CHARLESTON, W.Va. -- In one of Eric Duesenberry's first memories, people in white coats are bursting through the door. Something is beeping. He can't breathe. People are grabbing him. Someone is giving him a shot.
He is 3 years old, in a mist tent, having a severe asthma attack.
He was in the hospital 20 times before he was 4, his mother said. As a toddler, he had allergies so severe, he required daily shots. His early life was filled with terrifying events. "I'd wake up in an ambulance, scared to death," he remembered.
As a side effect of his medicine, he was constantly hungry. "The doctors told us to expect that," said his father, Ernie Duesenberry.
"But I won't blame the medicine or my early experiences entirely," said Eric, 25. "Food also became a big comfort to me."
His mother, Sharon Duesenberry, said, "We were young parents. He was our only child, so when he was little and crying at night, we felt so bad for him, we'd get him whatever would comfort him, and sometimes that was a pizza."
Eric had what researchers call "adverse childhood experiences" that break a child's trust that they are safe in the adult world. Research shows that whatever the adverse experience, such children are more likely to have problems, including obesity and difficulty learning.
It does not mean they will, but statistically the likelihood is great. Eric is proving it doesn't have to stay that way.
He grew fast. By the time he was in third grade, "they had to bring a desk down from the sixth grade for me." The teasing was "pretty constant," he said. "My teachers tried to watch out for me."
By seventh grade he weighed 250 pounds. By the time he was a senior, "they couldn't weigh me on a standard scale anymore." He had topped 400 pounds.
He could give answers orally but had trouble writing things down -- a learning disability. His teachers said he tested high on subjects such as history and science. To escape, he read constantly. "I won the summer library prize three years running for the kid who read the most books."
By his senior year, he no longer took allergy shots and cortisone, "but I kept telling myself the weight would drop off. I was in denial."
He hit his turning point a few months before he graduated. One day, his gym teacher got called away for a phone call while students were doing pushups. Eric was on the floor, trying. "I couldn't do any more than two. When I tried to get up, I couldn't get up past my knees."
Nobody helped him. He started crawling toward the bleachers. Someone moved to give him a hand up, but "a guy said, 'No, let the egg crawl.'" Students began to snicker.
In that moment, he said, "It all just washed over me. I saw how enormous I was, how bloated. By the time I pulled myself up on the bleachers, terrible thoughts were going through my head."
That incident "could easily have had a tragic outcome if he had not had a strong support system at home," said John Linton, acting director of CAMC's Behavioral Medicine Department. "Shattering moments can move a person to change if there's good support, but they can also make the person much worse."
Eric told his mother and grandmother what happened. "My mom comforted me, and my grandma gave me a wakeup call," he said. She "is a no-nonsense West Virginia woman who tells it like it is. She said I had a choice to stay that big, or I could decide to change.
"If I stayed that way, she said, I'd die young. She said it just like that -- kind, but serious. It really sank in on me.
"It had never hit me before that I had a choice, that I really could choose. I thought that's just how my life was."
'Are you serious about changing?'