It was the summer of '87. I was
16 years old and had been quite reluctant about attending the church's
summer educational program in previous years because of health problems.
Anxious at the thought of driving and having a car, I was willing to do
whatever it took to earn some points with my parents. Perhaps I could
show them what a good camper I could be and come back home from Big
Sandy, Texas with a couple of camp awards. Or at least that was my plan.
Trying to save money on an airline ticket, my parents hooked up with
another family out of Tennessee (they were complete strangers to us).
They were going to drive down and pick up their own son from the first
session camp. So it worked out that I rode to Big Sandy with them. The
only catch was that they drove down 4 days before my camp session
started, so I had to be the early bird.
I remember meeting the counselors, Heidi Schatz and
Elizabeth Adlington. They were in their early 20's (Ambassador College
students) and were going to be "in charge" of us teenage girls
for the next three weeks. They weren't the warm, hospitable types I'd
hoped for and I remember waiting very impatiently for some of the other
campers to arrive. After my first night in the dorm with them (the
counselors), I was awakened by Ms. Schatz as she explained she wanted to
discuss something with me. Apparently, the night before when I'd walked
to the campus mart, they'd snuck into my room and searched through all
my stuff. Of course, they didn't bother to apologize or explain why
they'd taken such an action. They said they'd found a prescription
(given to me by my doctor) and informed me that they would have to lock
up any medication, even aspirin I had brought. I explained to them that
I suffered from severe endometriosis and pulled out a doctor's note
stating that I was to be excluded from strenuous physical activity while
going through the girly thing. Ms. Adlington peered at the note and
said, " My father was a doctor. All you'll need is a banana if you
have cramps." I remember thinking how she had downplayed my illness
and how my privacy was invaded and how I didn't like it too well, but
there I was, hundreds of miles from home, so what choice did I have? I
also remember praying that God would hold off the girly thing until I
returned home. As fate would have it, my girly thing started 2 days
later.
The next thing I remember was being with the other campers on a 30-mile
bike trip. Even though I had begged them to let me "sit out"
the bike ride, they were not concerned. I had honestly been having the
worst endometriosis episode I'd ever had. Explaining my pain to them was
a complete waste of time. So, after making it through the first couple
of miles with tears streaming down my face, I finally passed out,
partially from the pain and partially from the 117 degree heat, while
they (the counselors) rode behind us in an air-conditioned van. I just
remember looking up and seeing two of my fellow campers wiping my face.
I then pleaded with them (the counselors) to let me ride with them in
the van to no avail. Misery doesn't really come close to describing that
bike trip.
That night, I asked to make one
call to my mom. The calling policy was that you could only make a phone
call in an emergency and it had to be approved by the counselors. Of
course, they denied my request. Another day passed as I felt like I was
going to scream if someone didn't help me. I thought of running away but
I remembered that we were several miles from a highway and I'd probably
be spotted by another WCG S.E.P. leader and worsen the situation. By
this point, the counselors wouldn't even speak to me. It was obvious
they considered me to be a "whiner" and they wished they could
lock me in a closet. Looking back, I'm surprised they didn't. Finally,
opportunity knocked and I had the chance to grab that phone without
anyone seeing me. I remember hearing my mom's voice and saying,
"Mom, they don't know I'm calling you. Please call here (at the
camp) and talk to someone who can help me!!! Please mom, I'm in pain,
please help me!" She was worried; she knew I was serious and needed
help. She then made several calls and actually reached someone in the
camp infirmary who said, "Is she the one who's diabetic?" Mom
said, "NO, but please give that girl her medication also!"
After alerting the medical authorities on campus, it was obvious that no
one really cared about me or the diabetic. Somehow I survived it though.
I wonder what happened to the other girl? I never received medical
attention or medication of any kind. My mother told me much later that
she almost drove down to get me...I wish she had of!
There was another camper in 3-G
named Toby something, from Minnesota. I'll never forget the night I
overheard Ms. Schatz and Ms. Adlington discussing whether or not to
inform her that her brother had been killed in a car accident. After a
casual banter, they agreed to tell her but to deny her a leave. That
meant she was to stay at the camp and miss her own brother's funeral,
etc. My mouth dropped. I tried to imagine how I would feel if my brother
had just been killed with me hundreds of miles from home, devastated.
Sorrow took a new dimension with me as I watched Toby writhing on the
floor, begging to go home. Straight-faced and in a very cold tone, both counselors
said, "We feel it is in your best interest to stay at S.E.P."
That poor girl was a pale-faced, tear-ridden shell for the rest of that
camp. My own dilemma seemed very slight in light of hers.
I could write pages more on the mistreatment of me and many other
campers.
By India - Child Survivor of WCG
(first name used with permission)
Read India's other story:
The
Spank Tent
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