leave each other’s sides. And honestly, I wouldn’t want to.
Out of the Ashes by Stephanie and Marie Browitt (HarperCollins, $36.99) is out now.
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