Off to Camp
Essentials for a kid growing up with diabetes
Camps Potlatch and Winfield
Being part of the Canadian Diabetes Association (now Diabetes Canada) youth group enabled me to learn about diabetes camp. I enjoyed being a camp counsellor at camp despite the risk that the CDA was taking with it. But risk can be fun.
Luckily for us, the CDA did not realize that it was too remote, off the coast of Britannia Beach in B.C.’s Howe Sound. Winfield was a Lion’s camp outside of Kamloops, B.C., and was considerably less dangerous.
Trying to catch water balloons is like keeping your blood sugars in range. But water balloons are more fun.
Potlatch
Imagine thousands of cedar trees and the occasional bear visit. Camp Potlatch is in the middle of nowhere, nestled in a pure, pristine wilderness. No Internet, no TV, and the only communication being a radio to the mainland. Every kid should have such an experience.
The ferry comes into the harbour and drops off the kids and doesn’t come back for the duration of the camp. The kids are stuck there until the end. As counsellors, we came out on a boat before the ferry for the training. The camp was open to children without diabetes as well as those who had it. The same was true for the counsellors. It became quite a learning experience for all involved. Each child challenged the boundaries set upon him or her by diabetes and had fun doing it.
I remember waking up and making our way to the lodge where we’d all collectively take our insulin and check our blood sugars. This experience amplified the fact that a child was not alone—others also had this condition and were enjoying camp with everybody else. Diabetes was only a small part of the whole camp experience. As a counsellor, I realized that I was a role model of sorts. Someone to look up to, at a time when looking up to someone was important.
I remember being up in the middle of nowhere. We went on a camp trip into the wilderness. All we had was a radio to the main camp. I remember camping with a group in the boonies, our packs weighty, though we hardly complained. We found comraderie in a canoe, rowing off to a secluded island, alone in the wild. We rowed into the cloudy rainforest mist and finally away from what had limited us for years, finding some solace in being in a safe space and relying on our skills.
Calm songs were sung by someone who knew them, in the crackling of a fire burning, attending the Potlatch campfire. We raided cabins in the warm summer night, itching for a glimpse of the sorry souls who were nestled in the temporary sanctuary of their sleeping bags. This was heaven—forgetting that we even had diabetes at all.
I was paired up with a counsellor nicknamed “Ice,” who did not have diabetes. By pairing a counsellor who had diabetes with a partner who didn’t, everyone could be sure that things went smoothly. Ice liked gansta rap and I think he was native, but we never discussed that.
I mean, who doesn’t canoe in a field?
“Brittle” Diabetes & the Panicky Nurse
There were only two times I can think of that there was actually a scare.
One involved a girl having an insulin reaction at a Potlatch campfire. She had “brittle” diabetes, which meant unpredictable swings in blood sugar. Snack had been too late for her. It was a waiting game—it always is with a low blood sugar. I remember this incident purely because of the reactions of the medical “professionals.”
Yes, there were nurses and a doctor there at the main camp to make sure everyone was taking their insulin and eating a bit more than usual.
When the girl at the campfire had her insulin reaction, the nurses freaked out. When she was brought in unconscious by Ice, it was a crazy sight. They treated her with glucose gel, sticking it into her mouth and rubbing it into her gums and inside cheeks so the sugar would absorb into her bloodstream.
Ironically, it was the girl herself who was the least fazed by the whole event, happy to finally recover after receiving a glucagon shot. She woke up dribbling sugary gel all over and feeling like an idiot for not recognizing that she was getting low and putting everyone through so much trouble. Almost everybody there breathed a sigh of relief—of course, it wasn’t her fault.
Then a nurse said she was going to quit. Right there in front of the counsellors and the kids. I’m done! she screamed. I can’t do this! I can’t believe this! It was probably the first time I’d seen someone have a severe meltdown.
Perhaps she hadn’t read the full contract that included being at a camp with children in the middle of nowhere. Maybe she had never been around someone who had diabetes before. But what a reaction! In the heat of the situation I suppose everything is up for grabs, though I think the medical staff could have been more empathetic, especially given they were setting an example. It could be that the textbook explanation of low and high blood sugar is a different thing altogether than experiencing the reality of hypoglycemia in real time. Why do you think it’s nicknamed insulin “shock”? If a nurse cannot calmly handle one episode of hypoglycemia, then what hope is there for us?
On Getting Lost
Another incident occurred when Ice and I led a group of campers river walking. Navigating rapids and hiking up the river by jumping from boulder to boulder was dangerous fun for everyone. We had packed a lunch and walkie-talkie radios for safety, as any day hikers had to do.
The idea was to hike up until we found a bridge that had a trail to take us back to camp on land. Unfortunately, we never found the bridge, and never found the trail. We weren’t alarmed, and we kept hiking higher and higher up the river.
Ice said we were looking for the bridge.
“A bridge?” I asked.
“Yes, a bridge. It’s marked,” he said.
“It’s not an actual bridge, is it? It’s a log, right?”
“A log bridge, sure. We’ll find it soon enough,” he said.
We kept thinking the miraculous log bridge would appear just beyond the next set of rocks. We couldn’t find the bridge and it was getting late.
“It was probably knocked out in a storm,” said Ice.
“Oh,” I said, “Should we turn back?”
“The river floods every winter,” he said.
The kids were getting tired and cold and hungry. It was getting late. Eventually, we had to radio for help.
The same medical people were hiking up with us, including the nurse who already wanted to quit. She again blew the problem out of proportion—panicking when calm was the best way to handle the situation, and I learned a lot from that. We were halfway down the river when people from the main camp came with blankets and the like, but we were completely fine.
We made it all the way. We were prepared. We did the right thing. There was no need to panic and it was an adventure.
Potlatch must have become too much of a liability with stuff like that happening. This was unfortunate, because Potlatch was one of the greatest camps I have been to—there are many memories that I am fortunate enough to have because of being there.
Camp Potlatch Leaders
BGC South Coast BC has sites and programs on the stolen lands of q̓ic̓əy̓ (Katzie), qʼʷa:n̓ƛʼən̓ (Kwantlen), kʷikʷəƛ̓əm (Kwikwetlem), xʷməθkʷəy̓əm (Musqueam), qiqéyt (Qayqayt), SEMYOME (Semiahmoo), Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish), sc̓əwaθən məsteyəxʷ (Tsawwassen), and səlilwətaɬ (Tsleil-Waututh) Nations. BGC’s mission is to provide safe, supportive places where children and youth can experience new opportunities, overcome barriers, build positive relationships, and develop confidence and skills for life. We recognize that these values are impossible to attain without the commitment to being in good relations with Indigenous peoples through decolonization, learning and unlearning, reparations, and an ongoing commitment to Truth and Reconciliation.
Winfield
Winfield is an Easter Seals Overnight Summer Camp near Kelowna, BC. It wasn’t as remote from medical facilities and civilization, and there were no panicky nurses.
I was a counsellor at Winfield at a formative time in my life. I was trying to figure out what it meant to have diabetes and had already had my eye-opening experience at Potlatch.
How safe? Well, there were stations strategically placed around the campground to deal with low blood sugars. If a camper became too low, they could seek out one of the red wooden boxes in which there was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (which we nicknamed PBSes). Campers did get low and needed PBSes to bring their blood sugar back into range. These odd emergency rations were replaced every day. The snacks at bedtime were increased, blood sugar levels were meticulously monitored and insulin dosages were carefully tracked to make sure everybody stayed with the program.
Camp contributes to any child’s self-worth. A group spirit can be fostered, as well as confidence, security and independence. Of course even more interesting is adventure. Both camps were excellent experiences and I learned so much. I’d recommend summer camp to anyone. It nurtures a sense of accomplishment to survive the wilderness—and it’s fun.
At camp, I met many people who had diabetes with different lives and ways to treat their condition. I found I was not alone and that I could help people through setting some sort of example. I also found that diabetes is a different thing to different people. For example, people differ in the way they recognize they are having an insulin reaction.
Such revelations were never shared in a focus group or a doctor’s office. Strangely, as I think back, some of the most inexpressible experiences of my life were experiences had at camp. I will never forget how kids appreciated the freedom of just being in a different time zone from their parents—being there playing games, organizing cabin raids, partnering with a cool camp counsellor called Ice, and canoeing in the middle of nowhere made it all worthwhile.
We were pushed to the boundaries but made it back without a serious mishap. It felt good knowing we could do it, that we’d taken a risk and that we’d beaten the odds. I'm glad it's still going!
Camp Kakhamela
Camp Kakhamela, named after “the hunt” in the Squamish language, was founded in 1962 by Dr. John Hunt. It still takes place on the shores of the Howe Sound on the beautiful Sunshine Coast outside of Gibsons, B.C, Canada.
I was fortunate to have Dr. John Hunt as my endocrinologist before his retirement as I knew he understood diabetes and the challenges it presented.
I never attended Kakhamela, which is now hosted at Camp Elphinstone, which is located on the traditional Indigenous territory of Coast Salish, territory of the Squamish Nation.
Thank you for reading! Until next week, dear readers.