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One Time, At Diabetes Camp...
Jun. 21st, 2017 04:22 pmThe summer after I was diagnosed, I attended a week-long camp for people with Diabetes. There are many similar camps across the country for children (usually age 5-15), and there happened to be one at a camp near where we lived. Many children find Diabetes camp to be a life-changing, amazing experience. Or at least that’s what I hear. I, however, did not have that kind of experience.
The camp was owned by CampFire Boys and Girls. I happened to be part of a group of blind friends, and our group was under CampFire’s umbrella. So I’d often go on camping trips with the group at this camp. This made me familiar with the camp grounds, at least mildly.
Diabetes camp, for many children, is an opportunity to be with other children with Diabetes, maybe for the first time. You know all the carbs for every meal. You all take your insulin and test your blood sugars at the same time. This may have been a really cool thing to experience, if my brother and I weren’t doing it every day at home. I lived with someone else with Diabetes, so that aspect of camp didn’t really phase me. (Although, it was kind of cool to wake up and test my blood sugar with eight other girls in my cabin!)
We arrived on a Sunday afternoon, signed in, dropped our bags off in our cabins, and our parents left us with our counselor for the week. My brother was seven at the time, and I was fourteen, so we were in completely different groups and didn’t see much of each other the whole week. I was one of the first of my group to be left with the counselor. For a few minutes, it was just a blond-haired girl with Type 2 and I standing in the grass with our enthusiastic counselor. Once everyone else was there, we stood in a circle and introduced ourselves. I was, of course, the only person with a disability, and the blond girl was the only person with Type 2. I felt like this should maybe bond us somehow, but it didn’t.
That night, and for the entire week, the girls in my cabin walked beside me. They all seemed eager to help, to be my guide, to be my eyes. It was nice, but it also made me feel like I wasn’t equal.
I was walking with one of the girls from my cabin to breakfast one morning. “Do you like camp,” she asked.
“Yeah.”
I don’t think I sounded sure in my response, but she replied, “I do, too, because everyone’s the same.”
But I didn’t feel the same. No one else was walking around with a white cane and walking around holding onto someone’s arm. Everyone else was able to participate in the baseball game, the small group dance lead by a camp staff member, the art project, and other camp activities. It wasn’t that I was excluded completely from all of these activities, but they weren’t very accessible to me. I remember sitting on the sidelines with a counselor at the baseball game. During the group dance, we all stood in two lines facing the person leading the dance steps. I tried to follow by watching the person next to me, but I was always at least one step behind. I bit down on the straw of my water bottle and tried not to cry.
I wish I could say that Diabetes camp changed my life. I wish I could say I made life-long friends there. But neither of those things happened. Here are a couple other things that did happen:
• The girl with Type 2 fell off the giant tire swing on the ropes course and hit her head. She had to be hospitalized and missed camp for the rest of the week. We all signed a get well card for her.
• There was a dance at the end of the week, and there was a boy who wanted to dance with me. I say he was a boy, but he was about my age. Some of the girls in my cabin encouraged me to dance with him, so I did. He was bigger and taller than I was, and very sweaty. I felt awkward dancing with him, but it was nice that he wanted to dance with me.
• On the last night of camp, we had a bonfire. Several people had sticks that they’d put in the fire and shared a memory from camp or dedicated their stick to someone. One girl from my cabin said her stick was for me, for my bravery. I was flattered by this, but in some ways it was just one more thing that made me stand out. But it was sweet that she thought of me.
• Friday afternoon we took a bus trip to a baseball stadium in the city limits. I stood outside, my nostrils filling with the diesel fuel from the buses, waiting for everyone to get organized and for someone to tell me where to be. "What's that?" The question came from a girl in a striped shirt and ponytail who had appeared beside me. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. It took a minute for me to realize what she was asking about. I explained that the cane helps me see. She sounded amazed when she said, “Wow, so you’re blind and you have Diabetes?” Yes. Aren’t I lucky?
• I argued with the counselor in my cabin one morning.
Me: I’m low. I need to eat.
Counselor: You’re only 83. You’re not really low. We’re going to eat breakfast in a few minutes.
Me: But I feel low!
Counselor: Just wait a few minutes. You’ll feel better after breakfast.
• One evening we had carnival games and food, including popcorn and cotton candy. Consequently, everyone had high blood sugars.
I am not saying that Diabetes camp was the worst experience of my life. But I think I came to it from a different perspective than other campers did. I left wanting to have gotten more out of it than I did, wanting to be changed but really just staying the same. I hope this post does not come across as discouraging others to go to camp. I think my experience is rare—that most campers truly find camp to be a life-changing, positive experience. I hope so!
The camp was owned by CampFire Boys and Girls. I happened to be part of a group of blind friends, and our group was under CampFire’s umbrella. So I’d often go on camping trips with the group at this camp. This made me familiar with the camp grounds, at least mildly.
Diabetes camp, for many children, is an opportunity to be with other children with Diabetes, maybe for the first time. You know all the carbs for every meal. You all take your insulin and test your blood sugars at the same time. This may have been a really cool thing to experience, if my brother and I weren’t doing it every day at home. I lived with someone else with Diabetes, so that aspect of camp didn’t really phase me. (Although, it was kind of cool to wake up and test my blood sugar with eight other girls in my cabin!)
We arrived on a Sunday afternoon, signed in, dropped our bags off in our cabins, and our parents left us with our counselor for the week. My brother was seven at the time, and I was fourteen, so we were in completely different groups and didn’t see much of each other the whole week. I was one of the first of my group to be left with the counselor. For a few minutes, it was just a blond-haired girl with Type 2 and I standing in the grass with our enthusiastic counselor. Once everyone else was there, we stood in a circle and introduced ourselves. I was, of course, the only person with a disability, and the blond girl was the only person with Type 2. I felt like this should maybe bond us somehow, but it didn’t.
That night, and for the entire week, the girls in my cabin walked beside me. They all seemed eager to help, to be my guide, to be my eyes. It was nice, but it also made me feel like I wasn’t equal.
I was walking with one of the girls from my cabin to breakfast one morning. “Do you like camp,” she asked.
“Yeah.”
I don’t think I sounded sure in my response, but she replied, “I do, too, because everyone’s the same.”
But I didn’t feel the same. No one else was walking around with a white cane and walking around holding onto someone’s arm. Everyone else was able to participate in the baseball game, the small group dance lead by a camp staff member, the art project, and other camp activities. It wasn’t that I was excluded completely from all of these activities, but they weren’t very accessible to me. I remember sitting on the sidelines with a counselor at the baseball game. During the group dance, we all stood in two lines facing the person leading the dance steps. I tried to follow by watching the person next to me, but I was always at least one step behind. I bit down on the straw of my water bottle and tried not to cry.
I wish I could say that Diabetes camp changed my life. I wish I could say I made life-long friends there. But neither of those things happened. Here are a couple other things that did happen:
• The girl with Type 2 fell off the giant tire swing on the ropes course and hit her head. She had to be hospitalized and missed camp for the rest of the week. We all signed a get well card for her.
• There was a dance at the end of the week, and there was a boy who wanted to dance with me. I say he was a boy, but he was about my age. Some of the girls in my cabin encouraged me to dance with him, so I did. He was bigger and taller than I was, and very sweaty. I felt awkward dancing with him, but it was nice that he wanted to dance with me.
• On the last night of camp, we had a bonfire. Several people had sticks that they’d put in the fire and shared a memory from camp or dedicated their stick to someone. One girl from my cabin said her stick was for me, for my bravery. I was flattered by this, but in some ways it was just one more thing that made me stand out. But it was sweet that she thought of me.
• Friday afternoon we took a bus trip to a baseball stadium in the city limits. I stood outside, my nostrils filling with the diesel fuel from the buses, waiting for everyone to get organized and for someone to tell me where to be. "What's that?" The question came from a girl in a striped shirt and ponytail who had appeared beside me. She couldn’t have been more than nine or ten. It took a minute for me to realize what she was asking about. I explained that the cane helps me see. She sounded amazed when she said, “Wow, so you’re blind and you have Diabetes?” Yes. Aren’t I lucky?
• I argued with the counselor in my cabin one morning.
Me: I’m low. I need to eat.
Counselor: You’re only 83. You’re not really low. We’re going to eat breakfast in a few minutes.
Me: But I feel low!
Counselor: Just wait a few minutes. You’ll feel better after breakfast.
• One evening we had carnival games and food, including popcorn and cotton candy. Consequently, everyone had high blood sugars.
I am not saying that Diabetes camp was the worst experience of my life. But I think I came to it from a different perspective than other campers did. I left wanting to have gotten more out of it than I did, wanting to be changed but really just staying the same. I hope this post does not come across as discouraging others to go to camp. I think my experience is rare—that most campers truly find camp to be a life-changing, positive experience. I hope so!
