13 years on.

This is a post for all of the victims taken by 9/11 13 years ago today. 

This is for the mothers who kissed their children goodbye that morning, not knowing that it would be for the last time. 

This is for the fathers who rushed out to work late that day, with simply shouting a goodbye as he ran out the door. 

This is for all of those people on that plane, the cabin crew, the pilot...mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, cousins, aunties, uncles, friends...for those who eagerly packed their bags just a few hours beforehand, only to never open them. 

This is for the kids who saw the devastation on the news at school, who went home that day an orphan. 

This is for the firefighters who ran in to the collapsing building in order to save a life, in that moment wanting someone else to have a family, putting their lives at risk for others. 

This is for the police officers who not only witnessed the screams of those in the building, but had to make that phone call, or that visit to the house to tell a family that their loved one had been taken. 

This is for the people standing by who couldn't do anything but stand helplessly and listen to the cries. 

This is for the soldiers who fought back and made the ultimate sacrifice. This is for the brave who lost their lives on that fateful day. 

So 13 years on, we take a moment of silence, and we salute you.

One, two, three...Hakuna Matata.

So despite promising most of my friends a blog post the moment I arrived in the states, in true Sarahbella style I am nearly a week late. I have an excuse, promise. 

WHAT. A. WEEK. I am mentally and physically exhausted, but in a good way (is that even possible?!). We have been getting to the lodge at 6:55am and leaving at 10pm every day, I can't remember a time when I have EVER been up without a nap for that long. We arrived Saturday night and it is now Thursday, where has that time gone?! Although we haven't got any campers yet, I think I have absorbed more information in a week than I have in 14 years of education. Lifting, personal care, camp songs, Herman the Worm's life story...you name it, we have learnt it. 

I love camp. 6 days in and I have made friends that I can see myself keeping for life. I can't think of any other way of saying it. It has been so so so intense, and don't get me wrong, I have been homesick, stressed and ready to book my flights home at a few points within the week, but there was one thing that has put it perspective. After a stressful week, tonight we had a Disability awareness presentation and a talent show. At the end of the show, our assistant camp director read a piece of writing called 'What is a camp staff person?' that had been written by Lutheran Lakeside Camp and edited by Camp high Hopes. I think we all found ourselves getting a bit emotional, every word of it is true. In a week we have worked as a team, developed new skills and grown as both individuals and a team. For the next 3 months we are a family, during the good times and the bad, we are a team and we are only as strong as our weakest member. It's going to be difficult but it is going to be worth it. 

Who is a Camp Staff Person?

Written by Lutheran Lakeside camp, edited by Camp High Hopes.

Somewhere between adolescence and adulthood, there occurs a stage in human development that at first glance may seem highly unlikely to exist and impossible to occur. Yet it is constantly occurring - an unfathomable period known as (cue dramatic music now)... the CAMP STAFF STAGE! This camp staff creature is undefined by psychologists, misunderstood by camp directors, worshipped by campers, admired by parents, gawked at by strangers, and unknown to the rest of the world.

A camp staff person possesses a rare combination of peacemaking and teaching skills. She is a competent child psychologist with her textbook from last fall to prove it. He is an underpaid guardian with neither a television nor a refrigerator. She is a disciplinarian with a twinkle in her eye; an example to everyone with new questions on her own. He is a referee, a coach, an advisor, and a friend. She is a role model with her head in a cloud of campfire smoke and her shoes in a puddle of mud. He is a song leader, an entertainer, and a play director. She is the example of adulthood in her worn out tennis shoes, random bracelets, bandanna, and Camp High Hopes t-shirt that reeks of campfire. He is a comforter on a stormy night and a pal who just loaned out his last pair of dry socks.

Camp staff people dislike waking up, high-powered flashlights,waiting in line for supper, and consecutive rainy days. They are fond of new songs, dry socks, theme nights, Captain Crunch, snail mail, starry nights, sunsets, and hugs. They are excellent at finding lost towels, water bottles and socks. Who but camp staff people can cure homesickness, air out wet bedding, play endless games of would you rather and I spy, spend hours untangling fishing poles, make up verses to Fred the Mousse and spending half the week looking like a smurf from tie dye.

A camp staff person is expected to have enough patience for 10 people, make Amanda a new girl, rehabilitate Tyler, allow Johnny to be an individual, and help Leah adjust to the group. He is expected to lead campers in fun and adventure - even when his head aches. She is expected to teach them to live in the great outdoors - even though she lives in a dorm room for nine months out of the year. They must teach campers ingenious activities, lead them in social adjustment, and ensure safety and health while he has a sunburn, she has bug bites, and they both have blisters on their feet. 

You wonder how he can stand the pace and how she can take the pressure. You wonder if they'll ever know how truly valuable and needed they are. You wonder if they will ever get to see the impact they have made. You realize that when they leave in August you could never have paid them enough. You hope they will understand that they are called to be a part of theses young people's lives... and the lives of their peers. However, for a brief moment on that Friday afternoon when the camper walks to the car, and just before disappearing turns with a smile and says, "See you next time" - You stop wondering.

Thank you to all of the nurses out there.

First of all, I sincerely apologise for my lack of blog posts in the past month or two. Things have been somewhat hectic recently, as this post will hopefully begin to explain... 

I have had several uni interviews over the past couple of months where I have been asked about what has recently been in the news re the NHS, it has almost always come down to reports of things that nurses are doing wrong. Whether that is not making beds well enough, not doing meds on time, doing paperwork wrong, it doesn't matter. Nurses almost always seem to be criticised for something or other. Up until now I have thankfully never really been in a position where I have had to spend a long period of time in a ward, for myself or visiting someone, so I have generally just gone on what the news articles have said, but after the past few days, I have had to resist the urge to phone up the universities and take back everything I have said, and here is why. 

Matthew has been sick this week, and I mean real sick, like, sicker than he's ever been. It started with him groaning every few minutes and complaining to us that he was feeling sick (I had no sympathy, he chose Waterloo road to groan through meaning that I missed most shots of Kevin's beautiful face) Katy and I were convinced that he had a very severe case of 'Skive-ilitis', possibly led on from an incredibly serious case of 'I-have-French-homework-due-tomorrow-that-I-haven't-done syndrome', of course we gave our best medical advice of 'man up and shut up'. Uh huh, medical professionals in the making.  

Of course I wasn't happy when he got the next day off school, what big sister would be when they have a 12 hour day ahead of them? I was convinced that he needed to man up and get on with it, I mean, I had to be on my deathbed before I even got a morning off school. I could have a limb hanging off and I would be told to put a wet paper towel on it and get an early night. Anyone else with me? 

Long story short I am now sat here writing this next to my brother in his hospital bed. He is exhausted, he is a deathly white colour, he is attached to a drip that feeds him medication whenever he needs it. (Or 'proper good drugs' as Matthew likes to refer to them as..) He has scars across his stomach and for someone who has such a high threshold for pain, he has been complaining of a seven out of ten, for any of us that roughly translates to complete and utter agony.  

 Acute appendicitis, Peritonitis and pelvic ulcers. Not recommended folks. 

 And as for us, we have had to watch helplessly. We can't make the pain stop, we can't make the scars go away and we can't chuck the drip out of the window. We can't stop the bright lights, the loud noises and the strange people that he doesn't know coming in and out of his room. (Although I can play with the remote that controls his bed, become engrossed in an episode of pointless on his tv that I nicked from him and perfect the art of stealing his food without him noticing, but apparently that is slightly frowned upon...)

But through all of this, the nurses on the Bramble ward of the Royal Devon and Exeter hospital have been absolutely incredible. They've looked after him to the best of their ability. They have dealt with us coming in and blowing up the disposable gloves and making them in to balloons. They've laughed along with us during a heated discussion during a game of Uno (I'm still convinced that Katy and Matt were ganging up on me). They've dealt with fairly frequent requests for ice cream (obviously all for Matthew, we would never considering nicking even a teaspoon from him, especially not a whole bowl...) they have sat and explained things to him and us when we are confused about his treatment or about what is going on, despite the fact that they have a million and one other things to do. And the sad thing is, 99% of nurses up and down the country are the same as the ones that have been looking after Matt. So why don't we read about them in the newspaper? Why do we only hear about the people that have been failed by the NHS? It makes no sense.

So next time you read about how the medication rounds take too long, remember that the nurse doing the round may be holding their bladder because they haven't had the time to use the toilet. Next time you see in the news that patients aren't getting enough fresh air because a nurse forgets to open the window, remember that they have spent so much time running around caring for people that they could've missed lunch. They are being peed on, puked on, bitten and complained at all whilst doing their absolute level best to care for either you or your family members, and they still do it with a smile on their face. Then they go home and read in the paper that they aren't doing their job right. 99.9% of nurses care. They leave their family to come and care for you and your family. Yet all you have to do is do a google news search on nurses and the majority of the articles that appear are slating nurses. How is this okay and why have we allowed it to go on for so long?!

Next time you hear someone slating the nursing profession, do me a favour and please think of the nurses that have looked after Matthew and our family in the past few days and say something for the nurses all over the world who are as incredible as the ones on Bramble ward.  

Thank you. 

P.s. He still hasn't done his French homework..

A letter to Urban Outfitters.

Dear Urban Outfitters,

I don’t usually complain to shops, if something annoys me I will generally say something to a friend and that will be the end of it. If something really annoys me, it will go on twitter or Facebook and it will be forgotten about within a few days. But you know what? This is going further. I am writing to you regarding the t-shirts that are on sale within your store and on your website. These t-shirts are the ‘Eat Less’ and ‘Depression’ ones. (http://www.urbanoutfitters.com/urban/catalog/productdetail.jsp?id=29812401) 

I don’t know what you are trying to achieve by putting these out for sale. Are you trying to glorify mental illness? I sincerely hope not. Do you know the statistics? Judging by your disgusting design ideas I am assuming not, so I will enlighten you. 1 in 4 people in the UK suffer from some sort of mental illness, it is estimated that in one year, over 1 million people will commit suicide, 100,000 of these deaths being the very people these t-shirts are advertised to, teenagers.  I have seen lives wrecked by Mental illness, the majority of these being teenagers. Mental illness is just that, an illness. You would never even think about a t-shirt with ‘cancer’ or ‘arthritis’ printed over it, so why depression? And why encourage young people not to eat? 

Surely you have seen in the news and on the internet the thousands of people that are spending their lives working to stop the stigma of mental illness? Stigma can shatter hopes of recovery and social inclusion, leaving the person feeling devastated and isolated, people living with mental illness often say the stigma and discrimination associated with their illness can be worse than the mental illness itself. Why on earth would you want to encourage that? It baffles me. 

This is completely unacceptable, you give the message that you want to make mental illness a fashion, it is vile. Surely, after what happened with Asda and Tesco at Halloween, you didn’t expect to get away with this? We need an explanation, and fast.

Sarah Brown. 

A very upset ex-customer. 

saraheleanorbrown@hotmail.co.uk