At the age of 13, my daughter was selected for a People-to-People Ambassadorship to Australia and New Zealand. After an extensive application process, she was accepted, and she, along with 30 other 13-year-olds, met with their chaperones and their parents for 9 months to prepare for the trip. Three weeks of adventure, culture, and education. A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Just weeks before departure, a mother stood up in front of the group and announced that her son, Mark, would not be going. He had been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, and although he had been through a thorough diabetes education program and was doing well, his doctor said he should not go on the trip. The air left the room. Mark had worked so hard for months, and to see it all swept away in an instant was difficult for everyone to grasp.
I felt a knot in my stomach, thinking, we can’t let diabetes get in the way of Mark going on this trip. Hesitantly, I approached his parents and told them what I did in my work. I offered to help Mark, his trip buddy, and his chaperones learn what they needed to do to help him manage his diabetes on the trip. Knowing the itinerary, I said I would put together a list of diabetes resources, including endocrinologists, for each location. I said I meant no disrespect to Mark’s doctor and would completely understand if they chose to not let him go, but I hated for Mark to feel like he couldn’t live a normal life because of diabetes.
Mark and his parents talked, and within minutes, they invited me to come to their home the following Saturday along with his trip buddy and the chaperones. I will admit, I was nervous. Mark was not even my patient! Yet I felt I could help him and everyone else feel comfortable with what needed to be done to support Mark on this trip.
That Saturday, gathered around the kitchen table, all eyes were on me. I was shaking inside but knew I needed to remain calm and confident. I knew what I wanted to say, but the words that came out were unexpected even to me.
“Mark, tell everyone here what you need to do to take care of your diabetes,” expecting to jump in to add or correct as needed.
Not yet on a pump, Mark demonstrated how he injected his insulin. He showed everyone how he checked his glucose. I asked him questions, such as:
I said I meant no disrespect to Mark’s doctor and would completely understand if they chose to not let him go, but I hated for Mark to feel like he couldn’t live a normal life because of diabetes.
My job that day was to instill confidence in everyone in that room that Mark was going to be ok.
How will you handle your insulin on travel days?
What will you do to prevent a hypoglycemic reaction, and what will you do if you have one?
What will you do if you get sick?
What can your buddy and your chaperones do to help you in these situations?
I grilled him.
I asked Mark’s buddy and the chaperones if they had questions. When they did have questions, I turned to Mark to ask how he would answer them. Mark did beautifully. He had become the teacher. With each answer, with each explanation, the collective anxiety subsided.
MARK HAD THIS.
I knew that day was not about me showing how much I knew. My job that day was to instill confidence in everyone in that room that Mark was going to be ok.
Fast forward to all the parents gathered in the airport waiting for our kids to get off the plane. I was as eager to see Mark as I was to see my own daughter. His parents said he had 1 hypoglycemic reaction—during snorkeling, as we had suspected might happen. The chaperones and Mark had called his parents only to report that it had happened. Everyone knew just what to do. Thankfully, there were no other issues during the entire trip.
Although I realized how much Mark and his family appreciated what I did to help make his trip a reality, I wouldn’t know the full impact of my decision to extend myself to them until years later, when I ran into Mark’s mom. She remembered me immediately and told me what that decision meant to Mark. He came home from that trip knowing he could have diabetes and live a normal life. She went on to say that he had graduated from college and had big plans for his future. In that moment, I knew being a DCES was more than a job.
It is a calling, a Sacred Trust. We change lives, and in turn, we are changed.
Teresa Pearson, MBA, MS, RN, CDCES, FADCES, is president and director of clinical services with Innovative Health Care Designs - Global, LLC in Minneapolis, MN.
Teresa Pearson https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3201-9980
