Below is a "must read" from a grateful parent of a Camp Simcha camper Dear "Team Sara", I've spent the last month and a half trying to compose this email in my head. The problem is that I just don't know where to start. When we sent Sara to Camp Simcha Special this summer, we were at a low point. The diet was wreaking persistent low- to mid-grade havoc on our family. It wasn't the kind of upheaval you get with an acute crisis, thank G-d. But it was grating, constant and exhausting. I sent her reluctantly, because there was no choice. We all needed a break and a boost. As hard as we were trying, though, we were fighting somewhat of an uphill battle. Circumstances out of Sara’s hands were dictating too many details of her life for her liking. She didn't appreciate the lack of control over such a major part of her life and she didn't like feeling different than everyone else. And then, she went to camp. For the first time in three years, Sara wasn't different. She was a camper, just like everyone else. She told me that she didn't mind eating her strange looking food in the dining room with everyone else, which was a big deal for her. She said that lots of kids were on special diets, and everyone in camp had something, so they were all the same. You all know how much she enjoyed every second of camp. I tell everyone who asks me that if they multiply their mental concept of Camp Simcha by about 27, that might give them some idea of the kinds of experiences the kids have. And it wasn't just the tutus, costumes, face paint and fun. Because the kids in camp are treated as if they have no limitations, because camp is a place where anything can happen, she rose to those expectations. I watched in awe as the pictures started filling my inbox. My kid went swimming and boating (both things she had been nervous about since the seizures started). She flew in a helicopter (which she had adamantly insisted she wouldn't do prior to camp) and rode on a motorcycle. She painted, and sang, and danced, and went to sleep too late. Just like everyone else. But I didn't realize how much more camp did for her until well after she came home. One day recently, completely out of the blue, she looked at me and said, "You know Mommy, I'm really lucky. There are kids in camp in wheelchairs. Some of them don't even have feet. There are kids who are really sick, Ma. I'm healthy, and there's nothing wrong with me. I just need my diet so I don't have seizures." Bingo. There's been a subtle perspective shift since Sara came home from camp. Everyone who interacts with her regularly has noticed it. Don't get me wrong-we still have our moments, and we still have our days, and they are not pretty. Her regimen is outrageously difficult, no matter how you slice it. But she views herself differently now. She is more self-confident: after all, a kid who can go to sleep away camp, fly in a helicopter and ride a motorcycle can do anything. She is more responsible-she loved the fact that she was the expert in camp who told the staff how to prep her food, do her finger sticks and growth hormone shots, etc. Over the last couple of weeks, she has started taking responsibility for some of her food prep at home at her own initiative. And she is happier and more even-keeled than she's been in three years, since this all started. And then there are the ripple effects. There is the Kiddush Hashem that has been made by the buzz generated at the hospital. Sara's medical team at CHOP is amazed at what you were willing and able to accomplish for her. We are very fortunate to have Sara under the care of Dr. Robert Clancy, one of the foremost pediatric neurologists in the country. At a recent check-up, he told me that he would never be able to do for his child what we are doing for ours, because the community that we have "like those Chai Lifeline people" simply doesn't exist in any other world. There is also the break that the entire family got from the unrelenting craziness. In fact, the day that Sara left, we had pizza, fries and calzones for supper. My 11-year-old took one look at the table, turned to me and asked, "Ma, do they want to keep Sara when the summer is over?" For the first time since Sara started keto, I felt like I could turn my brain off. She was safe, cared for and fed. Her food was being weighed and prepped, her medical condition was being monitored, her blood was being checked and her growth hormone shots were being administered. By someone other than me. Sometimes you just don't realize how heavy a load you've been carrying until you get to put it down. It is our fervent prayer that there will be no need for Camp Simcha and Camp Simcha Special to be in business by next summer.