Every year, we camp with eight other families in a little town, right on the beach, far from the highway.
We deliberately choose an unpowered site so that we have no access to technology: no phones , no computers; nada!
My eldest two organise the tribe of kids into teams for cricket, rugby, touch football, soccer. They are the size of men but they are still children and its magic to see them run free.
Two days of showery rain at the start made us chill out totally.
We scooted from tent to tent, catching up with everyone whilst the kids played cards during each downpour then rode their bikes through puddles causing plumes of rain to rise behind then.
We shook our heads at the mud covered clothes, pretending to be concerned then sent them back out to run free.
On the third day, we woke to clear skies and the day was spent on the beach.
How does my son’s Type 1 diabetes fit into the mix? Frio packs are our saviour and ensure the insulin is safe. The ebb and flow of camp life seems to send BGLs a bit mental for a couple of days but we ride that wave, make small adjustments and run between tents in the middle of the night to check on levels.
I relax in a very different way from my husband- sleep, sleep and more sleep. The sound of the waves so close justs sends me into the deepest, dreamless sleep: the kind of sleep I rarely have since my son’s diagnosis. I get at least ten hours of sleep in every 24 hours: a nap in the afternoon then an early night.
My husband is a night owl who loves the company of those who enjoy a good bottle of red and a yarn. I hear the mumble of the conversation as I drift off which later turns into a sing song of hits from every decade.
I have catch ups early in the morning over a strong cup of tea, sitting on a chair next to various other early birds among our group, looking out at the ocean or walking along its edge.
Diabetes is with us as we have our fun: a familiar, if unreliable, companion. We camped like this before my son’s diagnosis and we continue as we always have.