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).
