Perhaps the average, healthy person might wonder what it means to have diabetes. How does it change one’s life, personality, expectations, future, friends, lifestyle? I can’t answer how my life would be different if I did not have diabetes, beyond saying that I dream it would be less painful, less responsible, and much easier. Without the power to change my health, I can honestly say that having diabetes has been a…blessing. A weird, complicated, unexpected blessing. I speculate as to whether I am in actuality a better person because of my disease. Maybe it brought out my responsible, perseverant character. It most certainly threw one huge blessing my way: diabetes camp every summer—where I met my best friend.
Whenever I mention “diabetes camp” I receive fat camp jokes (which are unappreciated). It’s simply like a normal summer camp, with the addition of nurses/doctors milling about, diabetes education, and blood sugar check/insulin injection times. Diabetes camp in some inexplicable way provided me a place to feel normal after I was diagnosed with diabetes; it gave me a vacation from diabetes by completely immersing me in a little diabetic-friendly world. I’ve served as a counselor for the past few years, which gave me a new perspective on diabetics in general. I started going to camp when eight years old and have now had campers older than I was when I was diagnosed. They seem so young, too young to bear such responsibility. Diabetes isn’t something that can be forgotten, something you can just take a day off from. When a diabetic slips up, forgets to take insulin, doesn’t check his/her blood sugar, there are immediate consequences—feeling miserable, potentially passing out, even possibly having a seizure and dying—and additional long term consequences from sustained bad blood sugars—kidney disease, losing a limb, blindness, etc.
Keeping that in mind, perhaps it becomes clear why a diabetic needs a vacation even when a diabetic cannot truly ever have a vacation. Camp, even as a counselor instead of camper, with all the responsibilities of caring for kids instead of being one, has always been a haven. Away from family, home, friends, stress, away from most “non-diabetics” (and the “nons” that do attend as staff are awesome and supportive), diabetes becomes the norm, and we just relax, have fun, forget, slip away.
My week flew by this year. Instead of being a counselor to girls, due to a lack of boy staff volunteers and surplus of girl volunteers, I was a counselor to boys. As usual, we had our normal activities like canoeing, rifles, archery, horseback riding, crafts, games, nature, swimming etc. I canoed in smelly water, tried to shoot a bow and arrow the completely wrong way, dominated at limbo (sort of), was dunked countless times, went on beautiful morning and evening walks, and had our delicious camp treat called “smoogies,” which are frozen graham crackers, banana, and peanut butter sandwiches. During potato sack races I completely wiped out across the finish line and landed in a laughing, breathless heap. On our final night, there was a giant slip-n-slide that I slid down and displayed my utter klutziness, accidentally doing all sorts of random flips and turns. I received the “Not at all sarcastic” award at our campfire and ate some yummy smores while listening to the camp ghost, "Aunt Fifi," and watching seemingly hundreds of fireflies dancing in the woods.
I had hoped to perhaps come to a greater understanding of the male sex through being a counselor in a boys’ cabin; it didn’t happen. Through being comfortable discussing bodily functions, I think I mastered the whole boy thing...and I'm guessing there must be a bigger difference between the sexes. I concluded that to move from being a girl to a boy counselor, simply substitute horsing around for doing hair, discussing sports with discussing boys, and running from farts for dance parties. Children can be brutally honest, and one kid told me I looked like his mother while the cabin collectively told me I looked like Hannah Montana. Thanks, boys. I brought my stuffed animal pancreas, Patty, and the boys hung her from the rafter with streamers. While I thought it was a noose, they explained she was ziplining. Overall, despite not really understanding boys any better, the boys were awesome, and it was fun to switch it up a bit.
But most importantly, I had my annual reunion with my best friend. Jess and I usually only get to see each other for one week per year, although we talk throughout the day via text, bbm, facebook, skype, letters, phone calls—any way possible to communicate, we’ve utilized it. Every time we see each other, we act so blasé and fail to feel, even while recognizing, the significance of our time together. It always feels so natural, since she knows me best in the world. And every time we part, I say goodbye and think I’ll be seeing her tomorrow. It still hasn’t hit me that I won’t see her for over a year. Due to third term at Oxford ending after camp finishes next summer, I won’t be at diabetes camp for 2 years.
Despite trying to savor camp, the week simply evaporated. I met some amazing people, realized there had been amazing people right in front of me all along, and spent time with my best friend. Another year of camp gone, the major milestone of my summer completed. I do not miss the lack of AC, the bugs that followed my every step, the waking up at 6 a.m. I do miss the beautiful natural scenery, the nine boys who reminded me of how inspirational and courageous children can be, the belly-hurting, all-out laughter I experienced daily, the fun, the people, the experiences. I’m grateful that I live in this day and age, where diabetes management becomes increasingly less burdensome, less painful. I’m thankful for that little camp, full of amazing people who remind me that even apparent hardships can sometimes reap truly meaningful blessings.
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