Shalof - Camp nurse: my adventures at summer camp

For years, I dreamed about summer camp. Since I didnt go to camp as a child, I always had a second-hand nostalgia for my friends camp memories: sitting round a roaring bonfire, arm in arm with friends, singing songs and enjoying gooey smores; the tough wilderness canoe trips, after which everyone came back bonded for life. I loved hearing about the late-night mayhem and antics of hormone-crazed counsellors. As an adult, I was a camper wannabe. So, when it came time for my own kids to go to camp, I saw a way into this happy world as a camp nurse.

This is the story of my summer odyssey, told from my dual perspectives as both a nurse and a parent. These stories are all true but in order to protect patient confidentiality and preserve the privacy and anonymity of the camps and their staff, I changed names and identifying details. In some cases, I made minor changes to the order of events for the sake of conciseness.

For the past six years, for a few weeks each summer, Ive taken a break from the big-city medical centre where I care for critically ill adults, and travelled to beautiful, green Northern Ontario to tend to robustly healthy children dealing with ordinary, as well as a few extraordinary, ailments. Camp nursing has given me ways to combine my experience and intuition as a mother with my skills and knowledge as a nurse. And, just as my kids have grown up at camp, I too, have grown into being a camp nurse.

To parents, camp can feel like a secret world that we send our kids into with a mixture of trepidation and relief. In my unique position of fly (spy?) on the cabin wall, Ive discovered that camp is about fun and play, learning new skills, and making friends. It is having adventures, being outdoors, and yes, making mischief. Camp is a place for children to take those first steps away from home, to connect deeply with one another, and ultimately, to create a community with their peers. Now, more than ever, kids need camp to help them connect to nature and one another.

The days are getting warmer. Soon it will be summer and time for camp.

Tilda Shalof R.N.

Spring 2009

Theres been an accident someones bleeding to death! Come quickly!

Those were the first words I heard when I arrived at Camp Na-Gee-La. I had just turned in the driveway when I was greeted by this call to action from a frantic young man wearing only swimming trunks. I parked my car, grabbed my first-aid kit, and with my two sons on my heels, followed him through a thicket of trees to where his injured friend lay, also in bathing trunks, bleeding from a large, nasty gash on his knee. A pool of dark blood was spreading on the ground beside him. I was unfazed by the sight, and even my kids were calm. They were used to Mom handling emergencies. Its what I do for a living.

While I assessed the wound I asked him his name.

Its Zack, and Im gushing blood!

Dripping, yes, oozing, maybe, but definitely not gushing. I knew exactly what to do. I took the blue-and-white beach towel still draped around Zacks neck and pressed down on the wound to staunch the bleeding.

Ahh, not my Toronto Maple Leafs towel! Zack looked at his knee, winced, and looked away. Am I hemorrhaging?

Dont worry, youve got plenty more blood, I reassured him. In the intensive care unit ( ICU ) where Ive worked for the past twenty-two years, Id seen mattresses filled with blood. Id cared for patients whose blood poured onto the floor at my feet, blood that I sloshed around in as we worked to save their lives. This was nothing.

How did this happen? I asked. Zack said hed tripped while running through the forest on the way back from the lagoon. I glanced at the flip-flops he was wearing. Not the best choice of footwear. After a few minutes, the bleeding stopped. I cleaned the wound with hydrogen peroxide from my first-aid kit and bandaged it.

Youll have to go to the hospital for stitches, I told him once Id helped him to his feet. A deep, jagged gash like this would need stitches in order for it to heal. When was your last tetanus shot? I asked. Zack hadnt a clue.

Is it really bad? he whimpered.

Youre going to be just fine. Are you a counsellor at the camp?

He nodded. His friend, whod been watching anxiously from the sidelines, now stepped forward to introduce himself.

Hi, Im Mike, the camp director. You must be Tilda, our nurse.

Camp director? He looked more like my kids teenaged baby-sitter. When wed spoken on the phone, hed seemed older than this gawky kid, still with traces of acne and a boyish grin. Mike had told me he was doing a graduate degree in political science at the University of Toronto, so I knew he had to be in his early twenties, but he looked about sixteen.

Welcome to Camp Na-Gee-La! Mike said. I reached out to shake his hand, but he pulled me into a hug instead. Good thing you arrived when you did. Man, I was freaking out.

I looked around. We were deep in the wilderness of beautiful, green Northern Ontario at a Youth-Leading-Youth Summer Camp Dedicated to Creating a Better Society with Equality and Justice for All! That was its motto. I was pumped, eager for my new role as camp nurse in charge of the health and safety of about a hundred children, and their teenage counsellors, too. Apparently I was already on duty.

Breathe deeply, I had told my kids, opening up the car windows during the drive to camp. This is fresh air. We were well into our three-hour trip north from our home in Toronto to Camp Na-Gee-La on the far side of Georgian Bay, long past the suburbs with their outlet malls and bedroom communities. I glanced in the rearview mirror at Harry, age eight, and Max, age six, but could see only the crowns of their heads as they hunched over their electronic games, their thumbs a-flying. Take a look out the window. See the