Growing up in the U.K. in the 1980s, Andrew Disney was no stranger to the dangers of fireworks. The dire safety videos he watched every Guy Fawkes Night left an indelible impression, with their warnings of death and dismemberment from mishandled sparklers and rogue rockets. Little did he know that decades later and an ocean away, a seemingly innocent Independence Day celebration would turn into his worst nightmare.
In 2022, Disney found himself in Midlothian, Texas, far from the tightly regulated fireworks of his youth. Here, massive pyrotechnics were sold roadside to anyone with cash, no questions asked. While he and his wife Megan maintained a cautious approach, their friends embraced the American tradition with gusto, organizing a Fourth of July bash on a sprawling two-acre property.
A Fateful Fashion Choice
As the festivities kicked off, Disney made a fateful fashion choice – a belt with a jangling metal buckle that his wife despised. Little did they know, this seemingly innocuous accessory would soon become a pivotal player in their story.
As dusk fell and the fireworks began, the Disneys repositioned their chairs to keep a watchful eye on their son playing nearby. Merely 60 feet ahead, an ominous wooden pallet bore two sizeable rockets, waiting to be lit.
Rockets’ Red Glare Gone Wrong
In a blink, celebration turned to chaos. The first rocket, rather than soaring skyward, careened into the house, detonating on the porch. Before Disney could react, he saw the second projectile hurtling directly toward him.
The impact was instantaneous and excruciating. Hurled backwards, Disney writhed on the ground, consumed by searing agony from thighs to stomach. Disoriented by pain, smoke, and the ringing in his ears, he couldn’t discern the extent of the damage. Had he been dismembered? The thought alone induced waves of nausea.
“I saw a bloody mess from my thighs up to my stomach. I couldn’t tell which body parts had been damaged. Had I lost my genitals? I felt sick at the thought”
– Andrew Disney, firework accident survivor
A Touch-And-Go Tourniquet
Faces swam above him as he lay immobilized, his wife’s screams to shield the children piercing the smoke-filled air. The prayer of a well-meaning bystander holding his hand only amplified his fear of imminent death. Paramedics rapidly applied a tourniquet, accidentally ensnaring Disney’s testicles in the process – a blunder he frantically corrected amid the chaos.
Triple doses of fentanyl finally granted Disney the courage to survey the damage. To his horror, he saw a gory tableau spanning from lower thighs to abdomen, the skin blasted clean through to bare muscle. The fate of his manhood remained a sickening mystery as he was swiftly airlifted to the hospital.
An Unlikely Lifesaver
Miraculously, as doctors later revealed, Disney’s loathed belt buckle had shielded his vital organs from the brunt of the blast. This unforeseen stroke of sartorial luck had likely spared his life. Disney underwent emergency surgery to extract embedded gunpowder and repair his ravaged flesh as best they could.
Despite retaining all parts intact, the psychological fallout proved formidable. Vivid flashbacks plagued Disney as he lay recovering, the proximity of playing children to his own impact site haunting his thoughts. The road ahead would be arduous, entailing skin grafts, physiotherapy, and the tentative relearning of intimacy with his stalwart wife Megan.
Scars That Speak Volumes
Though the scars that now map his skin extinguish any ambitions of swimsuit modeling, Disney embraces them as badges of survival. They chronicle a harrowing chapter surmounted by the unshakeable bond of his marriage and the unexpected heroism of a ridiculed accessory.
With wry British wit, he muses on the irony of his ordeal: on the very day Americans celebrate their independence from the Crown, their pyrotechnics nearly did in one of their own. A walking testament to the capricious nature of fate, Disney now regards each day, and each belt buckle, in a profound new light.
