“Your meal card says you need to eat one vegetable and one fat. This coleslaw is your vegetable and your fat.” My camp counselor sighed, having been through this routine with me before. “You need to eat it. You can’t leave the table until you’ve eaten it.”
“But I haaaaaaate coleslaw!!!!” I wailed, eight years old and wearing my tie-dyed Clara Barton Camp t-shirt.
When I was small, I went to summer camp. Only my summer camp was specifically for girls who had type 1 diabetes. It was just like everyone else’s summer camp, only at mine, we did drugs before breakfast. (Insulin, mind you. Calm down.) But we also had strict meal plans, suggested by the American Diabetes Association, that needed to be followed to the letter, as our insulin doses (NPH and Regular) and meal plans were planned to be in sync with one another. One step out of turn and blood sugars would bounce all over creation.
As an eight year old, I didn’t have the most daring culinary palette. A yummy meal, to me, meant grilled cheese and sugar-free lemonade, followed closely by strawberries and Cool Whip. When presented with things like hard-boiled eggs and avocado, I’d hide behind the dining room curtains. (My feet stuck out at the bottom, so I was never hidden for long. If you had told me then that, as an adult, I’d love hard-boiled eggs and avocado – together! – I would have laughed myself right out the window.)
Food wasn’t a means to a blood sugar end, or even something to explore and enjoy. Food was something I needed to eat, and fast, before I could go back outside and play. It was very Machiavellian.
But the rules at camp were unbendable. My parents trusted the camp staff to keep me and my complicated disease safe for two weeks in the summer, and the camp staff took that responsibility very seriously. Without insulin that acted faster than Regular (no Humalog back in 1988 and carb counting wasn’t a “thing” yet), I was forced to stick with the meal plan.
“I do NOT like coleslaw! It’s slimey! And gross!!” I crossed my arms over my chest, indignant and frustrated that most of my fellow campers were already up and exiting for Flag (the ceremony where we lowered the flag at night). Most … except for me. And my friend Liz, who also refused to eat that coleslaw.
“The faster you can eat it, the faster we can go out with everyone else and have fun. Can you just take one bite?” (Looking back, I don’t envy the position of the counselors, having to cajole little kids into eating grossly-textured foods.)
“Fine.” I shoveled three bites into my mouth at once, and washed it down with huge gulps of water. “It tastes horrible!”
“Keep going …”
And on we went, laboriously, until the side of coleslaw was eaten and I was released from the dining hall. Force-feeding (aka “clean your plate!”) was a common occurrence back in the early days of my diabetes, since insulin and food were so acutely dependent upon one another. I am thankful for the treatment progress I’ve seen over the last twenty-six years, from insulin delivery methods to actual insulin.
But I still won’t touch the ‘slaw.
(this post was originally published as part my work with Animas)
One summer at CBC I was also faced with horror or coleslaw. The thing is, the texture of it used to make me vomit. I tried explaining that to my poor counselor, who was only doing her job and of course assumed I was being dramatic. Eventually I gave in, ate a bite, and…I never had to eat it at camp again.
P.S. it’s really no surprise so many of us develop complicated relationships with food, especially those of us diagnosed in the daysnof short and long acting insulin and strict meal plans.
My sense of time may be inaccurate but I believe I spent at least an hour after dinner in the dining hall at church camp at about the same age because I wouldn’t eat the cantaloupe. No diabetes, I just didn’t like it. Trust me, I can out-stubborn most camp counselors.
You just couldn’taloupe?
Oh wow, we were more enlightened at diabetes camp in Australia in the 1970s. It was only carbs that we had to consume in fixed amounts and if you didn’t like what was on your plate, you could ask the leader for a “substitute” which they would do and I think you’d usually get a slice of bread or perhaps a glass of milk (the appropriate portion swap) or something rather than whatever it is they’d put on your plate. What a ghastly job for the camp counsellors having to force feed you, I imagine some kids could sit there for a very long time, talk about a battle of wills.
I envy parents whose kids start out on pens or even pumps!! Our oldest started on R and NPH. Diabetes is hard enough without feeling like you’re going to kill your kid twice a day if you don’t mix the insulin correctly or they don’t eat the right amount of food! I can’t imagine being a camp counselor!!!
I had gestational diabetes with my second child, and at that time it was “no sugar”. I am a lifelong chocoholic, so that was a test of my love for my unborn child. Fast forward 14 years, my daughter (who is now 29, and is also a chocoholic) was diagnosed with Type 1, and we learn that the new mantra is “a carb is a carb is a carb” – chocolate is not off limits! Thank goodness! (And I also hate coleslaw.)
Yup, a carb is a carb. So don’t waste your carbs with mediocre chocolate – get the good stuff!
See you needed some boys around. I would have taken your Coleslaw and you could take my green beans.
I spent 2 weeks each summer at a camp for kids with various childhood illnesses too –
I’ve never liked or been able to drink or tolerate milk. Never. But the rule at camp was – 1 glass of milk each meal before drinking any other beverages. No exceptions. Didn’t matter how much I explained myself. I had to hold my nose to force it down – and after dry heaving and spitting up a lot – thankfully they made an exception!
Hah! I hate coleslaw too. But the bane of my diabetes camp experience was the sweetened (with honey? Why would they do that??) peanut butter that they gave you for a “snack”. I was never a big peanut-butter fan anyway, and the gooey mess that this mixture made was absolutely disgusting! I think you were supposed to eat it on saltine crackers, but I avoided it at all costs….I can still recall that icky taste and texture, along with some other choice food items forced upon us. Needless to say, I never went back to Camp Eagle’s Nest!
I was diagnosed at 18, so I never had the camp experience. I kind of wish I could have made those connections back then. I never really cared for coleslaw especially when it is sweet. Cabbage (which I love) is savory and crunchy, don’t gunk it up with sugar or sweet mayo-like product. I have never liked sweet main dishes. So giving up BBQ, ketchup, S&S sauces was no challenge for me. I didn’t eat them anyway. I found a coleslaw once in a restaurant in Silver Spring, MD. The restaurant was the Quarry House. It had a bad fire and I don’t think it re-opened. The coleslaw was vinegar based – tart, crunchy and delicious. I also make my own!
I remember one time at CBC, they told us that we were having a special snack-a dessert snack. And not just dessert, but popsicles! I was SO excited, and rushed over to the counselor handing out the popsicles (along with all of the other girls at snack time), only to find out that they were frozen bananas covered with peanut butter. I remember being DEVASTATED! It’s kind of funny because now I would absolutely love that for a snack, but at the time, it was so gross to me. It’s also one of my go-to stories about when I’m trying to explain to people how “diabetes’ camp was 🙂