Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Friday, August 13, 2010
camp joy
Yes, L's Diabetes Camp was actually called Camp Joy. The only name more perfect than that would have been Camp Relief. It allowed her to spend a week with a bunch of kids living through the same experiences she was. She didn't feel left out when she had to test her blood sugar before exercise, but the one counselor in her cabin without diabetes might have.
I was anxious as we drove through the countryside to Camp Joy, as it was L's first sleepaway camp. I decided to play one of her favorite records, The Hare's Corner, and it provided a perfectly soothing soundtrack to our travels. As we arrived, we were welcomed by the staff and the sight of camp counselors roaming around with sharps containers dangling from their backpacks was strangely comforting. We chatted at length with the doctor who would be sleeping in L's cabin and attending all the boating and hiking activities with her and that did even more to put my mind at ease.
All of her cabin mates were 10 years old, just like her, and she wasn't the only first timer in the bunch, so that made her feel more comfortable as well. We went outside to say our goodbyes and as I hugged her, she wouldn't let go. She is always the first to let go, but not on this day. So I clinged back, until she felt comfortable enough to let go. We all sighed and bravely said goodbye.
As John and I pulled out of the parking lot, we got a wave and a reassuring smile from one of the counselors. At least I think that's what it was; it was hard to tell through my tears. After a few miles, John and I had composed ourselves to the point where we could carry on a normal conversation. We passed a house holding a large yard sale on the front lawn. There were about 10 bikes of varying size for sale.
"I wonder why they have so many bikes to sell?" I said aloud.
Immediately, this thought popped into my head: "Maybe all their kids died".
"Maybe all their kids died," John said at exactly the same moment.
I told him I was thinking the exact same thing and we laughed and laughed. It was either that or a weeping sobfest, my friends. (OMG I saw Weeping Sobfest open for Nirvana at the Crocodile Cafe in '92, it was killer.)
L's week away from home passed without incident. She even found time to write us a note. In it she expressed disappointment at not being old enough to ride the zip line, which was the one activity she was most looking forward to. But she told us about some of the new friends she had made, and complained about the heat, just like any other kid away at camp.
When we picked her up on Saturday, her face and arms were covered in marker from a prank the counselors played on the kids as they slept during the final night (I <3 POO!). She told us she had jammed her pinky finger during a game earlier in the week. It was swollen, but nothing serious. She had spent six days and nights out of our sight and in someone else's care. We did not wake up at midnight and 3am every night to test her blood sugar; someone else did that for us. I cannot tell you how much I missed her. When I first saw her and scooped her up in a hug, she squeezed back for just a moment, and was the first to let go.
taken as we dropped her off, as evidenced by the distinct lack of graffiti on her face and arms. also, she's still wearing her medical alert bracelet. who wears one of those to diabetes camp anyway? /n00b
I was anxious as we drove through the countryside to Camp Joy, as it was L's first sleepaway camp. I decided to play one of her favorite records, The Hare's Corner, and it provided a perfectly soothing soundtrack to our travels. As we arrived, we were welcomed by the staff and the sight of camp counselors roaming around with sharps containers dangling from their backpacks was strangely comforting. We chatted at length with the doctor who would be sleeping in L's cabin and attending all the boating and hiking activities with her and that did even more to put my mind at ease.
All of her cabin mates were 10 years old, just like her, and she wasn't the only first timer in the bunch, so that made her feel more comfortable as well. We went outside to say our goodbyes and as I hugged her, she wouldn't let go. She is always the first to let go, but not on this day. So I clinged back, until she felt comfortable enough to let go. We all sighed and bravely said goodbye.
As John and I pulled out of the parking lot, we got a wave and a reassuring smile from one of the counselors. At least I think that's what it was; it was hard to tell through my tears. After a few miles, John and I had composed ourselves to the point where we could carry on a normal conversation. We passed a house holding a large yard sale on the front lawn. There were about 10 bikes of varying size for sale.
"I wonder why they have so many bikes to sell?" I said aloud.
Immediately, this thought popped into my head: "Maybe all their kids died".
"Maybe all their kids died," John said at exactly the same moment.
I told him I was thinking the exact same thing and we laughed and laughed. It was either that or a weeping sobfest, my friends. (OMG I saw Weeping Sobfest open for Nirvana at the Crocodile Cafe in '92, it was killer.)
L's week away from home passed without incident. She even found time to write us a note. In it she expressed disappointment at not being old enough to ride the zip line, which was the one activity she was most looking forward to. But she told us about some of the new friends she had made, and complained about the heat, just like any other kid away at camp.
When we picked her up on Saturday, her face and arms were covered in marker from a prank the counselors played on the kids as they slept during the final night (I <3 POO!). She told us she had jammed her pinky finger during a game earlier in the week. It was swollen, but nothing serious. She had spent six days and nights out of our sight and in someone else's care. We did not wake up at midnight and 3am every night to test her blood sugar; someone else did that for us. I cannot tell you how much I missed her. When I first saw her and scooped her up in a hug, she squeezed back for just a moment, and was the first to let go.
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