Camp Nurse (33 page)

As they turned and walked off, I saw that my wish was coming true. So far the brothers were friends and looked out for each other.

Alice and I stood near our cars saying goodbye to each other. Matti came over, his guitar slung across his back, pointing down, à la Bruce Springsteen. He grabbed our hands and held them over our heads. “Ding, ding, ding,” he called out. “Tied for first place we have two winners – the best nurses, ever!”

It was hard saying goodbye that summer, especially for Harry. His cabin had gone on their first canoe trip and the group of guys who went out came back as a clan of brothers. You could see it in the way they slung their arms around each other, the horsing around, and the private jokes. Even with plans and promises to stay in touch during the year, it probably wouldn’t happen. Camp friends and school friends don’t usually mix. Camp is a place and a state of mind that just doesn’t jive with life back in the city.

That fall, there was no time for missing camp because Harry turned thirteen and preparations were underway to celebrate his bar mitzvah; we knew that if we wanted it to be a meaningful rite of passage, rather than merely a party, we had to do something about it. The first thing we did was start going to synagogue.

One Sabbath morning, who should I run into there but Eddie, last year’s
enfant terrible
? He sang in the youth choir and after services saw me and came over to ask a favour. Sixteen, still thin but taller, Eddie wore ripped jeans and a black T-shirt and had a military-short, buzzed haircut. In place of multiple earrings he now had an industrial-type bar in the crunchy part of his ear. “Hey, maybe you can help me,” he said. “I applied to come back to camp but got turned down. Could you speak to Rudy and give me a reference?”

“I don’t think so, Eddie. You caused a lot of trouble last summer.”

“But I didn’t want to be there, now I do. My parents off-loaded me to camp because they couldn’t handle me at home. They were going through their own shit.”

“How are things now?”

“Well, for starters, my parents went splitsville.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s better this way.”

“I hope you’re getting help for your problems.”

“My
parents
are my problem, but yeah, yeah, I go to a shrink now.”

“The same one you told me you lied to?”

“I
used
to lie, just randomly, but I don’t any more.” He looked at me to see if I bought that. “Listen, I had to lie ’cause my parents never trusted me.”

“Should they have?”

“It’s better to keep them in the dark. The mo in our house was
don’t ask, don’t tell
. My dad didn’t think I knew about his affair, but I went into his computer and saw the e-mails – and they say they can’t trust
me
! Hah! So, can you help me or not?”

I didn’t know how to answer. Rudy had already turned him down and I didn’t want to be the one to tell Eddie he wasn’t counsellor material. “I’m pleased to hear you’re doing well,” I said, skirting his question for now.

“Well, it’s been rough, but you just have to deal, you know? I’m still on meds and I know I need them, but I’d like to come back and be a
CIT
.”

“You seriously injured Seth, and Mitchell, too.”

“You know, someone told me I was a bully, and I’m like, you’ve gotta be kidding. I’m always the one being bullied. Oh, I know I did some bad stuff, the bug spray and other things, too.” He looked closely at me to see what I knew but I knew
enough. “I guess I used to be kind of a jerk, but I’ve changed.”

“Well, I’m sure …” I demurred, “I guess it’s possible …”

“Could you speak to Rudy and tell him that? Do you have any pull with him?”

Sure, people change. Didn’t Rudy always say that? I would stand up for anyone who’d been wronged or fight for a cause I believed in, but I didn’t see how I could go to bat for Eddie. “I didn’t think you liked camp. Why do you even want to be a counsellor?”

“Because of Seth. He saw me as a person, not just some troublemaker loser. I want to do that for some other kid, maybe a kid who has problems like I do – I mean,
did
. Oh, you probably think I’m whacko, a freakazoid, a psycho,” he said quite cheerfully.

Those were compliments compared to what I had thought of him last summer. What I thought now I wasn’t sure, but he still showed no remorse, nor insight into his actions. “I’ll be honest with you, Eddie, there aren’t many of us who saw your behaviour last summer who’d want you anywhere near their child, and as a
CIT
you’d be taking care of little kids.”

“But, hey, I do volunteer work in a homework club. I’m getting straight A’s at school and I sing in the fucking choir! What more do you want?”

You may sing in the choir, but you’re no choirboy
.

“Good luck,” I said, knowing it wasn’t much to offer.

“That’s so unfair,” he said as I walked away.

I called Rudy to tell him about my conversation with Eddie. He sounded heavy-hearted about his decision. He never wanted to exclude anyone, but “Eddie’s too much of a risk,” he said regretfully. “I can’t take the chance.”

Despite the fact that there was no longer any cachet to having your mom at camp (if there ever had been), and the growing
realization that Harry didn’t want me there any more (but was too nice to tell me), I went back for a third summer at Camp Sol. How much longer could I keep up this camp nurse gig? My time was running out to be a grown-up interloper in this child’s paradise. I figured I’d better squeeze in another summer while I could.

Time was passing fast. That fall when Harry turned thirteen, he changed almost overnight, in all the ways he was supposed to, but still, it took me by surprise. His voice deepened and he got taller. When I went to lug his heavy duffel bag from the car to heave it onto the camp bus, he took it from me easily, along with Max’s too, and slid them on. He now had muscles and heft to his body. When did all of this happen?

When I arrived at camp, Xiu-Ling and Frankie ran over to greet me.

“Hi, my name is Cookie,” Xiu-Ling shouted and waved at me, “and this is Cupcake.” Frankie curtsied. “And that’s Lollipop, Brownie, and Candy.” She introduced the other girls in their cabin.

“Me likey cookies,” said Frankie in a baby voice.

“Me likey cupcakes,” said Xiu-Ling. “Stop! You’re making me laugh!”

“No, you’re making
me
laugh!” Frankie squealed with delight, which made them all dissolve into sweet giggles.

Most of the old crowd were back – Alice, Louise, Matti, and Layla. Seth came by later to say “hey.” He’d lost a lot of weight and had a beard that made him look much older and serious. He seemed preoccupied. His easygoing, jovial manner was gone. He was on medication now and wanted to keep that confidential. Of course, I said, and found a place in a cupboard to store his meds.

As for Alice and me, we slipped back into our daily routine: breakfast pill call, followed by the morning clinic, which usually carried on till after lunch. Somehow we always managed to get away for a walk, a swim in the lake, or a paddle in a canoe. The first few days flew by and the kids stayed well. At night, we continued to welcome the counsellors who dropped by to chill and relax –
chillax
– serenade us with music, replenish their first-aid kits, tell us what their kids had said or done that day, and occasionally, bare their souls. It went on late but they were irresistible to us. We’d never turn them away.

That summer they seemed to have a lot more on their minds: school, travel plans, and for some, the reluctant realization that their camp days were coming to an end.

“Camp is my security blanket,” one wailed, only half joking. “I have to move on but I haven’t a clue what to do for the rest of my life. I wish I could stay here forever.”

Matti said this was his last summer at camp. “I’ve got to get a decent-paying job in the city. I want to make music, but realistically I don’t think I can make a living at it.”

“I won’t be back for sure,” Layla announced. That was a surprise, because I guess we assumed as Rudy’s daughter she’d always be there. “I just got into law school.”

Many had a desire to give back to their communities, through volunteer work or political activism, and to find ways to tackle the big issues: saving the environment and combating social injustices such as racism and poverty. I’d attended an open-mike session in the staff lounge where a group of them talked about their upcoming mission to Guatemala with Habitat for Humanity. So many of them had big dreams of doing noble work, but one night they also enjoyed a flight of fantasy about ideal jobs such as toy designers for Lego sets, greeting card copywriters, skateboard designers, and cosmetic labellers, coming up with “Campfire Crimson” lipstick and
s’mores-scented perfume. They kidded each other about becoming celebrities or being filmmakers, actors, or rock stars, and a startling number wanted to do “something related to forensics.”
^*
More than anything, they all expressed a longing to be
known
for something and to make their mark. I had a feeling many would.

One morning, at the beginning of the second week, I came in for pill call and found Alice looking worried. She’d been up all night with Murray, a counsellor. “Around one o’clock he banged on my door, but when I opened it he was gone. He’d run off to throw up. He managed to stagger back in and has been vomiting non-stop ever since.”

“Was it an upset stomach? Did he eat something that disagreed with him?” I asked with the annoying innocence of one who’s had a good night’s sleep.

“He’d just returned from a day off in Toronto participating in a karate tournament. He ate dinner with his cabin, felt fine afterward, but got sick during the night.”

“Sick?” I asked.

“He’s sick,” she said, firmly, “
really
sick.”

“How sick could he be?”
C’mon, impress me, I’m an ICU nurse!

“
Sick
.”

Sick is an important word and the inflection and tone are crucial. Even in the
ICU
where all of our patients are sick, when a nurse says a patient is sick in the way that Alice did, the seriousness goes up a few notches. I peeked in, took one look, and had to agree with her. The fit young man I’d seen doing kicks and
punches in the martial arts studio was now a pathetic-looking, pale, clammy specimen, sitting at the edge of the bed, shivering, and clutching at his stomach, as he leaned into a garbage can to retch.

“I can’t believe I didn’t hear the commotion. Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“You weren’t on call,” she said with a chuckle. Now, it was my turn to marvel at my own imperturbable nurse sleep.

Louise arrived to examine Murray. When she was done she came out of the room and stripped off the vinyl gloves she’d had the foresight to put on when she heard Alice’s report. Louise was positive he had gastroenteritis – a stomach virus – which was very contagious. He would probably be better soon, but the main thing was to prevent its spread. Alice and I started scrubbing down all the surfaces in the Health Centre.

All that day and into the next night, Murray had a raging fever, and stomach cramps so severe he could only drag himself out of bed and crawl to the toilet, where he had uncontrollable diarrhea. I watched over him, dozing off and on, stretched out on the waiting room couch. It was about two o’clock in the morning when I heard the sound of running footsteps outside my window. I unlocked the door. One of the other counsellors in Murray’s cabin stood there, trembling. “Help me,” he moaned. “I’m dying.” He turned his head away from me as an arc of vomit spewed from his mouth and hit the wall. He collapsed at my feet and lay there, writhing and moaning. Another counsellor who’d come with him had run off to vomit into a garbage can and was making his unsteady way back in. “What is this?” he cried. “I’ve never been so sick in my life.”

I put on gloves and a gown and stayed with them while they went through agony, violently ill all night. By morning, they were taking turns running to the bathroom with diarrhea. Then, they stripped off their clothes, covered themselves with sheets, and
flopped down on the narrow cots, one on either side of Murray, who was now peacefully asleep.

I went to wash my hands. On second thought, I decided to take a shower. Just before entering my room, I peeled off my clothes and dropped them in a heap outside my door to be boiled, bleached, and laid out in the sun later when I had the time.

After lunch, a little boy from Murray’s cabin came over to me.

“I think I just threw up.” He rubbed his stomach.

“You think so? You don’t know if you did or not?”

“Something came out that looked like the bean burritos I just ate.”

“Yeah, I saw it,” his friend reported. “His yark was bright orange.” He peered at the sick boy. “Hey, you look pale. Maybe you should eat some meat.”

“Can I have a Tums?” the boy asked me. “That’s what my mom gives me when my stomach is upset.” He suddenly bolted off to find a garbage can, but –
blat!
– missed it entirely.

This was no upset stomach. This was a virus and it was spreading – fast!

“Can you give me medicine to make it better?” he called out as he ran off to the bathroom, but he didn’t make it there in time, either. I went to get a mop.

Later that afternoon, I heard someone just outside the Health Centre groaning.

“Owww … my stomach hurts.” I looked out the window and saw a little girl doubled over, vomiting on the ground. “I feel
sooo
yucky. I want to go home,” she cried as her counsellor tried to soothe her. A few minutes later, another counsellor brought in a little girl from the same cabin. She dropped down onto the floor, sobbing and begging for her teddy bear that she’d thrown up on and that her counsellor had washed and hung outside to dry. Her counsellor held her and stroked her hair while the little girl threw up again and again. The
counsellor herself looked pale and I had a feeling she’d be down soon, too.