Today, I transformed myself from Mum and Carer into Supersleuth extraordinare.
I am not easily shocked, but I have to admit, when I found out about some disturbing information from two very reliable sources, I decided to check it out before I drew any conclusions.
My findings have left me utterly disgusted.
Let me explain….
I have a great friend who works in Emergency/Triage at a hospital. He deals with pretty much everything from kids with high fevers to victims of horrible road accidents. I guess he’s pretty unshockable, too.
We caught up over New Year for a chat, and he started to tell me something, and then quickly withdrew the comment telling me that I didn’t want to know. I could tell by his body language that it was something that he had regretted starting to say. Now, when someone does the old “Oh, never mind,” or “It doesn’t matter,” my curiosity (which is very active anyway) gets the better of me, I beg, plead and grovel until I get my way. Sometimes, it really doesn’t matter. or I shouldn’t have minded. However, my mate couldn’t look at me and his face and ears had turned a brilliant shade of scarlet.
I pestered and reasoned with him for about 10 minutes until he finally relented.
“Oh…this guy was rushed into emergency unconscious, and it turned out that his blood sugar was really low. We just gave him some glucagon and a sweet drink and then the registrar came to visit and inspect what was going on. This guy was absolutely huge,not overweight, but as strong as a tiger,he could have flattened me in one swipe. The muscles..even at the gym I’ve never seen anything like these muscles.”
I was impressed that a young guy with Type 1 Diabetes was apparently setting out to obtain a impressive physique. But there was more…
“Anyway, he was in a real hurry to discharge himself, and the doctor said that he wanted to keep his eye on him for a few hours and wait until he had eaten something substantial. The doc left the room, and I started getting his medication details. I asked him how long he had been diagnosed for, to which he replied, “Four years.” Then I asked him what insulins he was taking, and he said the name of a rapid, to which I replied “and?” You have no idea how much he was squirming at this point. He then said in hushed tones,
‘I don’t have betes okay? I just use a bit of slin from time to time when I’ve got a comp on. Can I go now?’
“So it turns out that this guy is a professional body builder, and he injects fast acting insulin, and then crams himself like crazy with Mars Bars and sweets and as many carbs as he can. He has little bursts of insulin on a regular basis, and because it’s totally undetectable in a urine sample, it’s considered “the ‘perfect’ performance enhancing drug.”
I was actually shocked.
This is the theory responsible for how insulin has become the favourite underground performance enhancer.
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Insulin is used in bodybuilding to increase the bulk of muscles. Regular injections of short-acting insulin are combined with a high carbohydrate diet and this has two helpful effects.
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Firstly, the insulin works in the same way as it does in endurance athletes – increasing the volume of glycogen and leading to an increase in muscle bulk.
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The second effect is that it prevents the breakdown of muscle protein. This means more muscle is made than destroyed, thereby increasing the size of muscles.
My mate felt dreadful that he had told me, considering that insulin is 100% responsible for keeping Lance alive. I felt angry that such expensive treatment that is so heavily subsidised and accepted by the Australian Government as essential for the wellbeing an longevity of people with Type 1 Diabetes, is being used as the ‘perfect’ performance enhancer in the bodybuilding circuits.
Of 420 bodybuilders at one gym, each was asked if they were using insulin alone or with steroids. 10% admitted that they were.
The tragic irony amongst this incredibly dangerous practice, is that these muscle junkies, desperate to attain the uber body, are often diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes later in life as a result of regular use, because the body’s own insulin production falters.
The risks associated with self-administering insulin is so frightening; most people have no idea how much to use, often resulting in hypoglycaemic symptoms, and as a result are often too confused and disorientated to pick up the phone and call an ambulance. There have been reports of bodybuilders all over the world being rushed to hospital suffering from classic hypo symptoms and unconciousness as a result of low blood sugar. However, as the insulin they favour is rapid acting, they recover very quickly. Even a person with Diabetes who has to self administer insulin, or requires a parent to give the correct amount are dealing with a very dangerous drug. The high risk of unconsciousness, coma or death are all very real, and are now taken with a grain of salt. Even though insulin in itself is not an addictive medication, the routine of injecting, muscles growing stronger, bigger and harder, and the obvious increase in endurance are all enough to classify insulin abuse as a pyschological dependency.
But wait! There’s more..
A female friend of mine is having physio on her knee after a netball injury. She has Type 1 Diabetes, and whilst waiting for an appointment, she couldn’t help but notice a chunky, well built guy take a seat. The sleeves of his t shirt were cutting into the muscles bulging out of his arms. She had a 45 minute wait, so she decided to perform a fingerprick on herself. She grabbed a muesli bar from her backpack, as her reading was 5.6mmol/L-an excellent result, but one that would definitely result in a hypo if she had to wait and then endure a taxing session with the physio.
Suddenly, she looked up and saw the musclechunk sitting right beside her. He was engaging in general chit-chat, asked her where her pain was, how she hurt herself, how she copes with sport and Type 1 Diabetes. My friend is a beautiful, innocent, sweet-hearted little kitten; she had no idea that any moment she was going to be hit on. Or should I say, hit up.
By the time she went into her appointment, Boofhead had conned her into giving him two vials of rapid acting insulin that she always keeps with her in her hypobag. “Apparently”, some “creep” had gone through his bag at the pool and stolen his medication kit which contained his imaginary insulin equipment for his imaginary Type 1 Diabetes. He was even brazen enough to say that it was probably a “junkie” looking for something a little bit harder than insulin, and how disappointed they would be. He pulled the “Oh, I’m gonna be crook tonight, my levels will be through the roof” routine on her. She was a sucker for a cute boy in distress, but she grew suspicious when he rushed off after he had persuaded, charmed and conquered. He used the excuse that he had a friend to pick up from the bus station and how they would be waiting. She decided to ask the receptionist whose appointment was first, hers or his; the receptionist replied, “Oh! I thought he was with you! He’s not a patient here..”
My friend quickly contacted me when she arrived home, audibly upset, and generally feeling violated that she had been played for a fool. We decided whether we should contact the police and report that there was a sheister targetting people with Type 1 Diabetes. She decided against it, as she felt that she had willingly given it to him. Despite my frustration, I respected her decision.
So, today, I decided to find out if there is a significant silent problem in the area. Afterall, Lance has Type 1 Diabetes, and I am responsible for his insulin.
I headed for the Needle Exchange at the hospital. The girl behind the perspex barrier with pea sized circles to project our voices through asked me “what I was after.” As it is a completely confidential program, I knew that I wouldn’t be getting any information from the staff about bodybuilders injecting insulin. Feeling my face turn hot and red, I asked for needles suitable for injecting insulin. (I felt quite the fool, knowing that Lance had used these very syringes when he was diagnosed.)
“Are you a diabetic?” she queried.
“Oh no, no..”I stuttered. (Hopeless Liar!!) I need them for.. other purposes.”
“Okay, how many were you after?”
“Um..just two?” I replied, not wanting to appear too obvious or like I was a runner for my non-existent beefcake boyfriend.
“Okay..just a few questions..how often do you use?”
She asked me like she wanted to know if I wanted Coke or Diet Coke.
I replied, “Oh, they are actually not for me. My partner has a competition coming up, and he wants to get just a bit bigger so he can perform to his best, you know?”
“Oh okay..well, how often would you say he uses?”
“Umm, up to 4 times a day?”
“Hmm. You’re going to need more than 2 needles in that case. I’ll give you a pack of 20 then.” she said, totally deadpan.
“Oh..okay. So, what do people usually ask for when they come here for needles? I mean for, you know, insulin, for..non-diabetics.”
“The maximum we give out is 2 packs of 20, and then we give 10ml barrels with different sized guages for the steroids.You can add the insulin in with the steroid and avoid having two injections.”
She said it. She actually made reference to insulin being used in an illicit nature.
She had fallen into my trap without any danger or suspecting that I was looking for information. I was feeling really uncomfortable however, as other clients had started to line up. They seemed edgy, shuffling their feet, watching the seconds tick by on their watches. I could sense their urgency.
I wanted out.
“So just the 10mls then? I’ll give you a pack of 10, see how you go.”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine. Just those, please.”
“Oh and before you go, okay, I have to tell everybody this, if your boyfriend appears tired or irrational or unable to stand after he injects, he will need to be brought straight to the hospital. You can ask your doctor for a Glucagon Kit, which will reverse the side effects. But, yeah. Just be careful with the insulin, okay?”
“Yep, no problem. Thanks.”
She handed my a pile of brochures on safe sex, Hepatitis C, Sexually Transmitted Diseases, a pack of condoms and some lubricant and a fridge magnet with their hours of business printed on it.
In the other hand was a brown paper bag with the contraband.
(I had to work at a Needle Exchange whilst studying a Counselling Unit in Psychology. I knew from my time there that even if you personally find giving needles for shooting up drugs morally deplorable, the main objective is to promote safe usage of needles, and to reduce the harm factor. Clean, unused and plentiful needles and sharps containers that are free and easily obtained lessens the chance of users sharing needles and equipment, therefore reducing the chances of contracting or spreading blood borne diseases such as Hepatitis C and HIV.)
My next mission was to a gym, it has a reputation for body sculpting and personal trainers that work you hard for optimum results. I went in and approached the counter, asked questions about membership, and the possibility of hiring a personal trainer. Whilst I was filling out the forms, an impressive looking guy emerged from a door behind the counter. He sat down beside me, and read my nome de plume off the form.
“Christine! Great to meet you! You’re thinking of getting a personal trainer for the New Year huh?” he asked enthusiastically.
“Well, I want to ask some questions first. So maybe you can help me?” I flashed my widest and most enticing smile.
“Oh sure, sure, sure. I’m your man. What areas of your body did you want to concentrate on?” he asked, whilst maintaining strict eye contact with me.
“Umm..probably just general toning up, I’m pretty happy being me actually. You see, since my son was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, I don’t have time for luxuries such as the gym anymore. But I think he’s old enough now that he could come to the creche and wait until I had finished my session.”
“Oh, poor little guy! So, does that mean he’s on insulin?” he asked.
“Oh yeah. Never leave home without it.” I smiled.
“Well, no dramas there. You are welcome to keep some stock for emergencies marked with his name on it in our staff room fridge. That’s what we do for our other diabetics.”Hmmm, interesting…
“Wow! You mean you have other people who leave their insulin here? That’s such a sensible idea!” I exclaimed, I was waiting for the chance to nab him whilst he was vulnerable..
“Yes, well we think so. So, you’d need to bring glucagon along as well, wouldn’t ya? I mean, it’s risky for any diabetic not to have a box of that in the fridge,” I was so close, but I just didn’t know how to sew up the conversation…
“Well no, I wouldn’t leave that in the fridge, I actually keep that very close to me at all times.”I assured him firmly.
“Oh, actually, you will get the best possible results if you keep it refrigerated you know..one of those along with his insulins would certainly keep your mind at ease.” he smiled.
“Hm. Yeah.” (So nervous at this point.) “Um..actually, is it true that you guys have had Australian Champions in body building that have trained at this gym?” I asked with mock interest.
He proudly pointed to a cabinet full of trophies.
“We have done really, really well, Christine. We’ve exceded our expectations in all areas of the centre. I’m sure you will have a very positive experience with us.” he smiled warmly. OK..do it now…
“Well, that’s probably true, but my biggest concern is why you want me to have my son’s insulin here so badly, I am fully aware of insulin abuse and I know that our city is not immune from it. Stealing insulin from a person with Diabetes is so unbelievably serious, you know that don’t you? I mean, it’s an offence that you could easily be charged for, and possibly even face jail time over.”
His obvious fake-tanned face turned red, his enthusiasm was replaced with a snipey, punctuated hate speech.
“How DARE you come IN here ACCUSING ME of running MY establishment…hang on, are you a COP? I’m NOT saying anything else until I get MY lawyer on the phone. You’re a F*****G EVIL W***E, B***H!”
“Oh, thanks so much for that. That pretty much answers all of my questions. It’s amazing how you can dob yourself in without even realising it. Here’s your form and pen, and thank you so much for your time.”
I got out of the building without him saying another word.
I thought that I might actually vomit as I crossed the road. Admittedly, I was shaken after being sworn at by someone who obviously had a truly nasty streak, but also that the time has come where my child’s insulin is now considered valuable on the black market.
At this point, I just had to get today off my chest, as I am considering what to do next. I know I was playing with fire, but I just needed to know.
It will be interesting to watch World Records being broken in China at the Olympic Games later this year.
Why did the insulin die in my pancreas? 
