The author says that her husband and I practice scenarios in which our children advocate for their safety, their health and each other. The image was taken by Caia.
We raced our daughter through the emergency room doors. There is a pile of bones on the gurney under the hospital's bright lights.
The doctor asked, what have you done to her?
As they try to find a vein, pecialists are pulled in. We didn't know that my daughter had a disease. She is in a critical state. After almost a week, medical professionals at her sleep-away camp thought her homesickness was real. She was less than a minute away from death.
That's it.
The camp nurse doesn't sound alarmed when she tells me thatEden hasn't eaten much. My husband, Gary, and our son, Major, are on a lake vacation, having visited our daughters, Emma, 13, andEden, 10, a week earlier for Visiting Day. When we went to camp, my daughters looked well-adjusted, with a few freckles on their noses.
On the day after a nurse reports that Eden is playing tennis, we point the car towards home. The doctor called hours later. There is a person in the infirmary. Unless there is an emergency, camp rules dictate one call per summer. There is something in my gut that says this is.
"I'm not right," he mumbled. Her voice is difficult to understand. Wasn't she just playing a sport? She is thin and fragile and resting her head on her knees on the courts when camp photos are posted online.
I look through a mental catalog of medical mysteries. Is it a lake-born illness? Is it a parasites? After we pull into camp, I wait in the car with my sleeping son while Gary retrievesEden. I believe we will find a hotel. We will make her feel better.
I don't recognize our daughter when Gary comes out of the infirmary with her. She is pale, and her breathing is labored. I am shaking. The seat belt slot is missing. Gary needs a hospital.
We pull onto the highway and she vomits. Relief floods me for a short time. She might have gotten it out, whatever it is. I punch the nearest hospital into our gps whenEDEN's eyes are close.
That's it.
I don't know what's wrong We are surrounded by a group of doctors.
She weighed 10 pounds at her birth ten years ago. She is pink and slippery. There is a lot of discussion of blood sugar. We are both healthy. It took hours for me to finally hold my baby, but I am too exhausted to know.
The doctor says that your daughter has diabetes. Her blood sugars are 500. I don't understand what he's saying, but I hear his words. He explains the critical condition of undiagnosed diabetes to her. Our hospital doesn't have the necessary equipment.
An ambulance is speeding us to a children's hospital hours away from our city. The two of us are in the back. I will not let her go. She is unresponsive even though she is being administeredinsulin
Her body is now acidic and she will be found to be failing her kidneys at the intensive care unit. 15% of her body weight is water. She has lost a lot of weight. There is a possibility of death. For her to live, we need to balance her blood pressure, cholesterol, and blood sugar. If she slips into a coma, we have to wait five days in the intensive care unit to find out if she has brain damage. I don't sleep on a chair. She was diagnosed with a genetic disease, not her large weight at birth.
Every day, different chaplains visit. I accept every prayer that is offered. I don't think I'm supposed to lose my daughter.
We told our daughters to treat other adults as parents when they went to camp. We wouldn't have ignored the signs of failing health if we were her parents. At every infirmary visit, the Tums and Gatorade were given to her. Sugar made it worse.
Camp protocol meant we weren't called untilEDEN felt sick and asked to sleep in the infirmary. Many summer ailments and complaints are attention seeking and don't require medical attention. A simple finger stick or urine test is enough to diagnose T1D. If only one drop of blood or urine was used to test for highglucose levels, there would be no problems. What point in time would a medical professional have been made aware of the situation? It will never be known. Her sense saved her.
My husband and I practice scenarios in which our children advocate for their safety, their health and each other, in the months following my husband and I found out that my husband had been diagnosed with cancer. We're aware of the dangers of following rules and being polite. My children will never be undermined by an adult.
Good manners should be thrown out the window. Don't let up.
The kids have been taught not to back down. It's possible that something feels wrong.
I tell them to trust their gut. Until you reach us, speak to all adults. If you have to, grab the phone from the desk. I will be fine with it.
It was a challenge to learn to live with diabetes. Learning to challenge adults and those in charge is more important than ever. She is ready to finish what she started. The camp is led by directors who care for the nursing unit. We sent our daughter to camp for another four weeks because we were shocked by the amount of people there. She picks up where she left off on the lake, water skiing with her new summer sisters. She learns to rely on her nursing team to listen and observe. She learns to question and object. She believes in her ability to take care of herself. For the next four years, she stays at a camp that becomes her second home.
A far cry from the limp little girl in my husband's arms, now a rising high school senior, she is an advocate and diabetes educator. She doesn't think she would change anything about her experience. She's become the strongest advocate I know due to her resilience and bravery.
There is a writing community in the suburbs just outside of NYC. Her work has been published in magazines. She is a guest on a lot of the shows. The memoir about how she adopted her son is in the works. She can be found at www.StephanieKarp Writes.com and on her social media accounts.
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