The microphone was passed to her right. As each parent had their turn to speak, the tears began to roll.
"We are really struggling with her school right now", said one parent, with nods of understanding from many in return.
"My second child was just diagnosed with diabetes", said another.
"We are from Japan, we flew 10 hours to come to this camp" said another parent, with applause in response.
A haggard-looking father said "we are just so tired of getting up three, four times a night to test his blood sugar."
"We're tired too" said another mother in sympathy.
"My child was diagnosed a year and a half-ago, has had five seizures since then, and I'm a single mom", another mother said through her tears.
The stories of their journeys continued... "we are hear to learn about the continuous glucose monitor," "we'd like to get our child on an insulin pump," "I have a teen so I'm dealing with hormones, high blood sugars, and the typical teenage stuff," "I am a great-grandma and I am hear to learn as much as I can so I can look after my great-grandchild," "my 7-year-old child hates shots," said a father chocking back tears.
As we reached the last person, undoubtedly we were all drained. I have been a part of the circle many times, and each time I still find as emotional as the last. I have heard these stories over and over again, and it never ceases to amaze how much parents deal with in having a child with diabetes. I always tell parents in opening circle that most of the time I think it is harder on the parent than it is on the child. As each parent told their stories, we were all re-living our own stories, our own journeys, and acknowledging our challenges. Something else was happening too: our families were connecting, and walls were starting to crumble.
I spent the afternoon chatting with parents. I helped one mother fill her child's insulin pump, teaching her tricks to get rid of the pesky little bubbles that often times get trapped in the tubing. I watched a dad struggle in his attempts to keep his 4-year-old son away from his 6-year-old daughter while she injected her insulin pump site, an often stressful and anxious-ridden procedure for small children. "He just doesn't have a clue what she is going through. I know he can't understand, he's only four, but he just doesn't have a clue", he said to me almost pleadingly. My heart ached for the father, knowing that he was simply wishing his daughter did not have to be subjected to the rigors of diabetes. The stress and pain was visible on his face, and is something that I have seen often. I just wanted to tell him that it is going to be OK, that all of this will work out down the road and that his daughter will get through.
As I sat outside, I began to see the "diabetic pride" emerges. Campers started exiting from our camp store with shirts that read "Diabetic," or "I heart Diabetics," or "Diabetes Coach". Here at camp the clothes we sell are not only a matter of convenience and profit but so much more. "Diabetic Ware" says to our participants that it is OK to announce diabetes, and it is OK to sometimes celebrate -- yes celebrate -- the condition. When our campers don the clothes they walk with their chin a little higher, and sometimes even say that diabetes is cool.
