Climbing up from tragedy.

Tom's hand moves slowly over the surface of the cliff, feeling for a crevice to hold his slender fingers. My partner, an experienced rock climber, encourages Tom and coaches his every move. Although we are in a rock gym and the cliff is fabricated, watching Tom's ascent is thrilling. Several years ago, Tom was in an industrial accident. As a result, he was burned over 68 percent of his body, became blind, and was told he would never walk without braces.

At the age of 20, Tom was working as a blast furnace operator at a smelter in Reading, Pennsylvania. He was engaged to be married and had a daughter about to celebrate her first birthday. Tom had been at his new job for 19 days and, although the work was physically demanding, the pay would support his new family.

When Tom started work, his employer provided a new uniform guaranteed by the supplier to be flame resistant. The supplier warranted its uniforms "to be almost immediately self-extinguishing" and advertised that they possessed "durable flame-resistant properties."

On the day of the accident--a Friday the 13th--Tom changed into his uniform, which was laundered daily at the smelter because the employees worked with lead. As he walked toward the furnace to begin his shift, a nearby forklift tipped over a pot of molten metal. Reported to be about 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit, droplets of molten metal splattered over a large area, hitting Tom, who was standing about 10 feet away. Instead of "self-extinguishing," his uniform ignited and burned for about 60 seconds. By the time coworkers put out the flames, the uniform had been almost completely consumed as it fueled the fire that burned Tom severely.

My partner, Martin Brigham, and I brought suit against the uniform manufacturer, which failed to tell Tom's employer that it had used fabric that could lose its flame-resistant characteristics with regular use and laundering without showing any physical changes. The manufacturer also failed to inform Tom's employer that uniforms made of fabric certified to remain flame resistant for the useful life of the uniform were available. The case eventually settled, providing lifelong financial stability for Tom and his family. But the real accomplishments in this tragedy belong to Tom.

After the accident, Tom was transported by helicopter to a regional burn center. He had burns on his chest, back, ears, neck, hands, and both arms and legs. From an inhalation injury, he suffered pneumonia, a collapsed lung, and adult respiratory distress syndrome.

Infections accompanied by high fevers are common with large burns. Tom developed a high fever several months after his hospitalization, with an associated drop in blood pressure that led to bilateral optic nerve damage (stroke of the optic nerve). Although Tom could see clearly after the accident, this nerve damage resulted in near-blindness. Now he cannot discern people or objects but sees only shadows in his lower field of vision.

Tom had over 40 surgeries. He remained at the burn center for five months and then spent a year at a rehabilitation hospital for therapy. After his physical rehabilitation, his psychological scars were still raw. When he returned home from inpatient rehabilitation, his fiancee left him. After specialists confirmed that his loss of vision was permanent, Tom became suicidal.

It was not until his daughter's mother attempted to get full custody that Tom began to fight back--not only for his daughter, but for his sanity. He was angered by the accusation that he could not care for his daughter. With the help of his parents, he won shared custody. Tom felt useful again, and he loved the time he spent with his daughter.

Tom finished his physical therapy and defied his doctor's predictions that he would never walk without braces. My partner, Marry, took him rock climbing. Tom approached this sport with enthusiasm and courage, despite his lack of vision, breathing difficulties, and loss of strength in his arms and legs. With each successful climb, he gained confidence, remarking that he needed to "work out" more to attempt more difficult climbs.

Last year, Tom joined me at a conference in Atlanta, sponsored by the Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors--an organization that provides emotional support for survivors and their families. This seminar attracted hundreds of burn survivors from all over the world.

Before the conference, Tom had no contact with former friends and relied totally on his family for social interaction. Watching Tom's transformation during the conference was exciting. Although reserved at first, he was receptive to others' eagerness to include him in the "burn community." The conference had sessions in which survivors shared the circumstances of their burns, their recoveries, and their fears, and Tom marveled at others' heroism. By the end of the conference, he hugged his new friends, exchanged phone numbers, and promised to get involved in the organization.

Tom kept his promise. Through the Phoenix Society, he learned about peer support groups for burn survivors and helped organize a support group at the burn center where he was treated. He travels to the center to speak with survivors during their initial hospitalization and with their families, providing encouragement and advice. And, with the dream that he will one day lead peer support groups, he is attending a local college to get a degree in counseling.

Recently, Tom invited me to go rock climbing. I have always been afraid of heights and preferred to assume the role of cheerleader. However, once there, propelled by Tom's courage, I made it up the mountain.

Eunice Trevor, a board of trustees officer of the Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors, is a shareholder in the law firm of Brigham and Trevor in Philadelphia.