Tom Whitehurst

Sunday, August 20, 2000

How to eat more, lose 7 pounds!

Each Monday, the Caller-Times writes about a community volunteer's heroic efforts. Each week, the underlying message is that these are special people making large sacrifices, worthy of our gratitude. And most often, these people try to get across that there's nothing special about them or what they do, and that it's something that you, too, can do.
   They are, indeed, special people, worthy of our gratitude. But it's also true that you don't have to be a hero, or even a particularly hard worker, to volunteer.
   I'm living proof.
   I spent July 28 through Aug. 5 doing something totally foreign to me - monitoring diabetic 12- and 13-year-old boys at the Texas Lions Camp in Kerrville. By "monitoring," I mean that I checked and recorded their blood sugar levels several times a day, oversaw the two to three shots of insulin they received each day and made sure they ate properly, during regular meals and scheduled snack times.
   The real challenge
   Friends and colleagues are inordinately impressed that I actually administered the shots a few times, but that was nothing. I'm not squeamish about needles that aren't going into me. And besides, most of the time these kids poked their own fingers and administered their own shots.
   The real challenge was doing all this for five or more boys in a summer camp setting, in the bunk house, at the cafeteria and on their various excursions, including a campout. I'd have 30 minutes to test my five wards, and sometimes others, oversee their insulin doses and make sure they were rotating their shot sites to avoid atrophy.
   So many needle sticks
   In addition to the three or more - sometimes several more - finger sticks that these children endure daily, they take two or more shots a day, unless they have an insulin pump, which means they have a needle inside them, taped to their skin, at all times. Most of them aspire to the pump, which is an expensive proposition and one of those managed-care insurance company nightmares.
   Insulin shots aren't necessarily as simple as they sound. Often the dose is two types of insulin mixed in the same syringe. So it's not good for the child to be math-deficient, as three of my five were. The complications multiplied as the camp doctors adjusted the children's insulin doses to offset the increased physical activity and heat stress.
   Teaching and learning
   At each finger-stick/shot-giving time, I would quiz each boy about his dose, just to test his memory and knowledge. Then I'd watch as he drew one or two types of insulin, quiz him on where he was going to give his shot, ask where he gave his shot the last time (and the time before), then make sure he disposed of the syringe properly in a medical hazardous waste container.
   All of this usually occurred amid typical bunk house bedlam, in an enclosed space, while two other adults were doing the same with their five to seven wards. We were the opposite of military precision, dealing with Nintendo-generation boys and their attention spans.
   Luxury accommodations
   The bunk house, by the way, is where I stayed, with typical young teen boys overly impressed with their own flatulence, while my wife, a nurse practitioner, stayed in much more luxurious digs with other nurses and doctors. By luxurious digs, I mean the equivalent of a 30-year-old college dorm, with a bathroom connecting two suites shared by four people.
   Several more "medical staff" roughed it in the bunk houses like I did. Among them were medical students, nursing students (three from Del Mar College) and young adult diabetics. I was probably the least experienced of the volunteers, with no medical background except for being married to a nurse practitioner, and no diabetics in my family.
   The real heroes
   As I said before, you don't have to be a hero, but I saw or heard about little acts of heroism each day. There was Jackie, one of the Del Mar students, who saved a young girl's dignity after the girl had unexpectedly lost bladder control in their bunk house. Jackie saw the girl weeping, saw the wet pants, handed her a towel and told her to wrap it around her waist and discard the pants. Then Jackie surreptitiously shed her own pants so the girl could put them on. The other girls, who likely would have teased the girl mercilessly, were none the wiser.
   There was Eddie, a 13-year-old camper from the Valley, who was diagnosed as a diabetic in March. Among the symptoms that led to the diagnosis were lethargy, constant thirst and frequent urination. Before he was diagnosed, one of his teachers refused one of his suddenly frequent requests to go to the restroom. Eddie said she was suitably apologetic after his diagnosis.
   A real leader
   Eddie showed no resentment toward the teacher, to his predicament or to the adult authority he encountered at camp. He was as boisterous and prankish as any of the boys, but exerted a mature leadership among his bunk mates. He was the first to break up scuffles, or yank the other boys away from the water fountain to allow girls to go first.
   And there were most all of the kids, many of whom are the only diabetics in their class, or their school. They endure taunts and resentment at school because they get more attention from the school nurse, and get to eat snacks in class. If the other kids knew what I now know, they'd consider going without snacks a privilege.
   What's in it for me
   I've described my experiences to friends and they've praised me like this newspaper praises volunteers. And having gone through it, I genuinely don't understand why. I got a lot more than I gave.
   I received free medical education. And the medical responsibility taught me a great life lesson: We're all capable of doing a lot more than we think we can do. Nothing is brain surgery except brain surgery.
   Sure, I stayed in a bunk house, and no, it wasn't a second honeymoon with my wife. But I stayed a week in the breath-taking Texas Hill Country, rent free, with air conditioning and hot and cold running water.
   I tried archery for the first time. The lessons were free.
   I spent one night by a campfire under the stars, on top of a genuine Hill Country hill.
   I went bicycling in the hills one morning. The land access was free.
   I had access to a new Olympic-size swimming pool, courtesy of the Lions Club.
   I ate voraciously, for free. The camp provided three hearty meals a day, with desserts, plus snacks through the day, including ice cream.
   And despite all that eating, I lost seven pounds in one week.
   If that got your attention, call Dr. Steve Ponder at 694-4864 if you want to give it a try.
  

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