| e g House fire: Learning Self-defence July 2006 Did I mention how much soot and ash gets into every crack and crevice of the house when you’ve had a major fire? I’m sure I have, ad nauseum. Not only does the smoke get everywhere, but thousands of gallons of water too. Water pours through the burn, picking up soot and cinders, then runs through the walls and floors. It fills drawers and cupboards, soaks sheets and furniture. It gets into your electrical panel, runs over your lampshades, and pools behind your closets. And usually it’s toxic. Our roof was insulated with high-density Styrofoam. The upstairs room (which was incinerated) had electronic equipment, a mountain of Lego, a foam mattress and camping pad, snorkelling and boating gear, batteries, computer cables, shiny magazines, a CD player and a collection of CDs. All of which, when burned, produce or release dioxins, furans, endocrine disruptors and heavy metals. The day of the fire, the first insurance adjuster on the scene cautioned us not to touch anything, as the soot was toxic. Since then I’ve done some research and found out that the soot is highly acidic as well. I’ve learned that PVC plastic, when burned, produces hydrogen chloride gas. When combined with water, this forms hydrochloric acid. No wonder the kitchen utensils that were left on the sink lost their chrome, or that the soot-water that ran down the back of the stove caused it to rust immediately. The blisters that erupted on my hands when I salvaged some of our burned photos were from acid burns. What really distressed me was that the workers who cleaned out our house didn’t wear respirators. Depending on the day, they were either emptying soot water or handling burned objects or shovelling out mouldy cinders. When the burned roof was pulled down, clouds of charcoal filled the house. The lead carpenter (who smoked like a cowboy) didn’t seem to mind at all. But I mind. I’m a mother, and I’m not having my boy live in a toxic house. I’ve also got asthma and am sensitive to all sorts of common soaps, dyes, glues & perfumes. So this is a challenge. One I’m rising to with utter determination. I’m not used to being forceful. Like most women, I’ve been taught to be nice. When people – or situations – become intolerable I usually duck, cover and run. Or take a deep breath, count to ten, and tell myself that this too shall pass. Being (relatively) easygoing and flexible are skills that have worked well for me in my daily life. But they don’t work in this case. For this, we’ve had to stand firm. My spouse and I have both had to be strongly assertive, even bullish, in order to obtain our rights. We’ve had to argue over and over for every square inch of our house to be cleaned, for new wood to be put in and for all trace of soot to be removed. I’ve written countless notes, emails and memos saying, “This needs to taken out, this needs to be sanded down, this must be cleaned and sealed.” If it doesn’t happen, we say it again. We can’t let up, or before we know it, what we requested has been covered up, turned under or painted over. With pleading eyes I’ve dragged the reluctant carpenters into corners, showing them toasty black residues. I’ve made notes of problem areas and explain them to everyone who will listen – and especially to those who don’t. In the evenings and weekends I’m in there scrubbing the floors and posts with my own two hands. It’s a full-time job. But I’m protecting our health, our home and our son. And there is nothing that will stop a mother from doing that. |
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