February 19, 2010
I had just finished writing up the test that my kids would take later on in the day. I figured I would spend the next hour or so catching up on my blogging. Yesterday wasn’t a terribly fun-filled day, but Wednesday, with all the fish and weather problems, was definitely worthy of a good mention. I was seated in the chair nearest th door to the Majuro Middle School teachers’ lounge. I had just finished writing about my fish escapade and had moved on to detailing Professor Garrod’s visit and criticism of my class. Bobby, the trouble making, smart talking, charming kid in my fourth period class showed his face for the first time since January 20th today. He and his mother came in for a meeting with the counselors and Principal Lenja. I had referred him to the office last time I saw him and he had finally returned to get the referral signed by myself, himself and his mother. Bobby had recently finished practicing his signature when three people burst into the door startling me and leaving my hands frozen in perfect, Mavis Beacon-home position on the keyboard. I looked over the edge of my laptop screen to see a teacher, Ben’s teacher, Rosita, escorting another man, I don’t know his name and one of her students. The man was carrying the student and the student didn’t look very good at all. They set him down in a chair which was directly in my line of sight. I figured I would let the teacher’s handle their business and I wouldn’t be nosey so I returned to blogging. I started to notice the little boy, his name was Rodian (or something like that), struggling to hold his head up. He was nodding like an old man does at church during a sermon. I couldn’t help but look up from my screen. It was then that I noticed that this boy also couldn’t keep his eyes open. But it was different. His eyelids were quite droopy but he was clearly out of it. It was like he was asleep with his eyes open. Every once in a while his eyes would roll back into his head. Just then one of the Marshallese teachers asked me, “Do you know First Aid?”
Having passed Basic-Aid-Training in fourth grade, I valiantly answered, “I know some. What’s wrong with him?” It was clear to me that the rescue breathing techniques that I knew were far too miniscule for this task. This kid was in need of some serious medical attention. I looked around the room for a towel that I could wet and put on the back of his neck. It was then that I realized that I was, in fact, the most capable person in the room of caring for this boy. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on me with the anticipation of words of wisdom to come from my mouth. I didn’t have them. I noticed the panic in their eyes and immediately knew that I would have to be the one to maintain poise in the situation. Fairly uncertain of what I was doing I went through the basics, “You,” I said while pointing to one of the teachers, “can you get me a clean towel. He needs something cold around his neck.”
I walked over to the sink to test out the temperature of the tap water. The tap wasn’t on. There was a gallon bottle of Pacific Spring Water next to the sink. It wasn’t terribly cold but it was cool enough to do the job. I turned to look at the boy. By now, the man that carried him in, was still seated next to him on a bench. The boy, however, was almost completely doubled over. His head was near his thighs and when his head bobbed he knocked his forehead on his knees a couple times.
“You need to keep his head up,” I barked, “he can’t afford to have all of this blood rushing to his head right now.”
I put my palm on his forehead to check if he had a fever. He didn’t. Next I gently propped his head up so that I could see his eyes. They were closed but almost in a state of REM (Rapid eye movement) sleep. His eye lids opened occasionally but it was clear that there was some brain activity going on underneath. As I lifted his head up, his neck gave way and before I knew it I had the whole weight of this kids head in my hands.
About that time one of the teachers came back with a towel. I wet the towel with the spring water and placed it on the boys neck. A couple different teachers were asking him questions about in Marshallese, he didn’t seem to be responding to any of them. No words, no eyebrow raise, nothing. When I put the wet towel on his neck his eyes opened up a little more and seemed to be somewhat more alert – although alert is certainly not a fair word for this kid’s condition.
Seeing that he was at least responding to the wet towel, I considered laying him on the ground. I weighed the pros and the cons and decided that it was best if I kept him sitting with his head up. By this time, I’m seeing myself in an out of body experience. I looked down at myself and asked, “How did I end up in this situation? Why is everyone actually listening to me? And this must be what it’s like to watch yourself play a doctor on TV.” All jokes aside though, I was scared shitless.
The counselor called the boys home but no one answered. Then one of the teachers volunteered her car to drive the boy home. I wondered why he wasn’t being driven to the hospital but it wasn’t really my call. I assumed it was protocol. So myself and the teacher that carried him in, then carried him out of the office and into a car. Meanwhile, classes were changing and so all of the children with classrooms near the office were watching us and chatting about what was going on. Again, being that I don’t speak Marshallese, I had no idea what they were saying, but I’m sure it wasn’t any different than what anyone in any other country would have said.
So when we opened the door of the car was opened, the passenger seat was reclined to about a 35 degree angle. Good call whoever that was. So I set him down into the car and then as the other man propped his legs into the vehicle, I opened the door behind him and situated his head on the head rest.
“Would you mind riding with Selina to his house?” One of the teachers asked me.
I couldn’t say no. It was now 10:00 a.m. and I was due to start teaching at 10:25 and my kids had a test but, I couldn’t just leave this kid with a clearly distraught Majuro Middle School secretary, “Sure, I’ll go.”
When I got into the car I could get a much better look at the boy. I sat behind the driver and he was reclined so his head was at a visible level for me from the back seat. He was a fair-skinned boy as is, probably had some American or Australian blood in him. He had nicely groomed short hair with a very crisp hairline. His perfectly blocked side burns extended to about halfway down his ear. His fair complexion was clearly not natural today, though, because the hue had an opaque, almost dead tint to it. His lips were white as if he had eaten a funnel cake from Kings Island without using his hands. I kept my hand around his neck applying pressure and trying to keep the coolness of the towel against his skin. I slid my hand around his neck to check his pulse and it was painstakingly low. I didn’t count the time but it was something like one beat every 1.5-2 seconds so may have been as low as 30 beats per minute.
I began to worry. I didn’t let Selina see it but I was quite frightened. I had to make sure the boy stayed alive. The day had turned from any day in the teachers’ lounge blogging before class, to a life and death situation that I was somehow volunteered for. In an attempt to keep the boy alive I tried talking to him, “Rodian, can you hear me? We’re going to take you home okay? You’re going to be fine, just stay awake with me until you get home okay?” He made an attempt to respond and I sensed a slight eyebrow raise. I was encouraged. I leaned back while keeping my hand on his neck. I could no longer feel his pulse because my hand slid backwards on to the nape of his neck. I decided to try tickling him under his arm to see if his reflexes were still in tact. They were. He didn’t move much but he did move his arm. He was still alive. I searched the shallow annals of my mind searching for what could be this kids problem. Out of nowhere, I was reminded of my journalism project last fall for my Creative Non Fiction.
Last fall, I followed around Foley Schmidt, the kicker of the Dartmouth Football team for a night. Foley has a very rare form of Diabetes where he has to wake up every hour of the night to check his sugar because when he sleeps his body goes into hypoglycemia and if it goes too low during his slumber he could never wake up. During the writing of that story, I witnessed Foley go into diabetic shock during a running routine for the football team. Similarly, Foley’s face was pale and his lips lost pigmentation as his eyelids fluttered and his mind teetered in and out of consciousness.
“We need to stop and get him some juice,” I yelled at Selina.
She pulled over to one of the Marshallese owned corner shops, “You think he needs some water?”
“I think he’s diabetic. He needs some sugar,” I responded confidently.
I wasn’t confident though. It was the only solution I could come to and I hoped that my limited medical knowledge was enough to save this kids life.
I tried pouring the Gatorade on his lips so that maybe he could lick them and get a taste and get some glucose back into his blood stream. The first pour some dripped down the side of his face leaving a red spot on his grey polo. Shortly thereafter, he raised his right hand, the first movement he had made other than being transported from the office to the car, and took the bottle from me. He sipped the Gatorade slowly for about five seconds before handing the bottle back to me. When I grabbed it back his hand fell back into his lap. Roughly 30 seconds later his lips began to look pinker.
“He’s getting some color back,” Selina said.
“Yeah, he is,” I agreed as I handed him the bottle again.
By the time we got to his house, Rodian had finished ¾ the bottle of Gatorade and color and life was returning to his face. I had an arm around him as he exited the car and walked up the stairs. His grandmother answered our yells of “Hello?” “Yokwe?” but by the time she came, Rodian was already halfway up the stairs. He held onto the rail and walked up, for the most part, by himself. I was there for support but he had regained strength. I set him down on the couch next to his brother who was watching a kids TV show in English where they were singing “Anything you can do I can do better” while rowing in a stationary, Kindergarten row boat.
When I set him down he began shivering rather violently. I said that he needed to be covered up and kept warm. The A/C in the house was on as was a fan which didn’t help the situation. Before they got a blanket out Selina motioned for us to leave and informed me that Rodian was being taken to the hospital.
“You did very well back there,” she told me as we were exiting the driveway.
I didn’t respond.
“My whole body still shaking,” she later said.
I didn’t talk very much on the way back. I was still in shock and worried shitless that Rodian would be okay. His family said that he had no history of diabetes. I’m no doctor but I think they need to update their medical records because he clearly has something. I’m still anxious when thinking about the whole thing. I just hope he lives. It would kill me to know that he suffered an injury or something based on the way the situation was handled. I know I’m not qualified nor expected to know how to handle such situations, but me being the person I am, I know that I couldn’t handle knowing that there was something else I could have done.
I will post more about Rodian when I hear further word. Until then, pray for him please. Until next time, from Majuro, bar lo eok!
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