Camp Nurse (35 page)

“The children who have gotten sick are all recovering,” he wrote. “If symptoms persist once your child comes home, please contact your doctor.”
And your lawyer
, I heard him mutter. He must be joking! But no, Rudy was worried that some would try to lay blame.

“It’s easy to criticize but it’s no one’s fault,” I said. “These things happen.”

“You’re handling this quite calmly,” he remarked.

“I guess my standards are different than most people’s,” I admitted. “Don’t forget, I’m an
ICU
nurse.” At least here my patients weren’t
dying
. I never lost sight of how bad things
could
be, and there was another reason I could keep things in perspective: I had lived through something far worse –
SARS
.

It was 2003. A mysterious pneumonia was suddenly making people gravely ill. Some were dying.
SARS
was not the first time I’d worried about my safety and what dangers I was bringing home to my family, but it was definitely the scariest. Over the years, I’d taken care of patients who’d had infectious diseases such as hepatitis, tuberculosis, and
HIV-AIDS
, but
SARS
was different. The virus that caused
SARS
– short for sudden acute respiratory syndrome – travelled lightning fast and was transmitted person to person by incidental, casual contact. It was lurking in the air, potentially blown your way by the wind, a breeze, a breath, or a sneeze.

Overnight,
SARS
turned Toronto into a ghost town. Travel was banned by the World Health Organization; hotels and restaurants emptied out, streets were vacant. Many people were quarantined. It was a new disease, and at first even infectious-disease specialists didn’t know what they were dealing with. People felt confused and afraid. At a party I went to during that time, guests jumped away from me and refused to shake my hand or come near me. Mothers cancelled play dates with my kids. Those of us caring for
SARS
patients, doing this hazardous but essential work, felt a punishing sense of isolation.

I’ll never forget how dark and quiet the hospital was during that time. Only hands-on, front-line caregivers came to work. It was mostly nurses who kept the hospital open. Wearing two pairs of gloves, gowns, plastic face shields, and heavy masks, customized
to fit our individual faces and impermeable to viruses, we worked in closed, negative-pressure rooms, caring for our patients. Overtop our masks we watched our patients, and in our eyes, patients sought assurance they would not be abandoned.

In a crisis a leader is needed, and Toronto had one. Dr. Sheela Basrur was the city’s Officer of Public Health at the time and she led Toronto in the same calm, courageous manner that Mayor Rudy Guiliani guided New York City during 9/11. As more people got sick and mass hysteria threatened to erupt, Dr. Basrur reassured the public. She explained the need for the drastic quarantines and how they were the only way to stop the chain reaction. She acknowledged it was a serious situation, but not an emergency. “My job is to do the worrying,” she said.

Dr. Basrur understood nursing. Like a nurse, she cared about the nitty-gritty, such as the proper handwashing technique and ensuring that we were equipped with the special masks, not the ordinary, one-size-fits-all paper ones. She was concerned that caregivers would become exhausted and unable to carry on. Then, just when the situation seemed to be coming under control, a second wave of
SARS
broke out. A nervous city became terrified, and again Dr. Basrur took control. Working around the clock, or so it seemed, she held daily press conferences in which she distilled complex information so it could be understood by everyone. In the end, in Toronto alone, there were over four hundred cases of
SARS
, the majority of them health-care workers. Forty-four people died. It was a terrible time, but many were left with a sense that it could have been much worse had it not been for the dedication of health-care workers and the leader ship of Dr. Basrur.
^*

I tried to be that kind of leader, too. Together with Alice and Louise, we communicated openly with the counsellors, explaining
everything to them. We encouraged them to ask questions, express their frustrations, and let off steam. We acknowledged their efforts. During a lull one day, I spoke with Seth, who was looking mighty haggard. “How are you holding up?” I asked. He came in each evening, dropping by discreetly for his medication, but he didn’t stop to chat or joke around like he used to.

“I’m good,” he said, forcing a smile.

“It’s been rough, hasn’t it?”

He looked at me in surprise. “No, it’s been the best summer ever. We’ve pulled together and are closer than ever. We’re like family now.”

Of course. I knew Seth loved a challenge. He was an extraordinary counsellor, an outstanding student and athlete, a terrific guy. He excelled at everything he did. I knew he’d gotten a full scholarship to university and I asked him how that was going.

“I dropped out. Couldn’t hack it,” he said blithely, but then sat down with me and told me the real story. “Something happened,” he said, shaking his head. “I still don’t get it. It was my birthday and birthdays mean a lot to me. I’d broken up with a girlfriend and none of my friends were around. I was alone in my dorm. It was August, right after camp, but before classes started. Suddenly, I snapped. I went over to the dark side. Nothing made sense. For days I couldn’t even get out of bed. My parents came but they didn’t know what to do. My mom cried and my dad kept telling me to pull myself together.”

“What helped? You must have felt well enough to come to camp this summer.”

“Camp was the only place I could be. What helped was being around people like you, Tilda. People who don’t judge, who just listen, and don’t tell me what to think or do. My parents are great but they give me advice when I just need them to listen.”

“Are you lonely, Seth? When you’re not with your kids, I always see you by yourself.”

“My buddies know I need space. For awhile I was into meaningless hook-ups but no more. It was messing me up. At school, I dated someone I met on the Internet, but she’d never been to camp, so she didn’t get it. I’m on my own right now and I’m cool with that.” We sat together in silence for a while until he spoke again. “I’ve discovered you can go very far away and still make it back.”

“How are you doing now?”

“I’m okay to be with kids, so don’t worry, but I’m terrified the dark side will come back. I’ve got to make up the year I missed, so this will definitely be my last year at camp.” He looked out the window as if taking it all in at once, this place he loved.

By the end of two weeks we reached the plateau the health inspector spoke about. Lab tests confirmed that, as expected, it was a norovirus, the most common culprit in this type of illness. In total, twenty per cent of the camp had gotten sick and everyone recovered. It could have been so much worse.

The night before I left, we gathered around a huge bonfire. Other than the campers and counsellors who were still recovering, everyone was there. Matti led them in this song.

I looked around the circle. Everyone looked happy. Even the sick ones who’d wanted to go home were smiling once again. They were all content within themselves and connected to their friends – this was camp happiness. They were glowing with it that night.

I returned to the Health Centre and gave out the evening meds. After I locked up and headed toward my room, I heard far-off rhythmic sounds. The music beckoned me and I retraced my steps to the campfire where the counsellors had gathered. I approached tentatively. (I didn’t want to crash a private ritual as I’d done once before, accidentally intruding upon a band of bare-chested
CIT
boys performing a war dance.) They were sitting in a circle. Some of them were holding drums – tom-toms, bongos, djembes – and some had tambourines or maracas. In unison they beat a rhythm as compelling as my heartbeat, which suddenly welled up and throbbed inside my core. A girl got up and wordlessly handed me an instrument.
No
, I shook my head,
I’ll sit out and just listen
, but she kept her hand outstretched. At last I took the instrument, waited for the beat, found my place to enter, and joined in.

Later, as I left the drumming circle, I felt quietly happy – and proud, too. Finally, I’d won my place at the campfire.

“You’ll never guess who’s back!” Alice threw out a teaser. We were busy unpacking supplies and organizing camper meds, getting ready for the start of a new summer. By her impish grin, I knew she was also gearing up for the fun to begin.

“Who?”

“Eddie! He’s a counsellor, now!”

Unbelievable
. Well, Rudy always said kids can change, didn’t he? Later, I heard that Eddie was Max’s counsellor and I felt uneasy about that but decided to keep quiet, watch and wait. I trusted Rudy’s judgment and knew that if there was an issue with Eddie, it would be dealt with. I was getting better at letting go, at allowing my kids to solve their own problems and turn to others if they needed help. But it had taken me one more camp lesson to get that message.

I’d been strolling past Harry’s cabin. It was quiet, a perfect time to sneak in for a peek – if his guitar was out, I’d know he was playing it; if his laundry bag was full, I’d remind him to send his clothes to be washed. If I could just get a glance at the skew of his flip-flops beside the bed … I mounted the creaky wooden steps and checked that the coast was clear. I knocked on the door, just to be sure. Harry’s counsellor came to answer it. His eyes narrowed when he saw me.
A trespasser
.

Awhhh! Busted
.

“What do you want?” he asked warily.

“Just dropping by, to, ah – visit.” I squirmed.

He frowned. “Don’t even think about it. This is Harry’s space.”

I slunk away, apologizing. “What can I do?” I said, helplessly. “He’s my son.”

“Yeah, but at camp, he’s mine,” the counsellor said, closing the door.

But later when I saw the counsellor, he tossed me a few crumbs. “Harry loves snakes. It takes a big heart to love a snake. He’s friends with everyone. He knows right from wrong. What more do you need to know?”

What a comfort these connections give when we relinquish the illusion of control and learn to trust. I’ve heard there are now camps where the whole family can come along. “Have fun with your kids,” the brochures say. But doesn’t that defeat the purpose? The point of camp is to take those steps away and out into the world on your own.

At lunch, I looked around. Seth wasn’t there and I missed him. Alice and Louise were back, Rudy, too, of course, but without Ringo. He’d been an old dog back when I’d first met him four summers ago and this winter he’d become unable to walk or even wag his tail. Rudy had done the kind, hard thing and taken him to the vet to have a comfortable death. He planned to get a puppy soon but had other things on his mind. He had a girlfriend now, a companion who shared his love of camp.

The first night we celebrated Alon’s return to camp and his full recovery to good health. He was now head tripper, excited about implementing new “green” initiatives, such as reducing the camp’s water and electricity usage and running a contest to reward the cabin that conserved the most energy.

I continued my own green awakening with Alice. One morning she stopped in her tracks, knelt down, and placed her hands
gently around a large bug. She scooped it up and brought it close to show me: a shiny black beetle with long antennae and pincers that made it look like an alien from Mars.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” she asked and now, at last, I could see that it was.

Most afternoons, we still managed to steal away for a swim in the lake. As I eased myself in, I commented on how cold the water was.

“Don’t forget,” she said, “a few months ago this lake was pure snow.” I breathed in the clean smell of the air and water. “Thousands of years before that, it was a glacier.”

Returning to camp was a homecoming for me. Even the noise and commotion were a familiar comfort. When I entered the dining hall, the roar engulfed me as I was immediately plunged into the midst of ecstatic, dancing bodies and a cacophony of voices, all whooping and hollering, cheering, chattering, and singing at the top of their lungs. I even joined in on one song and got up and waved my arms upward. “Oooh … ahh …” I said, swinging them back down in a swoop.

“Hey, man, you’re really into it,” Rudy said appreciatively, sitting down beside me on the bench.

Yes, their noisy exuberance was catchy. Why should we “sit still” or “be quiet”?
It’s time to move!

Alice and I looked at each other. How well we knew them, her smile seemed to say. Inside and out, their bodies and their souls, we knew every scrape, bump, bruise, and rash, as well as their worries, fears, and secrets, and dreams.
As nurses, we are so privileged to have this opportunity to get to know people on such an intimate level
.

At camp I learned how to care for healthy children. One malady I became skilled at treating was homesickness, especially after I understood that it’s not always about missing home and doesn’t only occur at camp: one can have a bad bout sitting
at home.
^*
At its core, homesickness is a yearning to be at home within ourselves. In fact, the cure for homesickness is camp itself, because at camp you can learn everything you need to know about finding your way home.

One afternoon, I had a surprise: Seth came to visit. He said he was feeling better. “I had to come back and see everyone, especially you, Tilda.” He still looked wistful about camp but more hopeful about his future. “You know, I loved being a camper, but being a counsellor was the best time of my life. I’m looking into becoming a camp director.”