For those of you with diabetes – do you remember diabetes camp?
I sure do. I went to a small camp in New Jersey called Camp Firefly. Its logo was a syringe-turned-firefly (do fireflies even have stingers, or was this a branding choice that only made sense in the 80s?).
I can’t tell you how much I loved camp. It was the first time I met other kids with diabetes. It was the first time I gave myself an insulin shot and tested my own blood sugar. It was also the first time I saw an insulin pump, though back then, pumps weren’t exactly flying off the shelves. (Think “brick-sized medical device” vibes.)
When Owen was diagnosed, I wanted him to have that same experience. We signed him up for diabetes camp the very first year. I hate to say it, but… he didn’t love it. Nothing to do with diabetes, really—he was just the youngest, smallest kid in the bunk. And at that age, that can feel like being drafted into the JV squad of life.
For me, it was a bit of a knife to the gut. I had this perfect little movie in my head: I’d volunteer as camp staff, keep a watchful eye from afar, and we’d catch each other in passing at the dining hall. Kind of like Parent Trap, but with carb counting. Reality, however, had other plans.
Then I found out about something called family diabetes camp—basically, summer camp but with your entire crew. Once I heard it was within driving distance, I signed us up faster than you can say “did you pack the test strips?”
That’s how we ended up at Camp Nejeda in northern New Jersey. Unlike a lot of camps that rent space, Nejeda exists solely for kids with diabetes. They’ve been running summer programs for decades—sleepaway camp, day camp, and, yes, family camp weekends.
Now, I’m not going to pretend I told the kids ahead of time. Of course I didn’t. That’s a rookie mistake. I packed the car, got them buckled in, and then revealed the plan. (Parenting 101: never announce anything that can be protested until you’ve eliminated the exit routes.)
The setup was fantastic. Each family got their own cabin—complete with a bathroom and sink. Showers were a short walk away, but honestly, that just added to the rustic charm. Meals were exactly what you’d expect from a children’s camp—think chicken nuggets, pasta, and enough juice boxes to float a canoe. The best part? Everything came with carb counts. It was like a dietitian had gone undercover in the dining hall. Days were split between family activities and kid-only sessions. During the kid-only times, parents got to connect over the stuff we don’t always get to talk about: IEPs and 504 plans at school, navigating doctor visits, and swapping stories about how shockingly little the world understands about diabetes.
And the kids? They had a blast. We took paddle boats out on the lake, swam in the pool, and played endless rounds of ga-ga ball. At one point, my kids all wandered off to their own activities, and I found myself stretched out in a hammock, actually finishing a book I’d been trying to read for months. (A miracle in itself.)
The counselors were all seasoned pros—most had diabetes themselves or had worked at camp all summer. They were absolute rock stars, and it made the whole experience feel that much safer and more supportive.
By the end of the weekend, I was sold. If you know a kid with diabetes, encourage their family to give camp a try. If you’re in the PA/NJ/NY area, check out Camp Nejeda. If not, the American Diabetes Association and the Diabetes Education and Camping Association both have directories to help you find a camp near you.
Oh, and don’t forget to pack bug spray and snacks. Because some things—mosquitoes and hunger—don’t care about blood sugars.
