Camp Nurse (18 page)

I didn’t think Hailey would harm herself or others. That was my gut instinct, but I couldn’t take that chance. What if I was reading her wrong? How could I know for sure?

It was Caitlin’s turn to give out the evening pills, so I had time to myself. I called home. Ivan asked about the kids, but I didn’t have much to tell him. Hearing his voice made me miss him. I signed off quickly and went to join the nightly campfire. I took up a place outside the circle’s edge, careful not to encroach on their space. The campfire was such a unifying place – the campers were equals here, whereas in the cabins lines of loyalty and power were often drawn. It was their “nursing station,” the place where they shared their stories and felt a sense of togetherness. The kids roasted hot dogs and went off in search of sticks and branches to toast marshmallows for s’mores. I stayed by the fire. I was beginning to appreciate their need to just chill. Their lives at home the rest of the year were so jam-packed and stressful. Camp was a break from all of that. I watched their noisy delight in the novelty of preparing their own food with something as primitive as fire. We were all novices with fire, coming from our fossil-fuelled homes filled with electrical appliances. None of us were used to seeing fire, much less using it.

The songleader tuned his guitar and led the campers in dances like the Cha Cha Slide or the Macarena and in singing
TV
theme songs from shows such as “Friends” and “Family Guy.” When the youngest campers went off to bed, I got up to leave, too. I was tired but enjoyed the sensation of well-earned fatigue at the end of each active day. As we strolled away from the campfire, one girl complained to her friend.

“Tonight’s
E.P
.
^*
was just a campfire? How lame is that? At my other camp I got to sing ‘Party Like a Rock Star’ in front of everyone at talent night.”

“At least a campfire is way funner than an
E.T.B
.,
^†
” her friend answered.

“But still, it’s the same old, same old.”

Yeah, right. Another borrring day
.

“Woohoo! Lookin’ fly, Nurse Tilda!”

“Check it out, fellas! Smokin’ nurse headin’ our way!”

“Hey, guys, who knew our nurse was such a babe?”

That was how the trippers greeted me when I visited them in their cabin one evening. It was the day after my big fashion intervention at Giant Tiger and I guess my new look was still making a hit! Perhaps they now saw me differently, or maybe, for the first time, at all. I wouldn’t normally venture into tripper territory, but I needed to bring them the first-aid kits and camper medications they’d forgotten to pick up before leaving early the next morning on a six-day canoe trip.

I hesitated before knocking on the door, nervous to enter their all-male domain where, rumour had it, there were wild, late-night goings-on. Jordan, the head tripper, tall and strapping, welcomed me, along with six (or seven or eight – I couldn’t count due to sudden light-headedness) trippers that crowded around me. They were wearing shorts, plus or minus muscle shirts – some in the midst of hastily pulling on those very items, as I walked in. Well, what can I say, but I was getting flustered, rather
verklempt
,
^*
and highly
hormotional
!
^†

Get a grip
, I told myself.
What’s wrong with you? They’re eighteen-and nineteen-year-old boys and you’re a grown woman! Act your age!

“What can we do you for, Nurse Tilda?” Jordan turned down the volume of the pumped-up, throbbing music playing on his boom box.

I came to my senses. “You were supposed to pick up these first-aid kits. Were you planning to wake me up at five in the morning before leaving?”

“Geez, sorry.” He hit his forehead and flashed me an endearing grin. I melted.

“We also have safety information and camper medications to review.”

“I know all that stuff, but you run it by the noobs here who haven’t taken out a trip, yet.” Jordan offered me a seat atop one of their massive knapsacks, packed for the trip. The other trippers gathered around, taking up positions at my feet, or on the edge of their bunks. They gave me their respectful attention.
Okay, this is good!

“What about him?” I pointed at someone sprawled on his cot, softly snoring.

“Oh, the Frog Man? We went out last night and he got …
sick
.”

“Is he well enough to take kids out on a trip?”

“Oh, he’ll be okay,” Jordan said with another grin.

I get it, I get it. He’s hungover
.

We started with a review of basic first aid. I tested them on splinting a fractured limb and treating sunstroke. I watched them demonstrate taping a sprained ankle. I questioned them on bee stings, deep wounds, and blackfly bites. I put them through their paces for emergency procedures, quizzing them on the signs of anaphylactic shock and making them enact a mock
CPR
drill while I observed closely. I told them to double-check that they’d
packed enough epinephrine and syringes. They were impressively knowledgeable and confident. They were also skilled in wilderness survival techniques, making shelters, tying ropes and knots, and predicting the weather. They knew what to do in the event of earthquakes, quicksand, electrical storms, and hurricanes.

However, when we started reviewing the camper medications, I began to lose them. Their interest waned with the move to this more prosaic topic. It’s always like that: everyone prefers heroic rescues, life-saving, fixing, and curing. Nursing care, with its daily tending, monitoring, and paying close attention, takes more stamina and patience – and has no status. The guys were getting restless as I spoke about medications that could be given on an “as needed basis.” One guy started juggling oranges. Others stretched out and lazed around the room. Someone turned the volume back up on the music, obviously a cue to me to cut to the chase. I continued on, all the while trying not to notice their muscular arms and legs, their strong backs and rippling chests …

What hot bodies
, Caitlin would have whispered to me if she had been there.
Gorging on the eye candy, are you, girlfriend?

As I spoke about the properties of acetaminophen versus those of ibuprofen, I was envisioning them hauling canoes out of the water and hoisting them onto their backs, getting hot and sweaty as they led the way through the wilderness. I had heard about their legendary end-of-summer trip. I knew that after the campers all went home, the trippers went out on a two-week survival trip, deep in the wild bush.
Maybe I’ll join them, go off and tough it out in the wilderness … me and the trippers
.

I jumped up to clear my head and fell over one of the heavy backpacks. Jordan helped me to my feet and was kind enough not to snicker.

“Okay! Any questions about the medications?” I asked.

“Which is the drug that knocks them out?” one guy asked. “Is it this one?” He picked up a bottle of Gravol, also known as
dimenhydrinate, used to prevent vomiting, and then a bottle of Benadryl, diphenhydramine, which is an antihistamine that helps to relieve itchiness or nasal congestion due to allergies. He was clearly mixing them up. It was an easy thing to do because of the similarity of their generic names and also because both drugs can cause drowsiness. However, neither is to be used for that purpose.

“Are these painkillers?” another guy asked, picking up another bottle of pills. “I’m not giving any painkillers to the wimps!” he said. “They’ll have to tough it out.”

They were getting me worried. I hastened to correct their misunderstanding of these drugs. Jordan asked me about a boy who was well-known for his hyperactivity and hijinks. “Where’s Ryan’s add meds?” He searched though the bags.

“Ryan isn’t on any meds.”

“Well, last summer he was, and man, he still needs them! That kid is majorly high maintenance.” He glanced at me, trying to gauge how far he could go with this. “I think I liked him better when he was a zombie.”

That cracked them right up. These guys hadn’t earned the right to make these kinds of jokes. Given their cavalier attitude, these jokes were wrong, possibly dangerous. These kids were scaring me.

“You guys aren’t getting it,” I said. “This is a serious matter.”

So many things can go wrong
.

“We’ll look after the kids, don’t worry,” Jordan said. “They love us! We won’t leave them out for the wolves!”

“Listen carefully. Each of these drugs has the potential to harm a child if it is used improperly. You can
kill
someone by giving the wrong drug to the wrong person or in the wrong dose, or at the wrong time, or in the wrong way.”

Now, I had their attention once again.

“You guys have the most important job at camp. Being a tripper is the job with the greatest responsibility. You take the
children out of camp, into the wilderness, far from any help. If something goes wrong, you will have to handle it alone. These kids’ lives are completely in your hands. It is up to you to keep them healthy and return them safely.”

That did it. The room fell quiet.

I wanted to end on a positive note. So I told them about what I’d observed when a cabin of kids had returned to camp after the last canoe trip. I had stood aside, watching them bound off the bus. They looked pleased and proud of what they’d accomplished out there, roughing it in the wilderness. Overcoming the challenges they’d faced together had forged strong bonds between them. Even with their bug-bitten legs, complaints about getting rained out, and the burnt food, they were triumphant. In particular, I noticed the kids who’d been scared to go on the trip but who had gone anyway. I could see on their faces the new confidence and self-esteem they’d earned by conquering their fears.

“You taught those kids how to survive in nature and it made them stronger,” I told the trippers. They listened and nodded. I was pretty sure they got my message.

It was almost midnight and time for me to go. Just then, a knock came at the door. Jordan greeted a group of swim and drama counsellors who’d shown up for a late-night rendezvous, eager for some tripper-style fun and games.

“Hey, sluts,” he called out to them. “Quiet down. We gotta finish going over some stuff with the nurse. Come back in a few minutes and we’ll have a cuddle party.”

“We can’t wait that long, you sexy beasts!” someone called back.

Involuntarily, I cringed. It was offensive to me the way they talked to each other. I don’t think they even realized just how crude those words were. I’d heard this language before at camp, many times. At least they refrained from using it when campers were around. Once, I’d asked a female counsellor about it. “It
doesn’t mean anything. They’re just words. Things we say. It’s no biggie,” she’d told me, but I remained unconvinced.

Jordan cranked up the music.

“Well, I see my work here is done.” I got up to go.

Jordan dropped down to one knee, grabbed my hand, and placed a soda pop ring on my finger. “Hey, Nurse Tilda, will you marry me?”

“You guys really should have an early night.” I tried to sound stern.

“You’re absolutely right, but the thing is, there’s this little party happening, like, right now,” Jordan flashed me that grin again as he walked me to the door. “But thanks for coming, it was a slice!”

One tripper gave me a lazy high-five. “You da bomb, Nurse Tilda!”

“Stay real, Nurse Tilda,” another called out.

I was hardly down the path from their cabin when Jordan flung open the door to bring on the girls and let the cuddle-fest begin.

The trippers left bright and early the next morning, taking two cabins of thirteen-year-old boys deep into the remote wilderness of Algonquin Park. They would be paddling canoes on its pristine lakes by day and pitching tents and setting up a campsite each night. Whenever a trip went out, Coach Carson became preoccupied and tense. He kept in touch with the trippers by satellite phone on a daily basis, but still, his campers were out of his reach. He wouldn’t be able to relax until they were all back, safe and sound.

A few days later I was working in the mc. I was bent over a child’s foot, soaking it in warm salt water to soften up an inflamed ingrown toenail. The walkie on the countertop crackled
and a female voice came over the air. “Has anyone seen Max?”

Voices from various locations around camp volleyed back and forth: “Max who?” asked someone at a and c.

“You know, the nurse’s son.”

“Nope, haven’t seen him.”

“I think I saw down him at the waterfront … that was earlier this morning.”

“Where’s he supposed to be?”

“His cabin is at the ski docks.”

“Hey, it’s Sandy here on ski. There’s no Max here.”

“Shit!” someone muttered. “The kid’s gone
AWOL
!”

Something purely primal, a deep animal instinct inside me, kicked in. I dropped the camper’s foot into the basin of water, nodded at Caitlin and Kitch, and took off for the water-ski area, just south of the main swim docks.

Don’t wander off!
I’d told Max so many times.
Stay with the group! Follow the rules! Sit still! Listen! Pay attention!
I yelled at him in my head as I’d done many times, for real. But Camp Carson was so vast and sprawling, a child could easily go missing, and Max was someone who didn’t always follow the crowd …

He wasn’t at the canoes or kayaks, nor in his cabin. Others joined in the search. I knew that any minute Wendy would sound the emergency alarm and there’d be an all-out missing-person alert. Suddenly, I came to a halt and stood there, forcing myself to slow down and consider the situation rationally. I knew my kid. He was an explorer, a dreamer, and an inventor. He was full of mischief and highly distractible but neither reckless nor foolish. Max knew how to look after himself. He wasn’t lost. Of course,
we
didn’t know where he was, but
he
did. That’s how he would see it. He’d show up, I told myself, and that calmed me down.