INNOCENTS GET BURNED IN EXPLOSIONS OF METH LABS

Among methamphetamine users, fire can be more of a danger than police.

You can recognize a "cooker" or a maker of the illegal drug by the burns on
his hands, said a 38-year-old woman recovering from a four-year
methamphetamine addiction.

"I mean, come on, all the chemicals they use have a skull and crossbones on
them. That should tell you something right there," she said from a
treatment center in Little Rock.

Cooking methamphetamine is extremely dangerous, the chemicals used are
explosive and the number of people getting burned is rising, law
enforcement officials said.

Between July 1999 and July 2000, 14 percent of the adults who came to the
burn center at the Arkansas Children's Hospital were injured in a
methamphetamine-related fire, according to hospital records.

"We're seeing a lot more of the meth cases," said Jimmy Parks, a registered
nurse and the burn center's outreach coordinator.

Household products such as rubbing alcohol and gasoline additives must be
exposed to high heat -- a propane stove is often used -- to extract the
substances needed to make methamphetamine.

Explosions are often the result of a drug-addled chemist's attempt to cook,
officials said. And the flames make no distinction between cooker and
anyone nearby, including children.

Children like Lee.

He was scarcely two years old when his father's methamphetamine lab
exploded around him two years ago, choking the air with chemicals and
blanketing the walls of the house in flames.

He and his father were both badly burned in the explosion and the ensuing
fire that gutted their home in central Arkansas. When Lee was carried into
Arkansas Children's Hospital, the charred skin on the toddler's face, hands
and arms was swollen with blisters.

Lee is not the boy's real name. Hospital officials asked that his name not
be used.

With second-degree burns covering 20 percent of his body, Lee's injuries
were not the worst in the center, but nurses still remember the shy,
scrawny little boy who spent nearly two weeks in the ward. Lee's raw wounds
had to be scrubbed daily to prevent infection, an excruciating process that
exposes the nerve endings of the damaged flesh.

"We used morphine to try and cut into the pain, but we can't take away all
of the pain," said Parks. For most of the 13 days, Lee was fed through a
tube that led to his esophagus. His reluctance to eat, common to many burn
patients, was complicated by past malnutrition.

Lee's mother, helped by numerous relatives, took care of him after he left
the burn center, hospital workers said. His father was prosecuted. Lee's
physical recovery is progressing, but many scars remain.

Despite its illegality, methamphetamine is big business in Arkansas. In
1999, the state ranked No. 1 per capita in methamphetamine production,
according to state officials.

Statistics from the State Crime Laboratory for 1999 show that 554
methamphetamine labs were seized by law enforcement, up 923 percent since
1994. Experts speculate that this year there will be more than 700 such
seizures.

Lee was lucky to receive medical treatment, Capt. Kirk Lane of the Pulaski
County sheriff's office said. Methamphetamine manufacturers usually avoid
hospitals because their activity is illegal, even when treatment can mean
the difference between life and death.

"Methamphetamine users are an extremely paranoid group," he said. "When
they get burned, often they end up using home remedies."

He told of one case where a man repeatedly used a motel room to "cook"
methamphetamine. The man grew more and more paranoid over time and came to
the point where he would only cook by flashlight for fear someone would see
him.

"His flashlight ran down on him once while he was cooking and so he lit a
match. The explosion burned him and his girlfriend," Lane said. "A lot of
times, methamphetamine users will tell us their lawn mower caught on fire
or something like that. But, we know."

Because of the explosive and noxious dangers involved in dismantling a
methamphetamine laboratory, law enforcement have to call out specialized
hazardous materials workers to clean up the operation. Private contractors,
typically covered head-to-toe in protective gear, dispose of the materials.
The methamphetamine substances, in varying degrees of completion, are sent
to the State Crime Laboratory.

The cleanup costs can range anywhere from $400 to $4,000 per laboratory,
Lane said, depending on the size of the illegal operation.

Parks tells his own story about a methamphetamine maker's reluctance to
seek medical treatment. About a year ago, he said, a man came in with
third-degree burns on his hands and arms, claiming he was burned in a grass
fire.

"We began to treat him. Some investigators called asking about the case,
and the man walked out and left the burn center against medical advice," he
said. If serious burns go untreated, infection can set in, ultimately
leading to sickness or the loss of a limb, Parks said.

During the height of her drug addiction, the woman in the recovery center
said she would stay up for three or four days at a time, until her body
just "stopped working."

It was during these times, fueled by methamphetamine and delirious with
sleep-deprivation, that she would see her children on every school bus and
in every school yard.

Her son and daughter, 16 and 11, were taken from her because of her
addiction, she said. The night she entered treatment she said she ran
several miles barefoot to the recovery center, stopping only for breath and
as she passed a group of children, looking to see if her children were
among them.

She says she wants to be clean, away from the dangers of the drug.

"I'm here because I want my kids back."