Papamoa's Josie Calcott speaks to local group Wonder Women at Macau Tuesday night. Josie's volunteer team is raising $40,000 to get her a second cochlear implant. Photo/Dawn Picken
Papamoa's Josie Calcott speaks to local group Wonder Women at Macau Tuesday night. Josie's volunteer team is raising $40,000 to get her a second cochlear implant. Photo/Dawn Picken
As I write this Thursday, the search for two men lost in rugged bush in Tongariro National Park is on hold. Specialist search teams, the police dive squad and hundreds of volunteers looked for 10 days, finding only remains of a campfire and discarded clothing.
Those volunteers - men and women who've pressed pause on jobs, families and other commitments - were looking for two men police say abandoned a stolen car and ran for the hills.
Why expend our most precious resource - time - on alleged lawbreakers? Why commit unpaid hours to any person or cause?
Here's the thing: Volunteers with Tauranga Land Search and Rescue, like my friend, orthopaedic surgeon Vaughan Poutawera, say the missing person's status doesn't matter.
"I don't think there's any reason not to try and find someone who's lost in the bush whether they've pinched a car or not... I do the same work, the same surgery for a criminal as any other honest member of the public."
Teamwork and a sense of fulfilling a higher purpose fuel many such efforts. While studies have shown volunteering improves mental and even physical health, anyone who has given of themselves knows rewards often supersede effort. Greek philosopher Aristotle said the essence of life is "To serve others and to do good".
A long time ago (2009/2010) in a galaxy far, far away (Spokane, WA, USA), a group of friends, fellow church members and acquaintances shepherded our family through my late husband's four-and-a-half month hospitalisation and later through a period of mourning as we grieved his death.
They set up a donation website; organised fundraisers and brought meals, wine and stories to our home.
Neighbours fed my (then 4 and 5-year-old) children and kept them for sleepovers.
Help came at such a frenetic pace, I responded with partial emotional paralysis. "I don't know that I can manage thank-you notes," I said. A friend took care of that, too. I felt humbled. Unnerved. The force of Sean's illness, sudden and violent, moved our village to action.
Reassuring foot soldiers kept my knees from hitting the hard hospital floor while ensuring a mountain of medical bills wouldn't smother us in frustration and sorrow.
Western culture values self-sufficiency and reciprocity. How the hell could I reciprocate? I probably couldn't, especially after moving to New Zealand -11,500km from our volunteer army's base.
I try instead to pay it forward. When a running buddy said she was ready to start raising $40,000 for a second cochlear implant, I jumped into her support circle.
Josie Calcott, deaf since toddlerhood, has said she's overwhelmed by our efforts - movie and race nights, a sausage sizzle and car wash, protein bar sales, race marshalling and running - all either in the books or in the works.
We've raised around $12,000 after just four months. It's like a marathon - train hard, eat well, and when the finish is near, get emotional. Then celebrate.
I do it for the camaraderie as well as for the cause. Sure, Josie's captain of our running club and an ambassador for a national foundation raising awareness of cochlear implants, but who doesn't want an excuse (yet another) to hang with friends and drink wine?
We volunteer not only because we can offer skills (my talent is connecting with smart people), but also because it's fun.
When he's not in the operating theatre, orthopaedic surgeon Vaughan Poutawera volunteers with LandSAR. He recently helped in the search for two missing men in Tongariro National Park. Photo/Supplied
Vaughan says his recent Tongariro search with Tauranga LandSAR was tough and cold. The bush was so dense and wet: "Every tree you touch just rains on you. The funny thing is, I enjoy it -getting out there, getting muddy, getting dirty."
Vaughan's childhood spent camping and tramping helped prepare him for search and rescue, whereas my childhood prepared me to scour shopping malls. If someone's lost between Farmer's and Countdown, send me in - I'll use my uncanny consumer and navigational expertise to track them, buy them sushi and return them safely to their family.
Working on the cochlear campaign and seeing results is a balm when so much of life is wheel-spinning: deadlines for paid jobs; endless washing loads; crumbs underfoot; the thrust and parry of children arguing why they can't or won't accede to my requests.
Helping Josie's crimson fundraising thermometer grow is rewarding. So is watching her speak to groups, where she demonstrates how a cochlear implant works and explains how she worked in a home for children with disabilities before being accepted to nursing school on her third try.
Despite Josie's adaptations and a single cochlear device implanted five years ago, she misses parts of conversations. She told a group called Wonder Women at Macau Tuesday night: "You need to be able to have two ears to hear well, to single out sounds in a noisy environment."
Within a year's time, Josie will get her implant. I've already received something from our ad hoc committee: an understanding of my friends' tremendous talents; an inside look at how a grassroots campaign can work; and extra get togethers. Also, a sense of utility transcending paid employment or unpaid domestic servitude.
Surgeon searcher Vaughan agrees, saying he was looking for something adventurous outside work. "It ticks a lot of boxes. It's fun, healthy, I'm getting exercise, upskilling and maintaining navigation skills... there's something satisfying about working with colleagues, getting into the bush. If you weren't enjoying it, I don't think you'd keep at it."
