Help!
My Breastpump is on Fire!
Help! My Breastpump is on Fire!
by Page Ettle Madden The story below is 100% true.  I was preparing for a much-awaited overnight
getaway with my husband. Since I hadn’t used my breast pump in a while, I decided to
sterilize the plastic parts and put them on the stove to boil. I guess I lost track of
time playing with my girls in the basement, because the next thing I knew, the fire alarm
began blaring. I ran upstairs to find my breast pump cups nearly melted and my house
filled with smoke and the horrible odor of burnt plastic.I grabbed the pot off the stove and ran it outside where I unceremoniously dumped it on the back porch. After calling our securing company to alert them the fire was out and opening all the windows, I went to assess the damage still smoking in the pot. Tears streamed down my face as I mourned the loss of those plastic breast cups that had become my best friends. I had lost them when I needed them most. Without them, my romantic overnight with my husband was over.  Suddenly, I heard a siren and panic shot through my
brain. With my baby on my hip and my two year-old in tow, I ran to the front yard, only to
be greeted by a big red fire engine and all my neighbors coming out of their homes to see
what was happening. Four burly firemen ran into my home as I yelled, "It’s out!
It’s out! The fire’s out!" After trooping though my smoke-filled house, the
firemen congregated in my kitchen as I explained that what I had been cooking had caught
on fire, but that I had put it out myself."Well, where is it?" the Lieutenant demanded, looking around. "Where is what?" I was confused. "What I was cooking? You mean you want to see it?" "Sorry ma’am, we must confirm that the fire is indeed out. If we leave and the fire should restart, we could be held liable." I gaped at them for a moment before realizing he was actually serious. As they trotted out to the back porch, I decided to act nonchalant, as if people boil down and burn their plastic breast cups on a daily basis. As soon as they looked into the pot, I saw the question in their eyes asking, "What was this lady doing?" Momentarily, it occurred to me that they might think it was drug paraphernalia and I would soon have the narcotics squad raiding my home with newspaper headlines reading "Suburban Housewife Builds Suspected Methanphedimine Lab." Deciding that honest was the best policy, I quickly blurted out "I was sterilizing my breast pump." One of the young, fresh-faced firefighters began examining his fingernails and another looked at the sky while shifting his weight from foot to foot nervously. The Lieutenant quickly dismissed them all and took down the information for his report. "Musta scared you, honey," the Lieutenant patted my arm compassionately. "Two little kids, the smoke, the alarm and all." "Yes." I choked back my tears. How could I really tell him that I was devastated that my beloved breast pump was now a smoking pile of melted plastic? Unfortunately, my four month-old didn’t give me a chance to say another word as she spewed curdled milk all over him. by Page Ettle Madden St. Louis, Missouri |
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