DANCARO.COM

The Times Picauyne
February 4, 1990
Victory: Burns can’t crush boy’s spirit
By Cindy Montgomery

            The scar tissue begins on Danny Caro’s scalp, covers his face and winds its way down his neck, disappearing inside his shirt. It reappears on his arms and legs.

          Doctors have worked to undo the damage flames did to Danny’s body seven years ago. But they haven’t had to tinker with his spirit.

          Danny, 10, has learned to do without fingers what most take for granted: opening doors, picking up coins, zipping pants.

          He plays basketball and baseball. He bats by tucking the handle under his arm and swinging the barrel with the full force of his upper body.

          In most respects, Danny is like any other child, say his parents, John and Marilyn. They shun special treatment. So does Danny.

          Danny – who was 2 ½ when he was burned in a garage fire at his home on National Avenue in Terrytown – has learned to make his way in the world on his terms.

          His arms taper and stop below the wrist. On each arm, surgeons have built thumbs to let him grasp objects.

          Danny writes by slipping a pencil under his thumb and using both arms to guide it. To pick up a coin, he licks the flat surface of is hand and presses it against the coin. It sticks.

          “Just like glue,” he said.

          Danny plays basketball for a Terrytown playground team. He always is trying to be the first player down the court. He dribbles and used both arms to pass. This season he scored 10 points.

          It’s a struggle but he can tie his shoelaces.

          Danny’s nose and eyelids have been reconstructed. He’s had surgeries to split the scar tissue and allow growth. He may have more cosmetic surgery later and may decide to try artificial hands.

          Danny talks of his accident with dignity and gentle humor. He looked serious as he said there are things in life he can’t do, like going to a friend’s – then wryly admitted it was because he was grounded recently for not cleaning his room.

          Just for a moment, though, pain crept into Danny’s voice.

          “I can’t fix myself up right now,” he said. “I can’t just look normal right now. I can learn everything else. I just can’t learn that.”

          Terrie Fell, principal of Terrytown Academy where Danny is in the fifth grade, learned quickly of the Boy’s independent streak.

          Danny was in pre-school when Fell spied him carrying a game in his arms. She asked if he needed help. He trained his cool, blue eyes on her and shook his head no.

          He refuses help if he thinks it’s offered out of pity.

         Tenacious and scrappy by nature, Danny’s toughness pulled him through the accident, doctors told the Caro’s. For the family, though, time has not faded the horror of that morning. 

St. Patrick’s Day Horror

          It was St. Patrick’s Day 1982. Mrs. Caro was mowing the lawn. Mr.Caro had left for his Metairie insurance office. Danny toddled into the garage to get his toytruck,unaware of the danger of gasoline fumes lingeringthere from a lawn mower.The water heater clicked on, and a split-second flash fire changed their lives.

          Mrs. Caro pulled Danny from the scorched garage. Danny was burned over 68% of his body. He remembers someone dousing him with water from a flower pot.

          “I don’t remember screaming,” he said.

          His father remembers everything: a nun who tried to comfort the family at Charity Hospital, the Snoopy tennis shoes his son loved and that melted on his feet.

        “How can you forget something like that?” he said. “It’s etched in my mind.”

          Doctors at Charity said Danny wouldn’t live 72 hours. But he clung to life.

          A day after the accident, he was whisked to the Shriners Burn Institute in Boston aboard a specially equipped Air Force jet. The hospital would be his home for the next four months.

          “We did a tremendous amount of praying when he was first burned,” Caro said.

          Back home, Danny’s accident affected a whole community. Neighbors and community groups held fund-raisers and prayer sessions.

A string of operations

          Danny underwent so many operations that his parents lost count. He fought infections, a frequent problem with burn patients.

          His mother could hold him only once in the first few months – and then only as they transferred him from a regular bed to a baby bed to prevent falls.

          At first, Mrs. Caro refused to go to the hospital’s support group. Anger welled inside her when she heard another parent bemoan a child’s less severe burns. Later, she relented and found comfort and practical advice from the group.

          Danny, however, looked forward to his twice-a-week group sessions with other children.

          As he lay in the hospital, his brothers sent tape recorded messages of love and encouragement. They played the music from Danny’s favorite movie, “Rocky II.” Danny watched the movie over and over. His father bought him boxing gloves and teased him about using them to keep the nurses away.

          Initially, Danny went to Boston four times a year for surgery and treatment. The trips have dwindled to about two a year – no to the Shriners’ burn unit in Galveston, Texas. In March, he is to undergo surgery to straighten a bone in his left foot.

          The Shriners, who operate three burn centers and 19 orthopedic hospitals, pay for Danny’s medical costs, including transportation.

          Danny hates the hospitals and gets nervous before surgeries. “Every time I see a man in blue, I throw up,” he said. “I know what they are going to do.”

          He said those are the times he feels anger and wonders why the accident happened to him. “Every time I go to Boston, I thin k it’s unfair,” he said.

Bonding to another family

          The Caro’s have found comfort from a Gretna family in a similar situation.

          Brandi Gauthreaux, 11, was badly burned in a 1980 accident. The families try to schedule surgeries and treatment for the children together.

          Recovery has come in small steady steps for Danny. It hasn’t been easy.

          At one point, Mrs. Caro tried to enroll him in a school where a skeptical administration demanded that he be tested. By the time testing was finished, registration was closed, she said. The rejection hurt.

          And she knows, as he nears adulthood, it may happen again.

          “He still has a long road to go down and a lot to go through,” she said. She paused. “But he can handle himself.”

          When Danny began attending Terrytown Academy, the teachers passed his picture around to the students and asked that they accept him. They have.

          Danny usually makes the honor roll. He spends his free time trading baseball cards from his large collection and playing football. He skins his knees so much the school secretaries tease him.
         
Staring back at the starers

          In the grocery store or mall, Danny handles those who stare by staring back. For others, he reserves special treatment.

          “I don’t care if they stare,” he said. “If they stare it’s their problem. But if they say, ‘What happened to youuuuu?’ I’ll scare them. I’ll hide behind the aisle. And when they walk by, I’ll sneak behind them and make gross faces.”

          Before the accident, the Caro’s lives were grounded in their Catholic faith that has not changes.

          The family attends a Latin Mass weekly at a Metairie funeral home. Danny has traveled twice to Medjugorje, a village in Yugoslavia where apparitions of the Virgin Mary have been reported.

          And every morning the children – John Jr, 17, Scott, 13, and Paul, 20 months – gather in their parents’ room to recite the rosary.

          “Danny gets his strength from almighty God,” Caro said, “We all do.”