I was rushing to my morning shift when I saw smoke. But where was it coming from? By Kerri Absolom, 35
I sat up in bed as my partner Christopher handed me a morning cuppa.
‘Thanks,’ I said.
In between sips, I had a quick pull of my vape before my two-year-old son Deacon woke up.
When he came toddling in a few minutes later, I hugged him and said, ‘Good morning, love!’
But although it was Sunday morning, there was no time to laze about because I had to get ready for my shift as a retail manager.
So, while Christopher took our son downstairs to get his breakfast, I got up and dressed.
With just a few minutes to go before I had to leave, I quickly took a vape battery out of the charging unit and popped it in my trouser pocket along with my work keys.
But as I went to lift my leg over the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs, I suddenly saw smoke in front of me.
What on earth’s that? I wondered.
I looked down, and saw the smoke was coming out of my pocket.
A second later, a small flame began to flicker.
‘Oh my God!’ I yelled and began furiously patting the flame with my hands.
Christopher heard me and ran into the hall. I saw the shock register as he realised my leg was on fire.
Quick as a flash, he ushered our son and dog into another room before helping me try to yank off my trousers as the fire alarm began to blare.
We’d almost got them off when my vape battery fell through my trousers on to the dog bed.
Sparks were spraying out of both ends of the hissing battery, and it was so hot it melted through the two dog beds and right into the carpet.
My hand was already throbbing in pain, but as the last sparks fizzled out, I picked the battery up with a sock and threw it outside.
Christopher dialled 999 then he took our son and the dog out to the car to get away from the smoke, while I held my burnt hand under the tap.
It was only then that I looked down and saw my leg was so badly burnt the skin was rolling.
I gasped in shock and grabbed a cold, wet flannel to pat it with.
The smell of burnt flesh made me feel sick.
Somehow, I managed to call my boss to tell him I couldn’t come into work.
When firefighters arrived, they ushered me into the garden and sprayed my leg with a hose.
‘This is bad,’ I winced, in agony.
The firefighters said my keys must have come into contact with the lithium vape battery in my pocket and ignited. I didn’t even know that could happen.
As my leg temperature was still so high, they hosed it for 25 minutes until the ambulance arrived.
At the hospital, I was given morphine for the pain and was told to come back the next day.
‘What on earth’s that?’
Overnight, the burns on my leg wept all over my bed, so I was referred to a burns clinic and admitted for a week.
I had a skin graft, then I went back to our home in Bournemouth, Dorset.
My leg had to stay straight for a week, but the agony was unbearable.
I had to clean the wounds with gauze, but even getting into the shower was painful.
I also kept getting allergic reactions and rashes from the pain medication, and went through several before I found one that worked.
After five months, my bandages finally came off. But while my leg was healing, my mental health was suffering.
I struggled to sleep, terrified something would explode in the night, even after I’d obsessively turned off all the electrics before bed. The smell of toast cooking would make me panic.
It happened at work too.
I’d jump if someone dropped something in the warehouse, and when our work Christmas meal came with sparklers I almost leapt under the table.
I was diagnosed with PTSD and over time, I learnt to share and rationalise my thoughts with Christopher.
With his help, I slowly got better.
I’m still very careful with electrics and have since quit vaping.
I had no idea that the batteries could be so dangerous, so I took photos of the damage and asked my local vape shop to put them up to warn people of the risks.
More than anything, I was worried about my son.
Although I’d never vaped in front of Deacon, I didn’t want him picking up the habit when he got older.
‘If we’ve quit, hopefully that’ll help him avoid it,’ I told Christopher.
Even though I’m coping with the trauma of that day much better now, the scars are still there.
My leg is still marked from the burns and skin grafts, and I feel so self-conscious about them that I no longer wear shorts in the summer, or skirts higher than my knees.
I keep thinking back to how much worse it could’ve been too.
That battery could’ve caught fire while Deacon was in my arms.
The thought of him suffering injuries like mine terrified me more than anything.
For my boy, I’m glad to leave that habit behind.