It is a night without rest. Understandably so. I am in a new and unfamiliar environment.

CAMP.

It is a cabin full of different people. But we have a commonality (or several) that bonds us.

CAMP.

The beeps and sounds of dinner continue through the night.

Not feeling right, I find myself making some noises of my own as I scan my arm at 5 am. Then I begin to rummage in the dark. My scanner confirms my fear. I am low, like 2.6 LOW. I find my glucometer and confirm this confirmation in blood because sometimes that sweaty, shaky feeling is unreliable. My hand lands on a juice box and I inhale it as the glucometer counts down. I am low.

For fuck’s sake. I just wanted an easy morning. Wake up, go down to the lake, do yoga by the fire…

I set the timer on my scanner for 15 minutes (15 grams of carbs, 15 minutes – test again). As I mentioned previously, my life occurs in 15 minute intervals. I continue to fumble around in search of a granola bar. Something to bolster that juice box and see me through to breakfast.

Seriously!?!?!? Where is it? I had this all set up before I went to bed. I kept it all at arm’s length – glucometer, scanner, juice box, granola bar, Skittles, head lamp, phone…why can I not find anything now? Now that I really need it…

I find the damn granola bar and inhale it nearly as quickly as the juice box. Mouth full, I hear someone from across the cabin ask, in the dark, “are you okay?” I manage a muffled, but grateful, “yes.”

My scanner vibrates (I silenced it feeling I had made enough noise rummaging) and I swipe my arm. Things have improved but not as speedily as I had hoped. I confirm it’s 3.6 reading with another blood test on my glucometer. And set the timer again. For another 15 minutes.

I lay there awake trying not to count the minutes by seconds. I lay there awake trying not to get frustrated. I lay there awake trying to regain the hope I felt the night before, trying to refocuse and find the excitement.

I am pleased when, I scan again and, I see the numbers 4.1 on the screen. Not ideal but the improvement is welcome and enough for me to roll over, get dressed, and head down to the lake. I try my best to quietly assemble and slip out the door.

The lake greets me with a relatable haze. The fog is thick enough that the shoreline almost disappears. I take a moment and drink in my surroundings.

I use the time alone to settle my breathing. Even though I am proud of myself for following through on my desire to attend a yoga session with other people for the first time (and not just other people, but other Type 1 grown ups – who will refrain from asking a million questions during the practice unlike my sweet boy), I am suddenly weighed down by fear. I love yoga. But only recently returned to it after far too much time off.

Gah! What am I doing? I mean, I don’t have to go in there – they’d never know I didn’t show. There was no sign up form. But I would know. Gah! Can I even do this? I mean, I just do a basic practice a couple times a week. Surrounded by plastic dinosaurs, Lego and our pets. What if I took too much time off after surgery and what I’ve been doing at home is not real yoga? What the fuck is real yoga? What am I doing standing here…?

I glance at the time on my phone. If I’m going to do this, I need to head in now. But not before I snap another picture of the lake.

Only a few moments have passed but the fog is gone. And it is because of the fog that clarity is able to prevail…

The yoga session is just what I needed. It was a good physical release, and it was quite something to be in that mindful moment with so many other people.

Also, I took the opportunity to scope out everyone’s pumps. I use insulin pens to administer my insulin and was hoping this weekend would shed some light on the pump world. And help me come to a conclusion…as I am once again en route to aquiring funding. And a pump.

I hope to gather the courage to start asking questions at breakfast. It is nice to see some familiar faces from the night before, and a few of us sit down for another meal together. Just as we did the night before, we swap stories filled with friendly banter. As the dishes make their way back to the kitchen, we all pass by the sign up sheets on the tables, and begin to formulate our days.

I opt to stick to my original plan, and plan to attend the sessions I signed up for the week before, online. I am most excited for archery (my brother and my son want pictures of me, bow in hand) in the afternoon, though I am also looking forward to the chats about hypos, technology and mindset. I also put my name down for some mid-day painting.

A full day of adventure lay ahead of me.

CAMP.

The chance to learn, explore and make new friends.

CAMP.