My first diabetes camp

At the end of my first summer post-diagnosis, I went to an overnight summer camp called Camp Lakota. Camp Lakota, directed by the American Diabetes Association, was a 

camp exclusively for Type 1 Diabetics. Needless to say, it was a great opportunity, especially since I had little to no experience as to how other people lived with the disease. A weekend long, it was a family camp, and my dad would be coming with me and staying as a part of the learning experience. It was a long drive from home, on the other side of the state in fact, so I slept almost the whole way there, and when I awoke, I was in the middle of the woods far away from home. Bleary eyed, I helped my dad carry the backpacks to the first meeting place. We filed into the dining hall, and there was a modest assortment of families gathered inside, chatting and waiting for everyone to arrive. We were a little early, so we sat near them and made small talk. All the kids, me included, were a little shy that first day, so it was really the parents trading story. As always, my father’s booming laugh filled the area, so any cover I had was blown. As time went on, more families filtered in…then some more…then…wow, there were…a lot of people here! There must have been scores of families here from all over! Almost all the tables in the huge hall were filled up. Did they all really have diabetes? Then, all our attention was called to the front of the hall, where a nurse was going to lead the introduction. 

As it was sponsored by the ADA, most of the staff of the weekend camp were medical professionals trained in diabetes treatment, and of them, almost all were diabetics themselves. A few of them stepped forward and introduced themselves very professionally, but they were brief, and soon after the introductions ended, we separated into smaller groups for the ice breaker. We all ended up sharing the stories of our diagnoses, and they weren’t all too far off from each other. We had all been diagnosed in the past year or two, and some people were adjusting better than others. But that wasn’t all we talked about, and after twenty minutes or so, I got the distinct impression that all the other families were shockingly…normal. Honestly, there wasn’t much special about any of us, and yet, there was…something. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the way we smiled at each other was just different, warmer than strangers are normally. 

Some hours later, and after doing an assortment of activities, half a dozen carts were wheeled out with food and plates. I was very excited, it looked like a tasty buffet. As normal, I pulled out my test kit, and started putting a strip under the table, and–I realized every other family here was doing the same. Every diabetic in this hall was checking their blood sugar so they could eat. It was surreal. I had always been shy about testing my sugars out in the open. After all, I was making myself bleed and putting my blood on some device like it was some black magic ritual. But, looking all around, I realized there was no need. After all, I wasn’t going

to freak out another diabetic in this hall, we all knew what was happening; hell, most of them probably had the same glucose meter as me. It was a strange moment, since I had been told for a long time that I had nothing to be ashamed about, but here it was actually normal to have a medical condition. People here were like me; in fact, with the counselors, we were the MAJORITY here. 

We all ended up getting food, and the weekend continued. The more people I talked to, the more comfortable I got. It was mostly normal summer camp activities, with some teaching about diabetes treatment throughout. Really though, the parents paid more attention to that, I was more focused on socializing with the other diabetics. We were all very different: some of us athletes, some of us loners, some of us loved to sing and some of us were shy. Yet, all those differences didn’t keep us apart like they normally would. They didn’t define us, they were just flavors. What connected all of us is that we’d all gone through similar things in regards to diabetes. It was summed up by a nurse later in my life: “wherever you go, you will always have friends, because every time you meet another diabetic, they will be a friend. You have connections all over the world, because you’re all the same.” Ever since then, I’ve realized those words are true every time I see someone else with a pump or  CGM on their arm. I truly think there aren’t many communities that inherently connect the way I felt a connection at that camp.

The councilors though, were another type of interesting. It fascinated me to see diabetics that had grown into adulthood with their diabetes. They were so confident, knowledgeable, and sure of capabilities. Something that I learned quickly is that not only did basically all of them have a Continuous Glucose Monitor, they also all had insulin pumps. We had heard about those in our classes, and were considering getting a CGM, but I was still really hesitant about a pump. They all had tubes running from the site to the remote: it seemed so bulky and restrictive. Besides, I was an athlete, how could I make all those wires work without pulling them out? But, a few counselors I met at the camp showed me their pumps, and they didn’t have tubes! “How does that work, I thought they all had to be wired up?” It turns out, they had a special brand pump called an Omnipod. It was functionally very similar to other pumps on the market, but it didn’t have any tubing: it used a remote radio controller, and all the insulin was already in the pod. The counselors would talk about how great pumps were, how when you went low you could lower the amount of insulin you received, and do the opposite when you were high. I now wanted an omnipod.