Baby Steps- Reflections on camp

Last week, Sam and his (non-diabetic) big brother attended a 5 day camp for kids with Type-1 Diabetes. Like any camp for kids, this one included lots of running around like crazy, large bouncy balls to be thrown at your counselors, crafts, snacks, and new friends. Unlike most camps, it also included daily informational sessions about hyperglycemia, hypoglycemia, insulin pumps, and the like. Besides some tears on the first day, ("I just haven't been away from my mom very much.") Sam had a great time. The director of the camp (who was also Sam's nurse following his diagnosis) was very understanding that my husband and I were hesitant to just leave Sam there for 8 hours each day. She sat with us that first day (when we stayed on the sidelines/within Sam's sight for the first couple of hours) and told us stories about past campers and their parents and the growth and change that camp provided for them. She listened as my husband reminded her of her words to us in the very first days of Sam's diagnosis- "Caring for  diabetes is an art, not a science." It made sense to her that it was hard to just hand Sam over and allow someone else to figure out the art of taking care of him.

But we did it. And he was and is just fine.

Turns out, diabetes camp was just as much for me as it was for Sam.

My last post details my absolute fear regarding Sam and Kindergarten. My hope for camp was that it would afford me some peace of mind regarding Sam being out of my care during the day. At camp, he was surrounded by nurses, nutritionists, and fellow type-1ers who were looking after him. If I couldn't be comfortable and confident leaving him there, where could I?

Sam only cried a little on the first day. I, on the other hand, cried a lot. Not because I worried that something was going to go wrong with Sam. On the contrary, I really did have faith in those providing his care. My tears came as a result of some very mighty work of God in my own heart.
God used Camp NoHiLo to help me to realize that the control that I think I have is an illusion. He showed me that I cannot put my children in a bubble and protect them from harm (and they would resent me if I tried). He showed me that He writes their stories, not me, and that is a good thing.
Those realizations were both really good and really hard (as the work of God usually is...simultaneously).

The Truth is...I'm Scared

Sam starts Kindergarten in the fall. He'll be attending school with his big brother, his best friend, his cousins, and many friends from church. He'll only be there two days a week.  Many of the faculty and staff and administration are close friends from church. I have all the confidence in the world in our school. But if you ask me how I feel about him being there, I'd tell you- I'm really, really scared.

Fear is what overwhelms me when I think of him being out of my care two days a week.

In the past month, we've had two of the scariest moments in our diabetes history. Sam had a stomach bug, which kept his body from absorbing anything from the food he was desperately trying to keep in his body. As a result, he had too much insulin in him and his blood sugar crashed so low that we had to give him an emergency shot of Glucagon. Then, just a couple of weeks ago, Sam was at our church while Charles and I were nearby at a party. We managed to bring the wrong insulin (his slow-release kind, that he takes before bed, instead of his quick-release one, that he takes after he eats). As a result, his blood sugar was so high that his monitor couldn't even register it. It just said, "High."

Both of these situations could have resulted in a trip to the hospital. In both cases, God graciously took care of Sam. Both of these situations happened on our watch.

Sam will only be starting Kindergarten if he gets a pump this summer. I can't physically be at the school every time he needs insulin, and I don't think it would be wise to rely on a teacher to do it. So a pump is a requirement. He's had his blood work done, which was the first step in the process. He goes back to the Pediatric Endocrinologist next month, where hopefully we will be discussing the next step. Our doctor has given us all the confidence in the world that a pump will change all of our lives for the better. More freedom, more independence, more control, more consistency. He assures us that it will take no time at all for us all to get used to it. I believe him. I trust him. But life with a pump is a reality that we haven't experienced before. I'm having a hard time being confident in something that I haven't experienced yet.

I know Sam isn't the first diabetic 5 year old to go to school. But he's my diabetic 5 year old.
More updates to come as this story continues to unfold. Thanks for reading and caring, friends.