In Over My Head

I felt like this week provided a lot of lessons rolled up into one crazy week. This week, we had a one on one ratio of counselors to campers due mostly to behavioral issues. I had a camper who was self-abusive. What this means is that they harm themselves in some way (biting their hand, hitting their head against something, etc.). They do this for a wide variety of reasons: frustration, anger, being asked to do something they don’t want to do, or an inability to communicate something they want or need. My particular camper hit himself in the head and face. Hard. He had significant scarring on his face and forehead and was virtually, if not completely, blind.  And all of it was self-inflicted. Hearing his story from his staff member that dropped him off was heartbreaking. Not knowing how to manage his behavior at home, his family used restraints to tie down his arms in case his self-aggression got too intense for them to manage. He had scarring on his arms from the restraints. To meet him Monday morning and hear all of this first thing was quite intimidating. My first thought was, “I’m in over my head.” But then somewhere during the week, something changed. This camper and I bonded. He would begin to hit himself and all I had to do was hand him one of the stuffed animals he brought, tell him to hold on to it tight, and tell him, “You’re okay” for him to stop. By the end of the week, he was holding my hand and putting his head in my lap just as a reassurance that someone was there, that it really was okay. He was nonverbal, but his smiles and laughs said it all. And sometimes so did his outbursts. I came to find that he hit himself when he was angry, frustrated, or asked to do something he didn't want to do. Sometimes I also think he did it out of habit. When we sat down, often he would feel around to see if there was a wall or a railing close by that he could hit his head on. Simply putting an arm around his shoulder usually solved this problem. Wednesday I wasn't feeling well so I took the afternoon off and I found myself really missing this camper. Thursday we sat on the swing for what seemed like hours and I talked and he listened, all the while laying his head in my lap, nodding off to the rhythmic squeak of the swing. It was probably one of my favorite moments at camp thus far.

This week also had me thinking about something else: how people with special needs are viewed in other countries. My camper was Korean and it occurred to me that I know nothing about how people with disabilities are perceived in other cultures. Do they have group facilities abroad like we do in the United States? Or do people with disabilities live with their families? This is something I’d definitely like to learn more about…

This week also made me think about the spectrum of emotions that human beings experience. There was a camper in another group who was always extremely happy. She always had a huge smile on her face and was always super excited to see everyone, to hug them, or to hold their hand. I never saw her unhappy. For someone with a severe cognitive disability, I wonder how this affects their spectrum of emotion. Do they worry in the same way as those of us who worry about seemingly trivial things? Do they feel jealously if someone else is getting the attention they consciously or subconsciously crave? How do frustrations manifest? In even asking these questions, I admit I am showing my complete ignorance about the wide spectrum of cognitive disabilities  but I think it is definitely something that warrants more investigation to answer the questions being asked.

Looks like I've given myself plenty of homework on the cultural and emotional aspects of people with special needs...

If I Die Tomorrow...

This week, I had a group of three ladies who had Cerebral Palsy (CP) who were in wheelchairs and two other campers with only three counselors which was as logistically challenging as it sounds. All of the women in our group were absolutely fantastic (even the one who would be difficult on purpose...but get her hopped up on some cold medicine and she was a giggling, self-proclaimed "fruit cake"). They were all excited to be here and had a great attitude, but having only three counselors for three campers who needed complete assistance with personal care was a quite a challenge. It was the most physically demanding week I've had working at a camp thus far, but I found myself, in spite of my fatigue, really trying to enjoy my time with these ladies. And what a fun time we had! One of them, the one I worked with the most closely throughout the week, is probably one of my favorite people ever. And I feel extremely fortunate that I had the chance to spend a week with her. She was always happy and always excited, so how could I not be? Even when I was exhausted, the other counselors, campers, and I still laughed til the point that we cried many times throughout the week. This was one of the most physically demanding weeks I've experienced in recent memory, but it was a wonderful, hilariously challenging week. I had this moment on Thursday where I thought "If I die tomorrow, I'll be happy with what I did during my last day on earth" which I think is just about the best lesson I could hope to learn.

Can he do that?

This past weekend, I worked a respite weekend at camp. Respite is an opportunity for families and care givers with special needs to bring their loved one to camp for a weekend. The purpose is two fold: to help the campers have a fun weekend away from home and for the care givers to receive a much needed rest from providing 24 hour care for their loved one with special needs. Even just having campers here for 40 hours, I was able to take a lesson anyway. That's the beauty of this kind of work. Always something to learn. :) This weekend's lesson was on ability.

I had the opportunity to work pretty closely with a young man with severe Cerebral Palsy. He was pretty fantastic. I'm not going to lie. He had a great sense of humor. He was also one of those people that when you were on the receiving end of a smile or a laugh, you feel that you must have done something pretty special to earn ti so it makes you feel pretty wonderful. There was a group of  nursing students from a nearby university volunteering. Each of them was assigned a camper to work with one on one while the other camp counselor and I were there to help out as needed. I'm not sure of this volunteer's experience in working with people with special needs, but I was pretty surprised when she asked me several times at activities throughout the weekend, "Can he do that?" I thought it was an odd question to ask of a person with special needs at a camp for people with special needs. I'm sure this is a question people ask (be it in their heads or out loud) about this young man all of the time. But the beauty of it is, he can do that here. He can do whatever he wants here. We will do our absolute best to make it work or die trying. He lives in a world that I'm sure doesn't always accommodate to him, but luckily camp isn't that world. Did you know there was such a thing as adaptive golf clubs? And that there are countless art projects that can be adapted for people with special needs? It's all really quite amazing.

I also found it odd that when our dear camper left, the volunteer said to him, "It was a pleasure to take care of you this weekend." Sure, assisting with basic personal needs comes with the territory but was that our primary job here? I felt that my primary goal was to help him participate in the activities that he may not be able to do otherwise and to help him have a positive experience while he was here. In my head, providing the personal care was not our primary goal this weekend. In his file, it said he loved camp and loved being here so I wanted to keep it that way. I earned several of those smiles along the way, so I'm hoping that mission was accomplished.

This had me thinking about my own abilities. I can't even tell you how many times I've looked at something of which I'm perfectly capable and said, "I can't do it." I know I've taken for granted the fact that I can do something, but something inside me be it fear or nerves or what have you has decided that I can't when in reality that's really not the case. There's a few things in my life where I let the "I can't" get the best of me and quit on some things that I know in hindsight that I could have done. I don't believe in regret because it's those choices that led me to where I am today, but if I had it to do differently, I probably would have done it...differently.

Most recently, during our staff training, we went caving. Now for those of you that have never been caving, it's really quite an experience. We shimmied through a cave not more than a few feet high and a few feet wide for Lord knows how many feet by the light of a flashlight to get to an open space at the back in order to sit down and do some team building activities. I was very anxious about it the day before, but decided that I would try it. I was still pretty nervous going in , but the person behind me was even more so. She decided to back out of the cave pretty early, but I kept going. The element of the unknown soon got the best of me and I, too, decided to turn around about halfway in and head back. Part of me is okay with this decision, but part of me regrets not completing the challenge. After all, it's not that I can't. I can. I'm perfectly capable. Guys who weight 150 pounds more than I do and that are a foot taller have made it through this cave so I really have no excuse. That goes for most things, really, and is the lesson I'm glad I was able to take away from this weekend. I'm hoping I'll have the chance to go back and try my hand at the cave again. Next time, I will bring extra batteries for my headlamp in order to provide some additional peace of mind. :)

An example of ability that makes me come out on top is when our group climbed the "Angle Dangle" during our staff training. The Angle Dangle is this ropes course element comprised of 4x4s at wonky angles attached by cables on each side, like some kind of crazy ladder. The "rungs" were about as far apart as I am tall, so it was a bit challenging and there were times when I didn't think I would physically be able to do reach the next beam and pull myself up, but somehow, I did it. It took awhile and I had lots of bumps and bruises to show for it, but I proved to myself that I could do it. The physical ability level was there. It just took my brain awhile to realize it. So in the future when the thought "I can't" starts to creep it's way in, all I have to picture is that volunteer asking, "Can he do that?" and then remember the smile on the camper's face when he did do it. I only hope I can be as cool as him some day.

Faith in Humanity: Restored

This weeks lesson is on keeping your faith in humanity. I felt a little sluggish this week (I'm going to blame it on Baltimore), but my group of gals was completely fantastic so overall it was a great week. I have one camper who this is her first week at camp. Everything to her is new and exciting. She has so many questions about all of the activities and is absolutely excited about everything. And I mean everything. I have never seen anyone so excited to go canoeing or do archery in my life. Her smile is so bright and her laughter is contagious. She has the biggest heart of just about everyone that I know, making pictures and crafts for all of her friends and family, keeping none for herself. She made a craft for one of the new AmeriCorps NCCC counselors that just joined us and also drew a picture for my mom. (How great is that? Last time I drew my own mother a picture was well over two decades ago.) If that doesn't tell you how great she is, nothing will. She also wants to talk to everyone and to know everyone's name. To have this camper call you a friend means you must be pretty great. She is a fantastic camper and I wish I would have appreciated that more during her first four days here. Good thing tomorrow is Friday and I still have one day left with her. :)

At our weekly dance tonight, one camper (who happens to be in a wheelchair) asked one of our gals (who also happens to be in a wheelchair) if she'd like to dance. And dance they did. The nurse's aid wheeled our lady right up next to him and he spent the next half hour moving the tray of her wheelchair in order to move her chair back and forth, bobbing his head to the music. Watching these two "dance" brought a tear to my eye and definitely restored my faith in humanity. There is this basic human need for us to connect with another person, even if it is two people sharing a space on the dance floor. I'm just fortunate I was able to share a little bit of that space with them.

Never Forget

I was taking the train from Baltimore to DC, making my way back to the airport after attending the wedding of a good friend from grad school. It was one of those weddings of one of those friends that makes you believe that good things are still possible in the world, that finding a fantastic, self-respecting person who shares similar values is still possible. Do you have any of those friends who you feel lucky to call your friends? People who are just so wonderful and amazing that you feel fortunate to have been a part of their lives, even if just for a little while? Well I got to see four of those people this weekend. And it was pretty great.

As the Metro stopped at the Pentagon station, it occurred to me that the last time I was in DC was in October of 2011 for the Marine Corps Marathon. Running the marathon throughout our nation's capital after one of the worst tragedies in America's history is something I won't soon forget. We ran through the city streets, past one iconic monument and then the next until we made our way to the Pentagon. Only a month and a half before, an airplane had crashed into the building. And here we were, running laps around it in an effort to reach the 26.2 miles we committed to. The image of the Pentagon with a gaping hole in it is something that will be forever burned into my brain.

I have remembered September 11 in various ways since that day...through visiting Ground Zero when I lived in New York to performing community service during my last three years in AmeriCorps. This year, I am working at a camp for people with special needs, where time stands still and national holidays don't mean much more than a date listed on a calendar. How are you going to remember?

The Pursuit of Happiness

My roommate during my first stint on Semester at Sea wrote down three things she learned each night before she went to bed. I did two blog posts during my first two days on the ship and then gave up, so I give her credit for actually sticking with it. I thought it was sort of a great idea and something I've kept in the back of my head but didn't think about much until now. I've been at camp for three weeks now and each week has had a distinct theme, a sort of lesson that has smacked me in the face as if to say, "Hey you! Think about this." I came here wanting to find some parts of myself that I feel as though I'd lost along the way last year so I decided to run with the idea of a lesson a week, something to think about, ponder, mull over, and reflect upon. The first week's lesson was patience. (See "Patience is a Virtue" post.) The second week's lesson is the pursuit of happiness. Unlike Will Smith in the Hollywood version, I am choosing to spell happiness correctly.

This week I had a group of younger males, mid 20's to early 30's. For the most part, the campers were great. They participated in activities and were genuinely excited to be here. One camper was just about the happiest person I had ever met. In his end of camp paperwork, the best description my co-counselor and I could come up with was "Camper will make you happy when skies are grey." And that's an understatement. He was always smiling, always happy. He would challenge counselors to a "race," line them up in the cafeteria, run a lap, then throw his hands in the air, yelling "Hallelujah!" It made me smile every time. And it happened a lot. Therefore, I smiled a lot that week. He called the the wrong name the entire week, but it didn't matter. I just felt lucky to know him and to, hopefully, help make his camp experience a little better, even though he's the one that definitely did that for me.

On the other end of what I've come to call the happiness spectrum, I had a camper who was unhappy pretty much all of the time. He would fixate on one thing and worry himself into a frenzy. There wasn't really a way to calm his fears until he found the next thing to worry about. He was also having a minor medical issue and complained about that the whole week, using it as an excuse to not participate in activities even though he was perfectly capable. In the five days he was here, I didn't hear a single positive thing come out of his mouth. While it was incredibly frustrating, it also made me stop and think how melancholy it must be to be in such a constant state of worry and anxiety. Toward the end of the week, I asked him what I could do to help take his mind off his troubles and to help him have a fun week at camp since it didn't seem like he was really enjoying himself at all. His response? "I'm just not a happy person." Boom. There it is. This isn't someone who was just having a bad week. This is someone who lives his life in a constant state of worry which sounds a bit like torture if you ask me. He knows this about himself and lives with it. How much of it is treatable and how much of it is a part of his cognitive disability, I'm not sure.

This had me thinking about my own take on happiness. Looking back, sometimes I do tend to find the not so great part about jobs that I've had. In situations like that, it becomes a "misery loves company" mentality. After all, who wants to take the high road and be positive when you have to walk the high road alone? Sounds pretty lonely to me. Then I started to think about all of the things that I was appreciative of about my life and where it is now and about my current job. I happened upon a quote awhile back that I think sums this thought process up quite nicely, "Doing what you like is freedom. Liking what you do is happiness." Nowhere in any of these inspirational quotes about happiness is there a disclaimer or an exception to the rule that if you had a different boss, a different salary, or different coworkers that you would be happy. Happiness depends largely on you and how you choose to respond to your current situation. I haven't always been the best at that, but after spending a week with someone who freely admitted that he just wasn't a happy person and seeing what that looked like, I am determined to change my outlook. While I may not be able to change a given situation, I can certainly change the lens in which I look through.

Patience is a Virtue

Patience. If you think you have it or you are looking to find more, work with people with special needs. I'm serious. After my last year in NCCC, I felt that I had lost quite a bit of patience, humility, and compassion, things I felt I had gained quite a bit of during my first year. One of the reasons I wanted to come back and work at a camp for people with special needs is to find some of those things within myself again, to regain what I felt I had lost. While it is one of the hardest jobs, I'll probably ever have, I think it is probably one of the most rewarding. Right now, I feel like I'm still hung up on the differences from the camp I worked at last summer when I should be focusing on the task at hand and helping campers to have the best week that they possibly can. While there are definite pluses and minuses to both places, I can't help but be more appreciative of Camp K, the people there (both campers and staff), and the things they taught me both about others and about myself.

There are always times when I feel that the end goal to a job like this isn't worth it. Those times usually come at a point of complete exhaustion around 2am when you have to spend the night in the campers' cabin for overnight duty. I'm not going to pretend I even remotely like cabin duty. Here, there are scheduled wake up times every three hours in addition to the other things that might come up. But after taking a nap the next day and gaining some clarity, I realize what a humbling experience it is to have someone else's safety, well being, and even bathroom habits be your life's purpose for 9 hours when most other people are sleeping.  I make no promises that I won't think "If I quit tomorrow, I'll never have to do this ever again" during my next cabin duty, but I will try and maintain some perspective.

Thinking back on my campers last summer, I didn't have any huge behavioral challenges. Most of the tasks that proved daunting at first were personal care tasks, which now I feel like don't really phase me at all. Last week, I had a pretty good group, but there was one camper in particular who challenged me like I have never been challenged before. This is someone who, at times, just shut down and couldn't express how she was feeling if she was upset or frustrated. So she would lash out, hurting herself or whoever happened to be close by. That was a pretty challenging day for me, so I can imagine it was also pretty challenging for her, not being able to let me know what she needed and how I could help.

This camp also doesn't have a no cell phone rule like Camp K, which I find to be a bit strange since service here is very limited anyway. It's interesting to see that even at a place where we are supposed to be out and enjoying nature, people (campers and staff alike) are still glued to their cell phones. I wonder how things will change for people with special needs when, as technology advances, we as human beings become increasingly closed off from each other. Many of the campers exhibit what is called "attention seeking behaviors", which could be biting themselves, interrupting conversations, hitting, etc. in order to gain attention from their family or care takers, even if it is negative attention. Some of these behaviors are pretty alarming for a camp counselor who has only known them a few days.  I wonder when and if this attention seeking will evolve along with the technology as it becomes harder and harder to get that face to face contact they so crave. These people with special needs who are craving this attention could actually teach all of us a thing or two about the value of positive human human contact-that it is still necessary even at a basic human level.