For the past 6 summers, I have gone home only once or twice during the May-August camp period. In the early years, it was easy. I had roommates to take care of my house. My friends and family came to camp for visits and I was able to spend my summer soaking in the sun and living peacefully in the woods without a care in the world.
When I started dating 'N' it got a little tougher, but he knew I never came home and he was willing to make a lot of effort to drive up north every few weekends.
Last summer was more difficult- we had moved in together in the fall and it was hard to leave our life for the summer. But last summer, I thought it was my final season of camp, so I soaked in every minute and tried to enjoy it while it lasted.
By the end of last year, I was not ready to give up camp, ready to fight and SO incredibly thankful and excited to be granted another year.
But now I'm here again and it's harder than it has ever been. N and I have a life that I love and I don't want to leave, even for camp. My best friend just moved back to the city and yet, I am stuck in the woods.
I went home this past weekend and tried to squeeze everything I could into 48 hours. N and I went out for sushi for his birthday. I went to Costco, Whole Foods, Trader Joes, the deli, the dog food store, Target, the nail salon, the bank, my office, the cell phone store, over to X's new house, to my brother's new house, birthday lunch and probably a few other places I forgot to mention in this list. It was a whirlwind.
Now I'm back to the woods, but I don't feel refreshed or excited about being back. I mostly just wish I was still at home. It is going to be a long summer if I can't snap myself out of this funk.
Sunday, June 29, 2014
Sunday, June 22, 2014
Support But Not
When we sent out the email alerting people to camp's struggle, the idea was to try to draw out anyone who might be able to step up and help.
Yesterday, the nun who sent all of the first week kids arrived for family day and spent a solid 10 minutes telling me how important camp is and how she wants to write letters to a bunch of different people to save it. I agree with her- camp is important. And I am trying to be hopeful, rather than cynical, but I am not at all optimistic that there is anyone out there who will save it.
When this week's nurse cornered me and told me I wasn't doing enough to save camp and reminded me how important it was, I once again, nodded and agreed it was important and once again held back so I didn't lash out. Of course camp is important! I love this place more than anyone.
But do the math. We have 67 years worth of alumni- roughly 40,000 people (give or take). So far there have been about 5 people who have really made a fuss about the possibility of us closing. I think a lot of people (probably the majority of our camper families this year) will be really sad if/when it ends. But while they will be sad, they won't care enough to do anything about it.
I was sad, mad, bitter, devastated when I realized that was the case a year ago. But it is what it is. Things end. Even important, good, wonderful, things. This camp was good and even if it ends, it doesn't take away the goodness.
Yesterday, the nun who sent all of the first week kids arrived for family day and spent a solid 10 minutes telling me how important camp is and how she wants to write letters to a bunch of different people to save it. I agree with her- camp is important. And I am trying to be hopeful, rather than cynical, but I am not at all optimistic that there is anyone out there who will save it.
When this week's nurse cornered me and told me I wasn't doing enough to save camp and reminded me how important it was, I once again, nodded and agreed it was important and once again held back so I didn't lash out. Of course camp is important! I love this place more than anyone.
But do the math. We have 67 years worth of alumni- roughly 40,000 people (give or take). So far there have been about 5 people who have really made a fuss about the possibility of us closing. I think a lot of people (probably the majority of our camper families this year) will be really sad if/when it ends. But while they will be sad, they won't care enough to do anything about it.
I was sad, mad, bitter, devastated when I realized that was the case a year ago. But it is what it is. Things end. Even important, good, wonderful, things. This camp was good and even if it ends, it doesn't take away the goodness.
Friday, June 20, 2014
Grieving
My dad died 2.5 years ago. It's been a long, difficult process of learning what it means to grieve. It's a really awful roller coaster except that there aren't highs and lows, it's just all lows, some more terrible, some that aren't as painful.
I don't mean to be so depressing- in the past 2.5 years a LOT of amazing, wonderful, fabulous, joyful things have happened, and overall, my life is exceptionally happy in more ways than I can count. Grief is all consuming at first, but eventually it becomes manageable- just a small obstacle that you can deal with while still being happy and living life to the fullest.
This summer, I am grieving. I recognize it without question and I am crabby that it's back in my life and big and mean and fresh and all of a sudden back to square one to manage. This time it isn't my dad, it is camp. It's weird, because I am here and days are full and happy and kids are running around with big smiles on their faces and I am trying SO hard to live in the moment and not grieve before I have to. Buddhist books and deep breaths and all of my energy to focus just don't seem to be strong enough and I am grieving.
Today was the last day of the first week. About 50 parents arrived with big smiles on their faces and hugs all around. The nun who sends all of these kids this week was on the bus too (she provides a bus for the parents to come up for the parent ceremony). So many campers this week are returners, so I knew a lot of parents. After 7 years, the parent bus rolling up to camp is almost as exciting as the kid bus, and included almost as many hugs and "I'm so glad to see you again" greetings.
Sister had, unbeknownst to me, announced to all of the kids and parents that this was the last year of camp, so all week long, kids were asking about camp closing and the confused counselors were asking me. I answered the kids and staff with, "nothing is official, let's just have fun right now, say a prayer for the future and not worry." For the record, I got sick to my stomach every single time I repeated it.
When the parents arrived, many told me "you can't close down, this place is too amazing" and so I repeated the same line about not knowing the future and "I agree, we are going to do our best."
When my dad died, I got so many nice cards, emails and phone calls of support. But over and over and over again I found myself thanking people, assuring them I was ok and agreeing with them that my dad was an amazing guy and would be missed. I appreciated the support so much, but it took so much effort and was so incredibly gut wrenching to have to respond over and over that I just wanted to curl in a ball and ignore everyone. That's how I felt today.
I hugged every camper and told them I would see them next year, knowing that I probably wouldn't. After watching so many of them grow up over the past 7 years, this time was probably really goodbye.
At the staff meeting, we went through our highs and lows of the week, laughing and sharing stories- our chance to process the week. So many staff told amazing stories that brought the rest of us to tears. Kids including other kids, kids making friends, kids overcoming challenges- this place is amazing. Maybe every camp is like this, but I don't think so. There is something so incredibly amazing about this little camp. The community and the spirit of this place are like no where else in the world.
And so while I laughed and listened to the stories, and fought back tears of pride and happiness, I tried to ignore that sick feeling that comes from grief.
People die. Camps close. Life goes on. But there are no words to describe how difficult it is for those of us left behind. I know the pain will become small and manageable someday. And so I'm trying to live in the moment and enjoy it while it lasts. My dad died suddenly, so there was no time for last minute words or experiences. There have been so many times I wished I could say one last thing or ask one last question and I am so mad that I didn't get a warning. One day he was just gone.
The end of camp won't be sudden, so there is time for those words and questions and experiences, so I am trying really hard to appreciate it without grief getting in the way.
Ugh, this week was tough. I really hope next week is easier.
I don't mean to be so depressing- in the past 2.5 years a LOT of amazing, wonderful, fabulous, joyful things have happened, and overall, my life is exceptionally happy in more ways than I can count. Grief is all consuming at first, but eventually it becomes manageable- just a small obstacle that you can deal with while still being happy and living life to the fullest.
This summer, I am grieving. I recognize it without question and I am crabby that it's back in my life and big and mean and fresh and all of a sudden back to square one to manage. This time it isn't my dad, it is camp. It's weird, because I am here and days are full and happy and kids are running around with big smiles on their faces and I am trying SO hard to live in the moment and not grieve before I have to. Buddhist books and deep breaths and all of my energy to focus just don't seem to be strong enough and I am grieving.
Today was the last day of the first week. About 50 parents arrived with big smiles on their faces and hugs all around. The nun who sends all of these kids this week was on the bus too (she provides a bus for the parents to come up for the parent ceremony). So many campers this week are returners, so I knew a lot of parents. After 7 years, the parent bus rolling up to camp is almost as exciting as the kid bus, and included almost as many hugs and "I'm so glad to see you again" greetings.
Sister had, unbeknownst to me, announced to all of the kids and parents that this was the last year of camp, so all week long, kids were asking about camp closing and the confused counselors were asking me. I answered the kids and staff with, "nothing is official, let's just have fun right now, say a prayer for the future and not worry." For the record, I got sick to my stomach every single time I repeated it.
When the parents arrived, many told me "you can't close down, this place is too amazing" and so I repeated the same line about not knowing the future and "I agree, we are going to do our best."
When my dad died, I got so many nice cards, emails and phone calls of support. But over and over and over again I found myself thanking people, assuring them I was ok and agreeing with them that my dad was an amazing guy and would be missed. I appreciated the support so much, but it took so much effort and was so incredibly gut wrenching to have to respond over and over that I just wanted to curl in a ball and ignore everyone. That's how I felt today.
I hugged every camper and told them I would see them next year, knowing that I probably wouldn't. After watching so many of them grow up over the past 7 years, this time was probably really goodbye.
At the staff meeting, we went through our highs and lows of the week, laughing and sharing stories- our chance to process the week. So many staff told amazing stories that brought the rest of us to tears. Kids including other kids, kids making friends, kids overcoming challenges- this place is amazing. Maybe every camp is like this, but I don't think so. There is something so incredibly amazing about this little camp. The community and the spirit of this place are like no where else in the world.
And so while I laughed and listened to the stories, and fought back tears of pride and happiness, I tried to ignore that sick feeling that comes from grief.
People die. Camps close. Life goes on. But there are no words to describe how difficult it is for those of us left behind. I know the pain will become small and manageable someday. And so I'm trying to live in the moment and enjoy it while it lasts. My dad died suddenly, so there was no time for last minute words or experiences. There have been so many times I wished I could say one last thing or ask one last question and I am so mad that I didn't get a warning. One day he was just gone.
The end of camp won't be sudden, so there is time for those words and questions and experiences, so I am trying really hard to appreciate it without grief getting in the way.
Ugh, this week was tough. I really hope next week is easier.
Wednesday, June 18, 2014
I'm Trying...
The plan was to shake off the bad day and go back to happy camp director leading happy kids at beautiful, sunny camp.
Last night was rough. I think I woke up 10 times. Several of those wake ups were the sudden, sit straight up, gasping for breath after a bad dream wake ups. Except I wasn't having bad dreams. I just kept waking up thinking, "what if she loses her kidney?!" and "what if something happens to one of her brothers?!"
By the time I staggered to breakfast at 8:15, I was on the verge of tears and not ready for the day ahead. Luckily at camp, there's no time for crying.
After breakfast, 'A', 'M' and I headed to the mud pit to get it ready. It takes about an hour of digging and sinking your feet in the mud, running the hose, using shovels to mix the dirt to get the mud pit knee deep with deep black, thick, smooth mud. An hour later, the cabins arrived with excitement. They competed in tug-o-war and then, cabin by cabin, kids and counselors jumped into the mud. Some just got their legs muddy and some went head first.
At the end, as we do every week, the kids started chanting my name. I dramatically told them, "no, no, sorry, I am entirely too important and have a lot of business to do, I won't be going in the mud." They chanted some more and I dipped a toe in. They chanted louder and I belly flopped, face first, and then rose out of the mud yelling, "are you satisfied?!" They were.
I hate the mud pit. You get mud in your mouth, nose, eyes and ears. The lake (which is where we go to clean off) is cold, so I usually wimp out and just splash a little water on myself, meaning that my shower is DESTROYED because I do exactly what I don't want the kids to do (can you imagine what the bathroom would look like it we let 80 mud covered kids attempt to strip off mud covered clothing and then wash piles of mud down the drains?). Kids love it and they love seeing me covered in mud. I know that counselors and then the lead staff going into the mud is all part of the experience and so we do it and we do it with gusto. But I hate it.
After I washed off and cleaned up the mud trail through my house and shower, I called my fiance and promptly burst into tears. I hadn't planned on that and while there hasn't been time for crying yet, I actually had a little extra time this morning, so apparently, that is when the tears come.
What if she loses her kidney?! I can't. I can't even think about it. I know that worrying won't help and I'm trying to be zen-like and let go of the feelings, but oh my god, I am so worried. I am sick to my stomach. I am nauseous. In 7 years of camp, every injury or illness was a fluke, just something that can happen despite our rules and procedures and safety practices. Kids trip and fall. Bees exist even when we spray all the hives away. Things happen even with all of our effort. But this was OUR FAULT.
I should never have settled for a nursing student. A registered nurse wouldn't have misread the dose. A registered nurse would have known more about transplants. Yes, being a camp nurse usually means handing out allergy pills to a handful of kids, but I should have never taken for granted the need for a registered nurse. Or I should have checked the medication myself. I would have known we had a kid on anti rejection medication for a kidney transplant. I should have had 'S' ask for specific instructions from the parent when the kid got dropped off at the bus. I should have rushed the kid to the hospital as soon as we knew she had been given too much medication, despite what poison control said... I shoulda, shoulda, shoulda.... I know it doesn't help now. And when I step back and try to be objective, we have a good system in place, and a nursing student is sufficient and it wouldn't make sense for me to try to micro-manage every aspect of camp. But I just feel so incredibly guilty. And as the leader, it all falls back to me, so it is MY fault that this happened. And ohgod, what if she loses her kidney?!
I feel drained. I feel joyless. I feel utterly hopeless and devastated. I desperately want this week to be over. I want her brothers to go home (even though they are the two nicest kids) because I am so afraid something is going to happen to one of them. I want to call the parents and ask how she is, but I am too afraid to face them. It was a simple mistake, but that's just not an acceptable answer to a parent who I promised that their children would be well cared for. Camp isn't fun, it feels scary and dangerous and I am overwhelmed by the responsibility. I have always been aware of the responsibility that weighed on my shoulders. It is why I work so hard at hiring and staff training, and why I am a strict camp director that supervises staff closely and puts a lot of emphasis on risk management. I have never taken the responsibility lightly but this is the first time I don't want it anymore.
I want to go home. I don't want to be in charge of peoples lives. I feel homesick and tired and overwhelmed and I have been hiding (aka- having a pity party) in my house since the mudpit. I have to lifeguard at 4:30, so I can't completely bail out. But I'm wishing I could.
Last night was rough. I think I woke up 10 times. Several of those wake ups were the sudden, sit straight up, gasping for breath after a bad dream wake ups. Except I wasn't having bad dreams. I just kept waking up thinking, "what if she loses her kidney?!" and "what if something happens to one of her brothers?!"
By the time I staggered to breakfast at 8:15, I was on the verge of tears and not ready for the day ahead. Luckily at camp, there's no time for crying.
After breakfast, 'A', 'M' and I headed to the mud pit to get it ready. It takes about an hour of digging and sinking your feet in the mud, running the hose, using shovels to mix the dirt to get the mud pit knee deep with deep black, thick, smooth mud. An hour later, the cabins arrived with excitement. They competed in tug-o-war and then, cabin by cabin, kids and counselors jumped into the mud. Some just got their legs muddy and some went head first.
At the end, as we do every week, the kids started chanting my name. I dramatically told them, "no, no, sorry, I am entirely too important and have a lot of business to do, I won't be going in the mud." They chanted some more and I dipped a toe in. They chanted louder and I belly flopped, face first, and then rose out of the mud yelling, "are you satisfied?!" They were.
I hate the mud pit. You get mud in your mouth, nose, eyes and ears. The lake (which is where we go to clean off) is cold, so I usually wimp out and just splash a little water on myself, meaning that my shower is DESTROYED because I do exactly what I don't want the kids to do (can you imagine what the bathroom would look like it we let 80 mud covered kids attempt to strip off mud covered clothing and then wash piles of mud down the drains?). Kids love it and they love seeing me covered in mud. I know that counselors and then the lead staff going into the mud is all part of the experience and so we do it and we do it with gusto. But I hate it.
After I washed off and cleaned up the mud trail through my house and shower, I called my fiance and promptly burst into tears. I hadn't planned on that and while there hasn't been time for crying yet, I actually had a little extra time this morning, so apparently, that is when the tears come.
What if she loses her kidney?! I can't. I can't even think about it. I know that worrying won't help and I'm trying to be zen-like and let go of the feelings, but oh my god, I am so worried. I am sick to my stomach. I am nauseous. In 7 years of camp, every injury or illness was a fluke, just something that can happen despite our rules and procedures and safety practices. Kids trip and fall. Bees exist even when we spray all the hives away. Things happen even with all of our effort. But this was OUR FAULT.
I should never have settled for a nursing student. A registered nurse wouldn't have misread the dose. A registered nurse would have known more about transplants. Yes, being a camp nurse usually means handing out allergy pills to a handful of kids, but I should have never taken for granted the need for a registered nurse. Or I should have checked the medication myself. I would have known we had a kid on anti rejection medication for a kidney transplant. I should have had 'S' ask for specific instructions from the parent when the kid got dropped off at the bus. I should have rushed the kid to the hospital as soon as we knew she had been given too much medication, despite what poison control said... I shoulda, shoulda, shoulda.... I know it doesn't help now. And when I step back and try to be objective, we have a good system in place, and a nursing student is sufficient and it wouldn't make sense for me to try to micro-manage every aspect of camp. But I just feel so incredibly guilty. And as the leader, it all falls back to me, so it is MY fault that this happened. And ohgod, what if she loses her kidney?!
I feel drained. I feel joyless. I feel utterly hopeless and devastated. I desperately want this week to be over. I want her brothers to go home (even though they are the two nicest kids) because I am so afraid something is going to happen to one of them. I want to call the parents and ask how she is, but I am too afraid to face them. It was a simple mistake, but that's just not an acceptable answer to a parent who I promised that their children would be well cared for. Camp isn't fun, it feels scary and dangerous and I am overwhelmed by the responsibility. I have always been aware of the responsibility that weighed on my shoulders. It is why I work so hard at hiring and staff training, and why I am a strict camp director that supervises staff closely and puts a lot of emphasis on risk management. I have never taken the responsibility lightly but this is the first time I don't want it anymore.
I want to go home. I don't want to be in charge of peoples lives. I feel homesick and tired and overwhelmed and I have been hiding (aka- having a pity party) in my house since the mudpit. I have to lifeguard at 4:30, so I can't completely bail out. But I'm wishing I could.
Tuesday, June 17, 2014
The Worst
In 15 years of camp, the past few days have been the worst professional experience of my life. I am drained, stressed out and devastated. And if one more person tells me it isn't my fault or it's not that big of a deal, I am positive I will lose control and kick them in the shin.
This camp has presented me with a variety of challenges over the years, but even at it's worse, when buildings were filled with garbage, when programming was a mess, when everything needed to be fixed, I have always been able to say that risk management and procedures to ensure the kids' safety were a priority. I'm a STICKLER for rules and safety and while there have been a few broken bones, bee stings, cuts and scrapes and such, I have always been able to confidently say that the injuries were due to normal kid behavior and there wasn't anything awry that caused the kids to get hurt. The fact is, kids fall down, they get too competitive in games, and things happen- but I've always been able to say that there wasn't anything we could have done differently to prevent those things from happening. No matter what challenges I faced with camp, I could always say we were safe.
On Sunday night, 'M' came into my house around 10 with a "situation". The nurse (who is not actually a nurse, rather, a nursing student because I couldn't find a nurse for this week) had accidentally given a kid the wrong dose of her medication and had just realized it. The child is a 7 year old girl and she is on 8 different medications, some that are in liquid form and some that are pills. She had a kidney transplant and is on a variety of anti-rejection medications.
We immediately called the nurse hotline, followed by poison control. Both were pretty calm and based on her dosage vs. body weight, they didn't think she was in danger. They told us to follow up with her doctor in the morning.
Monday morning, 'A' called the child's doctor, who said it wasn't an issue but to follow up with the transplant clinic. The camper had slept fine, hadn't vomited, felt just fine, at breakfast and was happily chatting with her cabin mates in the art barn when we finally got in touch with the transplant clinic who told us to get her to the city immediately because she was in grave danger. I asked if we could take her to the local hospital to have the labs done rather than rushing her 3 hours away. The transplant coordinator agreed, but told me that likely she would have to be rushed to the hospital in the city after the labs were completed.
'A' and I calmly got her into the camp van and I turned what is usually a 40 minute drive into a 25 minute drive. If I knew she'd been in danger the night before, I would have called 911 or rushed her to the hospital. I felt like a careless idiot. The camper was confused and a little upset she had to leave camp when she felt fine. We assured her that we just wanted to make sure she was feeling okay and that we would be back to camp soon. The hospital room had a tv, with a remote control that she got to control and as soon as we found the Disney channel, she forgot that she was upset. We were in a hospital room and her blood was drawn within 10 minutes of arrival. And roughly 20 minutes after that, the lab work came back and everything was normal. Relieved doesn't even begin to describe my feeling.
Through all of this, I had spoken to the parents exactly twice. The first call had been to the mother who politely told me "no english" when she answered the phone. She gave me the dad's number, and after a few tries (he didn't have voicemail, so I couldn't leave a message I spoke with him briefly. He spoke some english.
It took a while for the hospital and the transplant team to communicate and come up with a follow up plan, so we were gone until around 12:30. They discharged us but told us we would have to come back the next day for follow up lab work. All three of us were starving, so we made a trip to McDonalds, which kept our little camper happy and content through a bum day of camp.
While the assistant director and I were gone on the first full day of camp, "M" was in charge. Unfortunately, this is one of our biggest weeks, so both 'A' and I were scheduled to help lead activities, but 'M' managed to rearrange. As she was doing that, a 12 year old camper ended up in the health center, vomiting repeatedly. Vomit happens- it's not a crisis, but the nurse (who I had aggressively told to "pull it together and chill out" before I'd left because she was FREAKING OUT), was apparently still pretty freaked out and unable to handle it on her own.
We got back just in time for first afternoon activity period. The puking camper was resting comfortably, the poor 7 year old we'd poisoned was distracted by her happy meal toy and quite eager to go to fishing (and, as it turns out, not poisoned). I got in touch with the mom, this time, with the 14 year old sister translating. I told her what happened and that we'd taken her to the clinic to get checked out and that everything was fine.
Around 4pm, I got another call from the transplant clinic and the transplant team had met and decided the camper needed to be seen. Apparently the labs can come back normal but she could still reject the kidney, have a seizure or a number of other terrible things. The local hospital wasn't able to do the tests they needed done on her and so we were back to full blown crisis. I told her that she needed to get in touch with the parents because this was beyond my ability to make decisions on.
The dad called me an hour later and let me know they were on the way up to get her. I tried to prepare for their wrath- I'm not a parent, but if someone gave my kid the wrong dose of medicine I would LOSE MY MIND in anger. I would not be understanding or kind.
The vomiting kid had woken up and was back to vomiting every cracker and sip of water/7up/gatorade we attempted to give him. His mother was not super concerned, so we all agreed to keep him resting and continue to try to get something in his stomach.
Around 8:30pm, the parents arrived. If looks could kill, the mother would have taken me out in an instant, but the dad was as nice as he could be under the circumstances. He was concerned and said, "she could lose her kidney" as I told him I was so sorry. I explained that it had been a mistake- she read the bottle incorrectly and we'd reacted as soon as we realized it. I tried not to say more than that- there wasn't much else I could say. I had looked at the medication and instructions and it was easy to see how she'd confused the dose. I am not trying to make excuses- it was a terrible mistake. But, other than human error, she was organized, camp has a very good system for medication and I don't know what else we could have done to prevent it. I don't know how often medical professionals make errors- I'm sure more than we realize, and it is terrible. But I don't think there is anything we will change moving forward.
The parents asked to see their other two kids, so I led them to the locker room/shower area where both boys were with their groups getting ready for bed. The parents smiled and said hi to the boys and then were on their way. They were disappointed and obviously concerned, but they didn't scream or threaten me (which I would have done if I'd been in their position) and they didn't take their other kids home. So I guess it went as smooth as it could have, considering the situation.
We got all of the cabins though showers by 10pm and as 'M' and I headed home for the night, we went to check on the Counselors-in-Training. The CITs are 16 and 17 year old campers. During the all camp game, while I was talking with the parents of the kid that camp almost killed, one of the CIT boys had twisted his ankle.
Except that he hadn't just twisted it. It was about twice the size and purple and he couldn't move it at all. I've only been trained in basic first aid, but even I could see it was broken. Back to the ER- two trips in one day is a first for me.
I wanted to cry, but luckily, I just didn't have time. I grabbed my purse, computer (the hospital has wifi, so I figured I could get some work done this time, rather than just reading old magazines like I'd done the first time), and called my fiance to update him on my day.
The CIT who broke his ankle (confirmed by the x-ray when we got to the hospital) has been a camper for 7 years and last year even came back after being a Leader-in-Training to volunteer for a week. He is one of my favorites. When I said he needed to go to the hospital, he said, "will I have to leave camp?" and I said, "if I say your options are 'go to the hospital and get a cast and then leave camp OR stay at camp with a broken ankle, what are you going to do'?" to which he replied, "I could tough it out for the next two weeks." He loves camp and I adore him, and this time around, I wasn't terrified of possibly killing a camper, so the ride to the hospital took the full 45 minutes. Luckily at 11pm at a tiny up north hospital, there aren't any patients, so we were in and out in under an hour.
"What is wrong with this building" were the first words out of my mouth. Property Manager T explained that one of the fridges (luckily the one that just holds leftovers for the staff) had overheated and almost started on fire. Not the end of the world, but the dining hall was sweltering.
It was vomiting kid's 12th birthday, so we did an extra sweaty version of the special birthday march around the dining hall and then sent him back to the health center to revisit his breakfast.
His mother wasn't real excited at the idea of leaving work to make the 6 hour round trip drive, so we agreed to revisit the conversation at lunch, even though it had been 24 hours of puking, which generally means they have to go home.
By noon, she was on her way to camp to pick him up. I had spoken to the nun who sends all of these kids to camp as well as my board president and everyone was still feeling confident in my ability to run a camp.
The sun was out, the kids (and staff) have all settled into camp and are happily enjoying activities. I feel like I've been hit by a train, but as I stood off to the side at the campfire tonight, I looked around at smiling kids eating s'mores, staff who were leading songs and glowing with excitement, the sunset was as phenomenal as ever and I sighed with relief that even though I want to burst into tears and send everyone home, the despair seems to be contained to just me. Which is 100% the way I want it. I will shake off the bad day as long as everyone is still doing fine.
This camp has presented me with a variety of challenges over the years, but even at it's worse, when buildings were filled with garbage, when programming was a mess, when everything needed to be fixed, I have always been able to say that risk management and procedures to ensure the kids' safety were a priority. I'm a STICKLER for rules and safety and while there have been a few broken bones, bee stings, cuts and scrapes and such, I have always been able to confidently say that the injuries were due to normal kid behavior and there wasn't anything awry that caused the kids to get hurt. The fact is, kids fall down, they get too competitive in games, and things happen- but I've always been able to say that there wasn't anything we could have done differently to prevent those things from happening. No matter what challenges I faced with camp, I could always say we were safe.
On Sunday night, 'M' came into my house around 10 with a "situation". The nurse (who is not actually a nurse, rather, a nursing student because I couldn't find a nurse for this week) had accidentally given a kid the wrong dose of her medication and had just realized it. The child is a 7 year old girl and she is on 8 different medications, some that are in liquid form and some that are pills. She had a kidney transplant and is on a variety of anti-rejection medications.
We immediately called the nurse hotline, followed by poison control. Both were pretty calm and based on her dosage vs. body weight, they didn't think she was in danger. They told us to follow up with her doctor in the morning.
Monday morning, 'A' called the child's doctor, who said it wasn't an issue but to follow up with the transplant clinic. The camper had slept fine, hadn't vomited, felt just fine, at breakfast and was happily chatting with her cabin mates in the art barn when we finally got in touch with the transplant clinic who told us to get her to the city immediately because she was in grave danger. I asked if we could take her to the local hospital to have the labs done rather than rushing her 3 hours away. The transplant coordinator agreed, but told me that likely she would have to be rushed to the hospital in the city after the labs were completed.
'A' and I calmly got her into the camp van and I turned what is usually a 40 minute drive into a 25 minute drive. If I knew she'd been in danger the night before, I would have called 911 or rushed her to the hospital. I felt like a careless idiot. The camper was confused and a little upset she had to leave camp when she felt fine. We assured her that we just wanted to make sure she was feeling okay and that we would be back to camp soon. The hospital room had a tv, with a remote control that she got to control and as soon as we found the Disney channel, she forgot that she was upset. We were in a hospital room and her blood was drawn within 10 minutes of arrival. And roughly 20 minutes after that, the lab work came back and everything was normal. Relieved doesn't even begin to describe my feeling.
Through all of this, I had spoken to the parents exactly twice. The first call had been to the mother who politely told me "no english" when she answered the phone. She gave me the dad's number, and after a few tries (he didn't have voicemail, so I couldn't leave a message I spoke with him briefly. He spoke some english.
It took a while for the hospital and the transplant team to communicate and come up with a follow up plan, so we were gone until around 12:30. They discharged us but told us we would have to come back the next day for follow up lab work. All three of us were starving, so we made a trip to McDonalds, which kept our little camper happy and content through a bum day of camp.
While the assistant director and I were gone on the first full day of camp, "M" was in charge. Unfortunately, this is one of our biggest weeks, so both 'A' and I were scheduled to help lead activities, but 'M' managed to rearrange. As she was doing that, a 12 year old camper ended up in the health center, vomiting repeatedly. Vomit happens- it's not a crisis, but the nurse (who I had aggressively told to "pull it together and chill out" before I'd left because she was FREAKING OUT), was apparently still pretty freaked out and unable to handle it on her own.
We got back just in time for first afternoon activity period. The puking camper was resting comfortably, the poor 7 year old we'd poisoned was distracted by her happy meal toy and quite eager to go to fishing (and, as it turns out, not poisoned). I got in touch with the mom, this time, with the 14 year old sister translating. I told her what happened and that we'd taken her to the clinic to get checked out and that everything was fine.
Around 4pm, I got another call from the transplant clinic and the transplant team had met and decided the camper needed to be seen. Apparently the labs can come back normal but she could still reject the kidney, have a seizure or a number of other terrible things. The local hospital wasn't able to do the tests they needed done on her and so we were back to full blown crisis. I told her that she needed to get in touch with the parents because this was beyond my ability to make decisions on.
The dad called me an hour later and let me know they were on the way up to get her. I tried to prepare for their wrath- I'm not a parent, but if someone gave my kid the wrong dose of medicine I would LOSE MY MIND in anger. I would not be understanding or kind.
The vomiting kid had woken up and was back to vomiting every cracker and sip of water/7up/gatorade we attempted to give him. His mother was not super concerned, so we all agreed to keep him resting and continue to try to get something in his stomach.
Around 8:30pm, the parents arrived. If looks could kill, the mother would have taken me out in an instant, but the dad was as nice as he could be under the circumstances. He was concerned and said, "she could lose her kidney" as I told him I was so sorry. I explained that it had been a mistake- she read the bottle incorrectly and we'd reacted as soon as we realized it. I tried not to say more than that- there wasn't much else I could say. I had looked at the medication and instructions and it was easy to see how she'd confused the dose. I am not trying to make excuses- it was a terrible mistake. But, other than human error, she was organized, camp has a very good system for medication and I don't know what else we could have done to prevent it. I don't know how often medical professionals make errors- I'm sure more than we realize, and it is terrible. But I don't think there is anything we will change moving forward.
The parents asked to see their other two kids, so I led them to the locker room/shower area where both boys were with their groups getting ready for bed. The parents smiled and said hi to the boys and then were on their way. They were disappointed and obviously concerned, but they didn't scream or threaten me (which I would have done if I'd been in their position) and they didn't take their other kids home. So I guess it went as smooth as it could have, considering the situation.
We got all of the cabins though showers by 10pm and as 'M' and I headed home for the night, we went to check on the Counselors-in-Training. The CITs are 16 and 17 year old campers. During the all camp game, while I was talking with the parents of the kid that camp almost killed, one of the CIT boys had twisted his ankle.
Except that he hadn't just twisted it. It was about twice the size and purple and he couldn't move it at all. I've only been trained in basic first aid, but even I could see it was broken. Back to the ER- two trips in one day is a first for me.
I wanted to cry, but luckily, I just didn't have time. I grabbed my purse, computer (the hospital has wifi, so I figured I could get some work done this time, rather than just reading old magazines like I'd done the first time), and called my fiance to update him on my day.
The CIT who broke his ankle (confirmed by the x-ray when we got to the hospital) has been a camper for 7 years and last year even came back after being a Leader-in-Training to volunteer for a week. He is one of my favorites. When I said he needed to go to the hospital, he said, "will I have to leave camp?" and I said, "if I say your options are 'go to the hospital and get a cast and then leave camp OR stay at camp with a broken ankle, what are you going to do'?" to which he replied, "I could tough it out for the next two weeks." He loves camp and I adore him, and this time around, I wasn't terrified of possibly killing a camper, so the ride to the hospital took the full 45 minutes. Luckily at 11pm at a tiny up north hospital, there aren't any patients, so we were in and out in under an hour.
The puking camper vomited twice more while we were gone, but by the time we got back at 12:15am, everyone was asleep and the first full day of camp was over.
This morning I woke up, ready for a new day. When I walked into a 100 degree wall of heat in the dining hall, I knew Day 2 wasn't going to be as smooth as I'd hoped.
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"What is wrong with this building" were the first words out of my mouth. Property Manager T explained that one of the fridges (luckily the one that just holds leftovers for the staff) had overheated and almost started on fire. Not the end of the world, but the dining hall was sweltering.
It was vomiting kid's 12th birthday, so we did an extra sweaty version of the special birthday march around the dining hall and then sent him back to the health center to revisit his breakfast.
His mother wasn't real excited at the idea of leaving work to make the 6 hour round trip drive, so we agreed to revisit the conversation at lunch, even though it had been 24 hours of puking, which generally means they have to go home.
By noon, she was on her way to camp to pick him up. I had spoken to the nun who sends all of these kids to camp as well as my board president and everyone was still feeling confident in my ability to run a camp.
The sun was out, the kids (and staff) have all settled into camp and are happily enjoying activities. I feel like I've been hit by a train, but as I stood off to the side at the campfire tonight, I looked around at smiling kids eating s'mores, staff who were leading songs and glowing with excitement, the sunset was as phenomenal as ever and I sighed with relief that even though I want to burst into tears and send everyone home, the despair seems to be contained to just me. Which is 100% the way I want it. I will shake off the bad day as long as everyone is still doing fine.
Sunday, June 15, 2014
First Day of Camp!
Today was the first day of my 7th year at this camp (15th summer of camp overall).
Yesterday, on my first day off in 3 weeks, I cleaned my house, did my laundry, went grocery shopping, cooked a bunch of meals for the week, played with my dogs, did my nails and relaxed. It was productive and restful and I was happy to start the craziness of camp so organized and prepared.
Today was father's day and I was feeling a little bit sad. I wasn't feeling as excited as I thought I would on the first day of camp. I felt a little detached actually.
The staff meeting and pre-camp set up went well. And then I got a phone call saying the bus was going to be late because one of the two buses kept breaking down, so they were waiting for a replacement bus. So, like we mentioned in training, even though we have really organized schedules that we want the staff to stick to, often, other things happen that throw everything off. Flexibility training 101.
And then it started to rain.
However, by the time the bus arrived (only 45 minutes later than usual), the rain had stopped and 85 kids, ages 7-15 poured out of the bus in a LOUD, excited mess. 3/4 of this group are all return campers (some who have been coming since before I was the director), so there was a lot of familiar faces, hugs, and excitement.
The staff learned quickly that the theory of children and the reality of children is MUCH different. In theory, getting a dozen 7 year old boys from one place to another is simple. In reality, it is like herding ferrel kittens and every time you actually manage to get them all together, it is a small miracle.
Kids are louder, slower moving, less cooperative, and altogether more baffling in their choices than you ever expect and some of the staff looked a little like they'd run a marathon by the time they got to opening campfire, but overall, it was a smooth day.
Summer #7!!!
Yesterday, on my first day off in 3 weeks, I cleaned my house, did my laundry, went grocery shopping, cooked a bunch of meals for the week, played with my dogs, did my nails and relaxed. It was productive and restful and I was happy to start the craziness of camp so organized and prepared.
Today was father's day and I was feeling a little bit sad. I wasn't feeling as excited as I thought I would on the first day of camp. I felt a little detached actually.
The staff meeting and pre-camp set up went well. And then I got a phone call saying the bus was going to be late because one of the two buses kept breaking down, so they were waiting for a replacement bus. So, like we mentioned in training, even though we have really organized schedules that we want the staff to stick to, often, other things happen that throw everything off. Flexibility training 101.
And then it started to rain.
However, by the time the bus arrived (only 45 minutes later than usual), the rain had stopped and 85 kids, ages 7-15 poured out of the bus in a LOUD, excited mess. 3/4 of this group are all return campers (some who have been coming since before I was the director), so there was a lot of familiar faces, hugs, and excitement.
The staff learned quickly that the theory of children and the reality of children is MUCH different. In theory, getting a dozen 7 year old boys from one place to another is simple. In reality, it is like herding ferrel kittens and every time you actually manage to get them all together, it is a small miracle.
Kids are louder, slower moving, less cooperative, and altogether more baffling in their choices than you ever expect and some of the staff looked a little like they'd run a marathon by the time they got to opening campfire, but overall, it was a smooth day.
Summer #7!!!
Friday, June 13, 2014
Training Complete!
It's been almost 3 weeks since I had a day off, 13 days straight of training and finally, I'm done! Well, okay, I'm done for about 36 hours, but I will take whatever break I can get!
Staff training concluded today after lunch. Just as we were getting in line to have lunch, the power went out and that was the point when I was physically, mentally, emotionally (and every other possible way) DONE.
I laughed hysterically (in sort of a scary way) for a few minutes and then enjoyed a salad in the dark. Ok, it wasn't dark since the sun was out and it was only noon, but I was feeling a bit dramatic.
We cleaned up all of the training stuff from the dining hall that we'd accumulated in the past weeks and the A, M and I headed to the restaurant/bar for some blended strawberry margaritas. We had a few drinks and then I returned home to take a short nap.
When I talked to my fiance later in the day and told him about my day, he said, "so, you worked until noon, went out for drinks and took a nap? That sounds like a pretty good day to me!" I suppose when you phrase it like that it is tough to complain!
I am super excited for the summer. Camp looks gorgeous, the staff are great, training went well, registration numbers are good. 2014, here we go!
Staff training concluded today after lunch. Just as we were getting in line to have lunch, the power went out and that was the point when I was physically, mentally, emotionally (and every other possible way) DONE.
I laughed hysterically (in sort of a scary way) for a few minutes and then enjoyed a salad in the dark. Ok, it wasn't dark since the sun was out and it was only noon, but I was feeling a bit dramatic.
We cleaned up all of the training stuff from the dining hall that we'd accumulated in the past weeks and the A, M and I headed to the restaurant/bar for some blended strawberry margaritas. We had a few drinks and then I returned home to take a short nap.
When I talked to my fiance later in the day and told him about my day, he said, "so, you worked until noon, went out for drinks and took a nap? That sounds like a pretty good day to me!" I suppose when you phrase it like that it is tough to complain!
I am super excited for the summer. Camp looks gorgeous, the staff are great, training went well, registration numbers are good. 2014, here we go!
Wednesday, June 11, 2014
Power Outages
Lifeguard training and the end of pre-camp, followed by CPR/1st aid training, and last Friday- the beginning of staff training have kept me BUSY. I think I forgot (more likely, CHOSE to forget) how intense staff training is.
The staff this summer is great. I feel really confident in them. They are the most religious group I've had in 7 years. Each night when training has ended after 12 hours of nonstop activity, they all gather in the chapel to say the rosary together. So far, it is just the lead staff and I who don't go to evening prayer. I'm glad they still have energy to get together and if that makes them happy, I am glad. but after 12 hours of talking, explaining, and leading them, all I want to do is sit quietly by myself.
The power has gone out multiple times- a few times because it has rained and a few times because it was windy and once for no reason at all. It is so annoying and frustrating and even though everyone rolls with it, I want to SCREAM.
But if that is the worst issue, I can't complain. Camp looks beautiful, the staff are excited and seem to be pretty skilled and life is good.
The staff this summer is great. I feel really confident in them. They are the most religious group I've had in 7 years. Each night when training has ended after 12 hours of nonstop activity, they all gather in the chapel to say the rosary together. So far, it is just the lead staff and I who don't go to evening prayer. I'm glad they still have energy to get together and if that makes them happy, I am glad. but after 12 hours of talking, explaining, and leading them, all I want to do is sit quietly by myself.
The power has gone out multiple times- a few times because it has rained and a few times because it was windy and once for no reason at all. It is so annoying and frustrating and even though everyone rolls with it, I want to SCREAM.
But if that is the worst issue, I can't complain. Camp looks beautiful, the staff are excited and seem to be pretty skilled and life is good.
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
Buddhist
I have been sharing my new Buddhist knowledge with all of my friends, family and staff members. I'm not in the least bit educated enough to be quoting Buddhist teaching, but it's not really stopping me. I'm halfway through "Buddhism for Beginners" so that seems sufficient.
I'm actually not sure that my advice is fully based on Buddhist teaching- it's more of a sampler, but it's helping me as I begin this summer of uncertainty. The lesson I have most latched onto has been to allow yourself to fully welcome and experience every feeling and then let it go. Too often, we try to avoid things, ignore/deny our true feelings and end up with a jumble of thoughts and feelings that build up to be a ball of anxiety and stress inside.
The negative things that happen in life aren't an interruption- they are part of the journey. So instead of ignoring them, we need to embrace them, feel the feeling and then move on. It's become my mantra this summer.
I find myself saying, "I feel anxious about the unknown state of camp" or "I feel sad that this is probably the end" and then taking a moment to feel it (even though pain and stress are uncomfortable) and then saying, "okay, I'm letting these feelings go into the universe". I'm trying to accept and take comfort in the fact that life is one big collage made up of a million experiences and each of these things, even the ones I'm not happy about, are going into making me who I am and my life what it is.
I hope I can keep up this calm, peaceful demeanor all summer.
I'm actually not sure that my advice is fully based on Buddhist teaching- it's more of a sampler, but it's helping me as I begin this summer of uncertainty. The lesson I have most latched onto has been to allow yourself to fully welcome and experience every feeling and then let it go. Too often, we try to avoid things, ignore/deny our true feelings and end up with a jumble of thoughts and feelings that build up to be a ball of anxiety and stress inside.
The negative things that happen in life aren't an interruption- they are part of the journey. So instead of ignoring them, we need to embrace them, feel the feeling and then move on. It's become my mantra this summer.
I find myself saying, "I feel anxious about the unknown state of camp" or "I feel sad that this is probably the end" and then taking a moment to feel it (even though pain and stress are uncomfortable) and then saying, "okay, I'm letting these feelings go into the universe". I'm trying to accept and take comfort in the fact that life is one big collage made up of a million experiences and each of these things, even the ones I'm not happy about, are going into making me who I am and my life what it is.
I hope I can keep up this calm, peaceful demeanor all summer.
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