Camp Nurse (29 page)

“There
was
a reason.” Eddie put his feet up on a table and Seth shoved them back off. “Mitchy Mouse was being his usual dorky self and he pissed me off, like he does everyday, but this time I’d had enough and thought,
You’re going down
. So I tanked that dumb-ass kid right into next week.”

I gauged the situation: Eddie’s build was short and scrawny and Mitchell was hefty and solid. How much damage could Eddie have caused? But before Alice and I had a chance to hear from Louise about Mitchell’s injury, Rudy came in and spoke sternly to Eddie. “Pack your things, young man. You’re going home. I’ve called your parents and they’re coming to get you.” This time he made no mention of second chances, zero tolerance, or the golden rule.

“Whatever,” Eddie muttered, as if he didn’t care, but when he got on the phone and spoke to his parents he sounded more indignant than indifferent. “I didn’t do anything,” he told his father. “I have no idea why these people are on my case. They’re insane. They must be on crack. The other kid’s a truck. He’s way bigger than me.”

“You just lied to your parents,” I pointed out when he got off the phone.

“Yup. I lie all the time. They say they
trust
me. Hah! Big mistake.” He picked up a bottle of cough syrup from the counter. “Hey, this is the stuff they use to make crystal meth. I think I’ll steal it.” He made as if to pocket it before putting it back.

I tried to make conversation to pass the time until his parents arrived. “Do you have brothers or sisters?” I started off on what I hoped would be a safe subject.

“Yeah, an older brother, but he’s the good one. My mother says he’s going to turn out okay and I’m going to land up in jail!”

“Was there anything you liked doing at camp?” I was still trying to make pleasantries.

“Yeah,” he grinned devilishly, “jerking off in the forest.”

How’s that working for you?
I wanted to retort like Dr. Phil. I was infuriated at him but still felt the need to say something therapeutic and nurse-like. I could only come up with, “Eddie, you seem unhappy. Would you like to get help for your problems?”

“Oh, they sent me to a therapist but he was an idiot. I lied to
him. I didn’t tell him one true thing, only lies. My mother thought he was helping me deal with my issues. What a joke! There was no way I was going to tell that guy anything personal. The problem is my fucking family. They are totally out of touch with reality. Hey, they
are
a fucking reality show.”

So much bravado, but anyone could see he was hurting. Yet, try as hard as I could to be non-judgmental, I couldn’t hide my disapproval.

“I suppose you want me to de-fuck my language?” he asked, grinning.

I let out a sigh of exasperation. “Eddie, your language is the least of your problems.”

Soon – but not soon enough – Eddie’s parents arrived, apologetic and embarrassed. They were about to rush off, but Rudy took them aside.

“Eddie has serious psychological problems,” Rudy said. “There is something terribly wrong with his behaviour. He needs help.”

“Oh, don’t worry, he’s getting help,” the father said, ready to leave.

“Whatever help he’s getting is not enough.” Rudy held fast, wanting to make sure his message got through. “He needs more. His behaviour is abnormal and totally unacceptable. He is violent and dangerous. We cannot give him the help he needs at this camp, but we wish him well.”

The parents hurried off with Eddie in tow. Only Seth came to say goodbye.

“I didn’t see it coming, so I wasn’t ready,” Mitchell chattered nervously. He sat up on the examining table grimacing with every movement. “I got the wind knocked out of me.” He clutched at his side and breathed shallowly. I gave him a painkiller and took his vital signs. Despite his discomfort, he kept up the patter. “If
I’d been ready, I could’ve taken the hit like a man, but hey, that’s the story of my life, I never see it coming.” I listened to his chest with my stethoscope and heard air moving equally in both lungs. His colour was good so he was probably getting enough oxygen, but still, I felt uneasy. Mitchell wanted to return to his cabin, which was a good sign, so we let him go. He was enjoying the attention and was given a welcoming cheer by his cabin mates, to which he gleefully responded.

“Hey, guys, did you know Harry Houdini died from a punch in the stomach?” he announced. “Maybe that’ll happen to me, too!”

After pill call that evening, I went to Mitchell’s cabin to check on him. He was still wincing in pain. I took his vital signs and listened to his chest. This time I detected a slight decrease in air entry on his injured side, but his colour was good and vital signs stable. He might have fractured a rib, which could have punctured his lung, causing a leak. It could heal on its own but it could also get worse, drastically. Louise agreed and drove him to the hospital late that night, where they diagnosed a small pneumothorax, which meant there was an area of his lungs that had deflated and wasn’t receiving oxygen. The doctor felt the “pneumo” would heal on its own without requiring a chest tube to reinflate his lung but did admit him to the hospital for close observation. Louise and Alice congratulated me for my good call and I have to admit, I felt proud of my well-honed skills.

Two days later Mitchell returned to camp. He was well enough to re-join his cabin but wanted to stay in the Health Centre and we let him. Most of the day, he lay in bed, reluctant to walk around. He asked if we could bring in a television and kidded that he’d probably get bed sores from lying around so much. We served him noodle soups and chilled fruit juices. Seth and the cabin visited every day, bringing him treats and even Muffin, a rabbit from the nature area (and at nighttime, Mabel, the nocturnal hedgehog, who was awake and eager to play).
Mitchell was enjoying our room service and being an invalid, but he was healthy now, and after a couple of days it was time to kick him out.

It’s like that in the hospital, too
, I thought. We nurses always say that when our patients start playing with the buttons on the electric bed to put it into different positions or complaining about the mattress, the food, or the “service,” it’s time to discharge them. It may seem harsh, but the whole point is to get better and go home, isn’t it?

“Why don’t you take a walk to the nature area and put Muffin back in his cage?” I suggested. “You have to start moving,” I reminded him, but he complained that he was still in pain and too tired.

“Don’t you want to get back on the bike? Remember how it made you feel better last summer?” We talked again about Lance Armstrong but Mitchell wasn’t as inspired.

Try and help yourself
, I wanted to tell him.

The next day Mitchell returned to his cabin but withdrew from his friends. He left swim class or sailing, even low-key arts and crafts, to visit us, each time coming up with some tiny or implausible ailment. He began to talk about going home.

“My parents say if I come home I’ll spend the summer vegging out on the couch and gain more weight.”

“Is that a possibility?”

He nodded and hung his head, guilty as charged. I put my arm around him as we walked back to his cabin.

“It’s weird ’cause each year I think I’m going to like camp, and I’m, like, excited – well, excited-slash-nervous – but as soon as I get here, I can’t handle it. I make the best of it on the outside, but on the inside I’m sad.” He brightened. “The best part was the hospital. Now,
that
was cool.”

A day or two later, Mitchell did go home. His parents came and thanked us for all we’d done. They were very loving toward
their son but obviously disappointed. “We thought he’d at least make it through the first week,” the father said to Rudy.

“I wouldn’t worry,” he said. “Camp isn’t the right place for every child at all times. Let’s try again next year.”

Occasionally I put aside my resistance and went to prayer services. Alice was always there and the counsellors, too, sitting with their campers, setting a good example. I had to ask myself, what message was I sending by not attending?
It’s good for you, but not for me. You need this but I don’t
. Once I got there, I realized it was pleasant to be together with the rest of the camp, and the music was fabulous. Once, a visiting rabbi played the accordion. After a few guffaws at what everyone assumed would be a corny instrument, we all got into it, moving to the cool, old-world swing sound. Another day, the song-leaders sang prayers set to U2 melodies and one to Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song.” The children provided a lot of entertainment, too, reading aloud prayers and poems they’d written expressing gratitude for nature, friends, family, and camp itself. Some of their thoughts were touching and a few hilarious with the odd flub or blooper.

Alice always saved me a spot on the bench beside her but I preferred to stand at the side or the back of the outdoor chapel. There was a tree that had a deep cleft running down it right to the exposed roots and I liked to lean in there against the trunk. From that vantage point, I could look out at everyone and check out who had the sniffles or was coughing and who looked homesick. I watched Xiu-Ling and Frankie and tried to figure out if they were holding hands as best friends or scowling as mortal enemies. I double-checked that the brakes were locked on Steven’s wheelchair because Dave often parked it on a slope. Once, I noticed a little boy squirming in a certain way that was very familiar to me. The bathroom was a far distance, so I led
him into the woods nearby and found him a private spot. “Do you enjoy services?” I asked as we made our way back.

“No, but it’s better than going to synagogue at home. How can I ever go back to that boring place?” he asked. “Even my dad falls asleep.”

No, these services were not boring. They were relaxing, thought-provoking, and joyful. Even talking about God didn’t seem as much of a stretch of the imagination, out in nature, in this beautiful setting.

“We each understand God in our separate ways,” Rabbi Emily said one day.

“I don’t know if I believe in God,” a young boy spoke up, “but at camp, I feel God.”

“Where’s God?” one kid joked. “Beats me! Let’s have a scavenger hunt for God.”

“If ever you’re looking for God,” said Rabbi Emily, “you can always touch your pulse and say, Oh, there you are.” She gave time for that idea to sink in. “Or, take a deep breath. That’s God moving through you.”

Sometimes Amy contributed to the discussion. One sunny day, she sat up and said flatly, “It’s not raining today.”

Rabbi Emily nodded. “Yes, Amy, go on.”

“The sky is the colour of God.”

One morning during services, as I stood off to the side, watching over everyone, my eye caught a movement in the trees surrounding the chapel. Then it stopped. It was big and black. A branch shifted. Leaves rustled. It was a bear, just a few steps away! I was the only one who saw it because of where I stood, facing the woods. I had to act fast to save the camp! I was panicking, but I tried to recall Layla’s advice. Was it “Make a racket! Jump up and scream!” or “Keep quiet and stare him down”? My mind raced madly for a few moments until my
ICU
training kicked in. I became calm and rational and knew exactly what to do. I got up,
walked to the front, and whispered into Matti’s ear. “Cut short the silent meditation and go straight into the music.” I mentioned a particularly loud number. I bent down and cranked up the amplifier a few notches and cued Matti. Sure enough, as everyone burst into song, the bear startled, turned around, and lumbered off in the opposite direction. My scheme worked! Goldilocks had fended off the big, bad bear! I ran to tell Rudy but he wasn’t the least bit concerned.

“Hey, man, you scared off Yogi Bear! He visits us every year. He’s never been a problem. Well, once he broke into the kitchen and made off with a few loaves of bread.”

He’d been more upset when the kids messed with the mealtime blessing!

“So, you’re not worried about a bear at camp?”

“No, now that you’re on top of it.” He chuckled. “We can all rest easy.”

It was a swelteringly hot day – we had the air conditioner roaring full blast and kids were dropping by all day to “chill,” and, considering the temperature, we took that
literally
– when a counsellor came by with a special request. Could we have a “sex talk” with two of her fifteen-year-old girls? A rumour was going around that they’d been in a boys’ cabin and gone too far.

For this matter, I deferred to Alice and Louise. As a public health nurse and a physician, respectively, Alice and Louise were experienced in counselling patients about sexuality. (Needless to say, the topic didn’t often come up with my critically ill patients in the
ICU
.) However, Alice insisted I join the discussion. “We’re a team,” she reminded me.

That afternoon, during after-lunch rest period, we met in the Tent. Jasmine and Lee, two teenaged girls in halter tops, skimpy bikini bottoms, and flip-flops, showed up with sour scowls on
their pretty faces. They’d been wrongly accused and misunderstood, they said. Now, they felt, everyone was against them and their reputations ruined, all because of vicious gossip.

“Why don’t you start by telling us what happened?” Alice suggested.

“It was during the Carnival and we were shaving whipped cream off a balloon without popping it,” Lee said.

“Don’t forget the greased watermelon relay race,” Jasmine added.

“Yeah, right, we got all messy and so we went into the boys’ cabin – it was the closest one – to clean ourselves off, but we didn’t take showers there. See, that’s the rumour, that we took our clothes off. The whole thing has gotten completely out of hand and it’s soooo embarrassing! We swear, nothing happened!”

Jasmine nodded her head in vehement agreement. “They’re saying we took off our tops. There’s no way we did that! We’re just friends with those guys,” said Lee, “
not
friends with benefits. We’re not skanks! Everyone’s talking about us and spreading lies. One girl said we were stripping for the guys and doing lap dances. How would she know? She wasn’t even there. I thought we were friends! Well, forget that!” She flounced in her seat and looked away.