Those who are struck by lightning and survive usually suffer severe physical damage. Like Lena Cornelissen, whose life changed out of the blue. She says not only for the bad.
When I was struck by lightning, the sun was shining. That was Easter Monday 2019. I was working as a volunteer in a kindergarten in Bolivia and was just standing in the garden hanging up laundry. Then suddenly a so-called dry flash struck. The thunderstorm probably took place behind the mountains. That happens again and again in Germany.
It must have been awful.
I can’t remember the accident. My brain has suppressed what would be unbearable for me. Other colleagues later told me what had happened: The wire clothesline attracted lightning and wrapped itself around me. I caught fire and screamed. The others came running, extinguished me, reanimated and ventilated me. It must have been awful. One of my lifesavers broke off contact afterwards. The sight of me would remind her too much of me lying in the meadow, burning.
Not at all unlikely
You are more likely to survive a lightning strike than to die from it. It depends on how you get hit. The lightning bolt ran into my hands and kicked out again on my feet and legs. It went through me completely once. My hair was wet because I had just taken a shower, I wasn’t wearing shoes, but headphones in my ears and my cell phone in my pocket – all perfect conditions for a lightning bolt.
I’ve been injured quite a bit. After the accident, I was in the hospital for four months. Today I have burn scars all over my body, chronic pain in my joints. My auricles had to be amputated, also because of the headphones I was wearing. That’s not the only reason why I still have hearing problems and wear hearing aids to this day. Since the accident I have had well over 20 operations, I don’t know exactly. So far I’ve been to rehab four times. Fortunately, the neurological damage is limited to my mobility – I walk on the rollator, sometimes on the walking stick.
Still alive or already dead?
Ten days after the accident, I was finally able to be flown from Bolivia to Germany. Two days earlier I was brought out of the artificial coma because the doctors on site thought that only awake patients could be flown out. I wasn’t awake in the usual sense, but I saw what happened. Even if I perceived the situation differently than other people involved. I was in unimaginable pain, completely desperate and helpless. The worst part was that I couldn’t communicate. I fought the bandages and tubes that were stuck in my body. On the return flight I was put into an artificial coma again.
At that time I believed I had died, it felt like I had been dead and in Hell for several years, but it was “only” four weeks in total. I’m not really a believer, but my brain has put something together. And even though I had multi-organ failure, severe blood poisoning, and 15 liters of water in my body, and there was a moment when everyone should say goodbye to me, I doubt that the reality was as bad as what was in my head went off. After I was brought back, it took me a long time to realize that I was still alive.
In my diagnosis sheets it says “post-traumatic stress disorder with depressive episodes”. I have a lot that goes with it: flashbacks, nightmares, increased anxiety and irritability. In addition, there were always depressive phases with very little drive. My chronic fatigue wears me out.
Drawn for life
I get 13 therapy units per week – from physiotherapy to occupational therapy and psychotherapy to scar massage. And I have about ten to 15 operations ahead of me. I try to schedule all of this with my psychology degree, which I started six months ago, and with my political activism. I fight for inclusion, against discrimination and the stigmatization of mental illness. As an influencer, I also report on my rehab, hospital stays and my everyday life on social media. I also have a podcast: “Drawn for Life”, for which I talk to other people affected about their disabilities, mental illnesses or burn injuries. And I am involved in various bodies of the Greens, I am the spokeswoman for the Young Greens in Bonn and last year I ran for the Greens in the local elections. I only just missed my move to the city council. That was a great success in my constituency.
What bothered me, however, are the reactions of other people.
Everyone can see that I had an accident. I have scars on my face, neck, head, back, shoulders, fingers and in non-visible places. But that wasn’t a problem for me from the start. I never really cared about how I looked, although I’d say I was pretty pretty before the accident. What bothered me, however, are the reactions of other people. Not that I’m being looked at. I wear a silicone compression mask almost all of the time and I just look different from most people. That’s okay. But it sucks when people stare at me, change the side of the street, obviously ignore me or whisper: It looks scary. If I’m not feeling well anyway, I think twice about going out the door.
The prejudices hurt
With children, I have more understanding of the reactions. But I can also have very positive experiences: During the election campaign, I collected rubbish with the children in my district. It was really nice to see how quickly they lost their fear of me and gained confidence. They asked me a lot of questions about my appearance – without judgment. When I walk past kindergarten today, there are always a lot of children waving to me. But some parents seem to want to protect their little ones from me, pulling or turning them away from me. Perhaps they think they are expecting too much from them when confronted with me. That makes me incredibly sad because I can imagine how these children will react as adults when people look different.
I have spoken a lot with people who have not had their disabilities since birth. It is not always easy for us to accept them – and often less because of the diagnosis and the physical damage than because of the social prejudices and stigmata. For example, a handicap is equated by many with reduced performance – which is not always the case.
Since I can’t change my situation anyway, I ask myself: what’s so bad about it? Yes, the pain, the limitations and the barriers in society annoy me. It’s okay with me that I walk on the rollator, wear a hearing aid and look different. No need to say: the future looks catastrophic.
Draw strength from helping others
In my activism I have found something that gives a certain meaning to all the suffering and helps me deal with it. I have my heart’s issues and can do something for others based on and not in spite of my experiences. My goal is that we do not classify people into “normal” and “different” at all. At least we shouldn’t judge anymore.
In a rehab I talked to a friend about whether we would press a reset button. We were both surprised that we’re so happy that this button doesn’t exist – and that we don’t have to make the decision. Because I would say that I have personally changed for the better since the accident. I’ve become calmer and a little more confident. However, I don’t think that the accident did that to me, but that I made that out of the accident.