Camp Sunrise

Kids with special needs enjoy a week at CAMP SUNRISE

Camp Sunrise at the R-C Scout Ranch east of Payson is, to the casual observer, just one more summer camp where kids have fun in the rugged mountains of Arizona. It has the requisite swimming hole, archery range, slightly frazzled but still goodhumored counselors, and more than its share of rowdy campers. Muddy shoes line the porch of the dining hall, and the July day is a hot one, even in Payson. It's midweek, and the campers look like they've been away from civilization (read "home") for at least a month. Their clothes don't match (they did on Sunday when they arrived), and they're embellished with odd trinkets they've made in camp classes.

But Camp Sunrise, it seems, is indeed a typical summer camp.

But listen closely to the dining hall chatter: "I brought a pink dress to wear to the dance Friday night. Mom said I should wear my wig, too, but it's hot. I wonder if I'm the first bald-headed person to wear a pink dress to a dance?" "Who cares?" "Are we going rappelling again? Good. I was puking the first time and missed it." "Go ahead. Bite me, you stupid mosquito. You'll get a mouthful of chemo, and that'll make you sorry you picked on me." "Javier gave us a scare last night. He danced too hard and hyperventilated a bit. He's just been diagnosed, and he doesn't realize cancer slows you down." "It didn't slow me down." "Did too." "Did not." "I hate this macaroni junk. I want another cookie." "I miss my mama. She makes good macaroni." "What do you know? You were only four when you were diagnosed."

Five minutes of lunchtime conversation shows these aren't ordinary campers and Camp Sunrise is no ordinary summer camp. The campers have cancer, and Camp Sunrise offers them a week of being a regular kid-not "The Kid with Cancer."

"I don't like being the only kid at school who gets chemo [therapy] because that means I'm the only fifth-grader without hair," says a 10-year-old, The "Boy Busters," as they are known affectionately, inhabit one cabin at Camp Sunrise. From left, Jill Busby, Brandi Balwinski, Stacey Orendorff, and Christel Eiber wear devilish smiles with their "horns."

Sculpturing a huge sandwich. “Other kids make fun, and my teachers get real nervous. Then my brother gets mad and gets in fights. It makes my dad sad. Here at camp, everybody understands. We can talk about cancer or we can forget about it. “Cancer is no big deal here because everybody has it. Even most of the counselors have it. So they don't get real nervous about it.” He's right. Nobody gets nervous about cancer at Camp Sunrise. The campers, ages seven to eighteen, all have the disease, and many of their counselors, all of them volunteers, have had it too. Camp Sunrise was started in June, 1983, with 23 young cancer survivors. They didn't know it, but they were pioneering one of the first oncology camps in the country, recalls Ann Wheat, manager of Childhood Cancer Services for the Arizona Division of the American Cancer Society.

"Children with cancer need a place where they can be regular kids, where they cancer is incidental to what's going on. That's why we started Camp Sunrise."

Wheat and her campers, counselors, nurses, and doctors have been pioneering ever since. They helped launch an unlikely project a book about the humor of kids with cancer-when they shared their experiences with Phoenix humorist Erma Bombeck. The book, I Want to Grow Hair, I Want to Grow Up, I Want to Go to Boise: Children Surviving Cancer, was released in October, 1989, by Harper and Row. The title came from a letter written by a child in Seattle who was asked to make three wishes, says Bombeck. She adds, “Clearly there's something going on in Boise that I don't know about.” The book got its start when Wheat called Bombeck and invited her to lunch to discuss writing about the humor expressed by children who have cancer.

What made her call Bombeck, a nationally syndicated columnist whom she had never

syndicated columnist whom she had never

met? “I just thought she'd be interested in the kids and their humor,” Wheat says.

“Being around the kids had convinced me that they have a special humor all their Own. . . one that the rest of the world would enjoy and appreciate.” Bombeck, though reluctant at first, agreed to meet the Camp Sunrise kids and possibly write a brochure. But the children at Camp Sunrise convinced her that, indeed, their humor and insight were something special. The brochure quickly Grew into a book-one that is based on interviews and correspondence with chil-dren from across the nation who have cancer. Bombeck says, “This is not my book-it's theirs.” Bombeck and her husband, Bill, have donated the book's royalties to help fund research programs of the American Cancer Society, and they have sponsored one of the new cabins at Camp Sunrise.

The cabins aren't fancy, but Wheat calls them “pure luxury.” In those early years of Camp Sunrise, she and her band of campers, counselors, and nurses were housed in tents. For the first five summers, they “roughed it” without benefit of a permanent camp home. Even the ebullient Wheat admits, “That was a challenge.” But she adds: “We had our share of fun and found out that camp was a much-needed

break for kids and for their families.”

In 1985 the camp was held for the first time at the R-C Scout Ranch. The ranch has hosted thousands of scouts and leaders since 1944, when it was first leased from the U.S. Forest Service (it was part of Tonto National Forest). The property, which has since been acquired through a negotiated land swap, sits on 75 acres of meadows and forests. Christopher Creek meanders through the property, and a little box canyon creates a swimming hole.

After two summers at R-C, cancer society leaders approached the Boy Scouts about the possibility of a long-term use agreement as well as about making some improvements. Facilities at the ranch were primitive and, although campers don't need or want “sissified” quarters, experiprimitive and, although campers don't need or want “sissified” quarters, experi-enced cancer society workers knew that campers with cancer sometimes need more than a tent and a pit toilet.

On Christmas Eve, 1987, the cancer society and the Boy Scouts of America signed an agreement that called for the improvements and provided a home for Camp Sunrise for at least 15 years.

Fund-raising began, and the American Cancer Society collected $60,000 for two sleeping cabins and an upgraded water system that campers began using in June, 1988. The Theodore Roosevelt Council of the Boy Scouts of America obtained a grant of $350,000 from the Anne N. Forsman Foundation for construction of a Grant of $350,000 from the Anne N. Forsman Foundation for construction of a 130-seat dining hall and a new shower and rest room facility. Then the cancer society raised another $50,000 to construct two additional cabins. The dining hall, addition-al cabins, and other new facilities were dedicated in July, 1989.

That summer, the Bombeck Cabin was among the new structures dedicated in ceremonies on Parents' Day. The cabin had been home all week to the “Boy Busters,” a lively gang of little girls whose squeals alerted all of Payson when a male of any age came within 100 feet of the cabin. The Boy Busters, however, did make an exception (only after a whispered conference with their counselor) and allowed Bill Bombeck to stand on the porch long enough to have his picture taken with themselves and Erma.

The new buildings, says Wheat, will make Camp Sunrise available to more chil-dren and their families. The summer camp-ing program is one of several free pro-grams available through the cancer societyto children with malignancies. Campers'siblings, often affected by the stress of can-cer in the family, convene for their own"Sidekicks" camp every summer afterCamp Sunrise. Campers and their familieshold a reunion every January prior to ahot-air balloon race that is conducted intheir honor. Families and campers stay intouch throughout the year through the"grapevine," says Wheat. Camp Sunrise, like other activities thecancer society offers children and theirfamilies, is an all-volunteer operation thatdepends on donated materials and ser-vices. Many of the volunteers spend theirvacations at Sunrise, riding herd on camp-ers and sharing such skills as how to catcha fish, how to bake a treat in a solar ovenor hit a bullseye with an arrow. Melissa Tang, a Phoenix computer pro-grammer, is a veteran of Camp Sunrise andis Wheat's "right hand" in planning-andrunning-the camp. Tang, known as "M"by her charges, says she can't imagine asummer without Camp Sunrise. "It's justpart of what I do. I couldn't spend myvacation anywhere else."

Sending any child away for the first timeto summer camp can be traumatic, butparents of Camp Sunrise kids say it's a spe-cial challenge to them. Monica Reed ofSpringerville was only seven years oldwhen she attended her first Camp Sunriseseveral years ago. Her dad, Marshell, says,"Turning her loose that first time wasalmost more than I could do. She's my lit-tle buddy, and we'd just learned she hadcancer. It was so hard to leave her... butnow it's a little easier because we knowhow much Camp Sunrise means to her." So what do kids with cancer do at sum-mer camp? The same things every otherchild does. They ride horses, fish, cook,swim, hike, scare each other with after-dark stories, sing songs, and make newfriends. They eat food they wouldn't touch tle buddy, and we'd just learned she hadcancer. It was so hard to leave her... butnow it's a little easier because we knowhow much Camp Sunrise means to her." So what do kids with cancer do at sum-mer camp? The same things every otherchild does. They ride horses, fish, cook,swim, hike, scare each other with after-dark stories, sing songs, and make newfriends. They eat food they wouldn't touch At home, plot against their counselors, andbrag about their big brothers. They dosome occasional whining (who doesn't),develop what they're sure are lifetimecrushes on their counselors, get mad attheir buddies, and laugh after lights-out ateven the dumbest jokes. (If April showersbring May flowers, what do May flowersbring? Pilgrims.) They're homesick one minute and they're having a grand time the next. They write poignant poems about friends who aren't at Camp Sunrise this year because they've lost their battle with cancer, and they tell funny stories about how they entertain classmates by ripping off their wigs at opportune moments.

While hiking, the littlest girls make a list of "things to do to get kids to like you" for their counselor, who will someday be a doctor. "Don't wear a lab coat. Wear little stuffed animals on your stethoscope and keep your stethoscope inside your clothes to keep it warm. It doesn't matter where you keep the animal because he'll be warm anyway. Give your patients candy, and ask them about school, not about how they feel."

A pretty 15-year-old gets all dressed up for the Friday night dance and develops a nosebleed. It's her fourth one today and she says, with a trembling lip, that she feels like crying. But she doesn't. She's resting under the watchful eye of the volunteer nurses and physician in the Med Shed. Her friends are sympathetic but matter-of-fact. "Lie down and rest. We'll stay with you until it stops." They do.

All the campers know where the Med Shed is and know when they're supposed to be there. A trip to the Shed is as much a part of camp routine as a trip to the dinBesides caring for campers' cancer-related problems, Med Shed nurses treat the usual summer camp ailments-tummy aches, blisters, and sunburn. "They have their share of garden-variety bumps and scrapes," Tomlinson says. "We treat it all."

Every camper's medications are kept in the Med Shed and dispensed by nurses. Painkillers, antibiotics, and chemotherapeutic agents are part of these campers' gear. Many of the children have "lines," lingo for tubing that has been surgically tunnelled under the skin of the chest and threaded into the vein that leads to the heart. These lines provide the path for chemotherapy.

CAMP SUNRISE

As the 10-year-old said, nobody gets nervous about this kind of thing at Camp Sunrise. In fact, it's routine. For example, little Jesus danced too hard on Friday night, and his line had to be retaped by his dancing partner-one of the nurses.

Progress in helping children like Jesus overcome cancer has been steady, and today substantially more than half those children afflicted can look forward to recovery. According to the National Cancer Institute, the percentage of children living at least five years after a diagnosis of cancer is now 63 percent-up from 24 percent in 1950. Where once the major focus of attention was on terminal care, it now is shifting to "survivor issues," such as family and peer support.

One of the highlights of the week at Camp Sunrise is the Great Jell-O War. Ammunition is gallons of Jell-O that has been sliced into cubes. Campers and counselors are divided into teams, and soon each team captain begins howling about the other guy getting an unfair advantage due to assorted underhanded tactics. The charges are unsubstantiated (but rumors chart so we know his or her condition and treatment. The kids are very knowledgeable about their own situations, and they know what needs to be done. are flying about extra Jell-O being smuggled in). The team captains assemble their teams-crews of big kids and little kids, some wearing garbage bag ponchos as armor-for a strategy session. Lookouts are posted lest any spies sneak in and hear the strategy.

The biggest kids eagerly accept the "special forces" assignment: they'll be the offensive wedge that will probably get plastered with Jell-O. The little kids will be right behind them as they try to overpower the other team and steal their "pot of gold," which is really orange Jell-O. It sounds simple. The big kids in the wedge will get creamed, but the little kids will press on under their cover, and the Great Jell-O War will be nothing but a skirmish. And, as one overconfident team captain predicts, "It'll be over before the other guys know what hit 'em."

While it's clear that the team tastes victory, some of the younger infantry are beginning to taste their ammunition. The team captain knows he's in trouble and elects to launch the first attack while his team still has ammunition.

A half hour later, both teams are covered in Jell-O. Innocent bystanders are covered in Jell-O. There's confusion about who actually won. Accusations are still flying, and so is an occasional cube of Jell-O.

Ev Griffin, the R-C Scout Ranch's resident caretaker, has promised the warriors that he'll hose them down with a fire hose. Some of the stickier kids say that's the best part of the deal. Griffin, who's a wellknown figure around the camp (he camped there as a Scout, brought campers there as a counselor, and now lives on the property year-round), wields the fire hose with the experienced touch of a man who knows these kids. He knows who can stand the extra blast that they're all begging for-and he knows who can't. "Camp Sunrise is the highlight of my summer," he says. "A lot of these campers come back year after year, and they ask me the first day if I'll wash 'em down with my fire hose again after the Jell-O War. I don't think they know I look forward to it as much as they do."

How could anybody possibly look forward to spending a week with children who have cancer? "If you don't know, you ought to do it, and find out for yourself," says Griffin. "It's not something I can explain."

For more information about the American Cancer Society's services for children with cancer, call 1-800-227-2345.