Once, for sure. 7 months old and suffered third degree thermal burns to 50% of my lower body and 20% of my upper body, plus several areas of second degree. My disabled aunt tripped and landed a pot of boiling water in my lap while I was in a walker and wearing plastic panties. By the time I got to the ER, 20 miles away, the panties had melted into my skin and I was in shock. I spent the rest of that year in the hospital, largely in isolation with my hands tied to the bed to prevent picking at the grafts.
I had a total of 18 surgeries in the first 19 years of my life, although a few of them were for another accident where I broke my teeth and jaws a few years later. I probably wouldn't have died without the reconstructive surgeries, but I would have been disabled and far more badly scarred than I am. As it is, I have had no permanent fallout from the accident. I have been remarkably healthy, I must say. I finally realized when I was 19 that the surgeons would keep on "improving" my scars as long as I let them. Until then, it never occurred to me to say I was done. I really didn't care about the cosmetics and never did, I just went along with them every time they booked me for more surgery. While I am incredibly grateful for the excellent care I received, I have never looked back.