Christmas in July

This blog is not for the easily offended.

At camp we have a tradition. Christmas in July. I prefer it to regular Christmas, frankly. I mean I love what real Christmas is for and what it stands for and all that and I love the season, but with my family politics and issues and Jerry Springer stupidity, I really don't care much for the holiday. Christmas at camp is totally wonderful though. Granted it has none of the really cool reasons, Savior's birth, Good will toward man, and all that, but in terms of true completely altruistic generosity it can't be beat. It is also a great time for pranks, jokes and the teasing that is love and support between staffers at camp. In the past we even had a big roast beef dinner and such, but that has gotten to be too much of a hassle. So now we do it on the second to last Wednesday of camp, have cookies and Nogless Eggnog and do a white elephant gift exchange. In addition lots of staffers exchange little gifts. The rule is cheap or home-made. I get a lot of gifts for people. They are a good method of encouragement to the people who sometimes don't feel encouraged. In addition for the past couple years all senior staff that have to stand duty (stay up at admin overnight to answer phones and back me up) receive, from me, a towel with their name embroidered on it.

The tradition started back four summers ago when I was the office manager. That summer I lived up in admin with the medic and he and I shared our bathroom with four guys who lived in the Ballard Cabin. The Ballard Cabin is a historical landmark. It is a one room cabin and while it has electricity has no pluming. It is too far away from the staff area for the boys that live there (usually older boys... Over 21... Who are kayaking instructors) to use the facilities so the medic shares the facilities up in admin with them. (And in admin, everyone has their own room, I have never had a room-mate at camp... just to be clear) That first year I was terribly smitten (kind of like how Rosie was smitten with Tom Cruise, except I'm not gay and he's normal...) with one of the instructors. He was adorable and sweet and very smart. He was working on his PhD in psychology. He was also about 5'6. But still adorable. Anyway, one day I ended up on the phone with his mom. We chatted a bit and then she explained who she was. And I said, "Oh, I know your son. We share a shower!" Yep, that's exactly what I said. Thankfully she had a sense of humor. The incident got around and so they started to call the medic, myself and the Ballard Boys, "The shower buddies." So that year for X-mas, myself, I embroidered all of our names on towels. I gave each one of the boys their towels with a card that said "Now you will think of me when you are naked." It was a big hit.

The next year when I was the medic several younger boys (17) remembered the incident and gave me towels for X-mas. Not embroidered by them, but pretty orange ones with big turquoise flowers. They also got the matching hand towel and wash cloth. Nana is terribly fond of them. So when several of the boys came over to do yard work for me that fall after that summer and Nana kept calling them the towel boys I explained to them that the only person thinking of them when they were naked was Nana. Anyway.

My second year as the medic we started the Director on Duty system and I wanted to find a way to thank these young men for helping me out and the towel idea just seemed to fit. This time I had them professionally done. Luckily one of our staffers mother's is the one who does the embroidering for our staff shirts and so she did the towels for me, essentially at cost. I gave the towels out a X-mas. I did it again this year as well as they were so well liked and appreciated last year.

I receive gifts too, but more often cards. Homemade X-mas cards that are very sweet though often misspelled and sloppily written. It's the thought that counts after all...

It is also a tradition for me to give the director of the dining hall, a man old enough to be my father (Mark, see previous posts) that I flirt outrageously with as inappropriate a gift as possible. Last year I gave him a lacy red bra and panty set. While I had never actually worn it, it was in my size. All in good fun. This year, during staff week, the kitchen staff ran that same gift up the flag poles during morning formation. Seeing as it was just staff present, I thought it was pretty funny. This year I promised Mark I would be more demure in my gift, so I gave him a white eyelit lace set. Very innocent looking. However I also gave him pictures of me wearing them (over my dark green scrubs) in a Christmas card with a picture of the Virgin Mary on the cover. It was a great catch twenty two. If he didn't look at them he would think I had taken racy photos. If he did I could call him a pervert for looking. The senior (read over 18 and out of high school) staff was in hysterics over it all day. There was one problem however.

I had sent Drew (24 year old shotgun istructor nicknamed, and I am not making this up, Tinkerbell) to pick the pictures up at Walmart. There were only two, developed as 5X7 glossys. Drew said the clerk gave him the dirtiest look when he picked them up (I don't see why I was completely dressed!) and he didn't know why until he got to the car and peeked. What he didn't tell me was that he decided to use this opportunity to help some of the high school boys in cabin 2 kick their porn habit (These boys are mostly 16 and seventeen, starting senior year in high school). He photocopied the pictures onto one sheet of paper and slipped the papers into all the boys' magazines he could find (I'm hoping that was only a couple...). So X-mas was on Wednesday. On Friday one of the boys, one of "my boys" actually, rather sheepishly handed me a folded up piece of paper and said, "Um, I think this is yours." Obviously I was slightly confused. Like I said, I was dressed and so there was nothing to be embarrassed about I just wanted to know how the boys got it, it hadn't really beed intended for the younger boys to see. Eventually I caught up to Drew. He confessed immediately, explaining that he figured that if the boys were surprised by a picture of someone they considered a big sister while they were "using" the magazines maybe it would curb their habit or at least make them think about it a little more.

I thanked Drew for making my prank a Public Service Announcement.

Merry Christmas.

Only in my world.

36 hours... The scariest

Fourth of July week was with out a doubt the most difficult and exciting to be the medic at camp. It was a real heart pounder.

First of all Mom was supposed to visit, but she didn't and she waited until the last minute to tell me, so I ended up on the hook for the hotel. Thankfully they were really nice about the whole thing and I got to go use the night I had to pay for on Saturday. They had a big whirlpool bath in the room. Very nice... For all that I had a perfectly good bed not ten miles away. Anyway.

Nana got to come and visit for the fourth. She had a terrific time. Very nice and lots of fun for everyone. One Wednesday we did a special ceremony for MIA/POW and as last year I headed that up. It is a tradition I have seen since I was a child and it meant a lot for me to be able to share it with these boys. Many of the adult leaders thanked me throughout the rest of the week for the gesture.

Then came Thursday morning. It started for me at 2:30 AM.

At camp as one of few females I have to be very conscious of what I wear to bed at night. I keep a robe handy. However, sometimes if I have to "go" in the middle of the night, I'll just creep to the bathroom in my camisol and skivvies if the interior door to my building is shut and there is no one around. Like at 2 in the morning. So I popped my head out the door, saw the door was closed and began my creep. That's when I realized two scoutmasters were sitting in the middle of my med lodge. Oops. So after scooting back to my room like a bat out of hell and changing into complete scrubs I had a thirty minute chat with them and the boy they had brought with them. He was essentially home sick, but insisted he had the flu. So we gave him some Sudafed and sent him to bed. No harm no foul except for my wounded pride.

Then at 9 AM I got the emergency call. Someone had been walking across a mock up of a rope bridge or Monkey Bridge as they call it and had fallen. When I got there I found my program director (one of the highest ups at camp) was the one injured. When attempting to walk the bridge he had been spun upside down, piled into the ground and then three 100lb a piece logs had fallen on him. He regained consciousness, but could not remember what happened and could not retain any information we gave him at that point. He repeatedly asked me what happened even though I kept telling him. We had to "package" him in case of spinal injury and called 911. Then Click and I went with them to an emergency room to hear how he was and to wait for his mother. As it turned out it was only (ONLY!!!!) a moderate concussion and essentially mild sprains in his knee and elbow. The staff did an amazing job of handling the emergency and the camp for the most part was unaware of most of what had happened. I've packaged people before, seen worse injuries, but it was strange that this was someone I knew and I was very scared at the time. That is where training is such a good thing, because you are on auto pilot in terms of getting everything done.

When I got back there was a boy waiting for me. His scout master kind of shoved the kid at me and ran. Poor boy had a tick in a very uncomfortable place. When I attempted to remove it, I lost the head and had to go digging for it. Lord have Mercy! So here I am kneeling on the floor, by the gurney with a boy desperately trying to hold his suit low enough for me to get what I need to get to, but high enough to protect some modesty and I had another staff member holding a flashlight over me so I could see to digs the needle and tweezers into this whole mess. I went to bed beyond exhausted that night.

Then next morning after breakfast a scout master came running into medlodge with the two words to stop any medic's heart. Chain Saw! Some poor scout master bumped one into his upper thigh. As it was he was lucky. It was actually mostly superficial. Only (ONLY!!!) 40 stitches and no muscle damage. But for all that at least for a few minutes my heart stopped again.

Come Saturday night that bubble bath felt really good.

Sappy Ramblings from people who should be in bed

The thing that is the most important to me at camp is relationships. Several years ago I told a friend of mine that in some ways camp is the purest form of teaching. It is about the connecting to the boys on a level that doesn't seem to happen anywhere else. I imagine some people might find that odd, creepy or misunderstand my meaning. They live narrow lives.

These boys share so much with me. Often they come up to my Medlodge, in the evening when it's quiet or during a free minute between merit badge classes or on Thursday nights off or even Saturday evenings. They come to hang out, get food (I often have home-cooking in the fridge, chili, chicken and dumplings, soup, etc) and often to talk. The conversations start out small and sometimes odd. Sometimes they meander and go nowhere and sometimes great truths and secrets are shared. I've been told things that were never said out loud before, and may never be again. Things parents, teachers, best friends and doctors may not ever hear. Sometimes I just hear it first, as a safe sounding board. In the past four years I've had people discuss past abuse, suicide, sex, true (possibly unrequited) love, sexual orientation, faith in God, hopes and dreams for the future, and often just the confusion that comes in growing up. They tell me about the girlfriends they want, the ones they have and the ones they lost, not to mention the ones they wish they never had. They tell me about smoking and drinking and porn and the things they are angry about, ashamed of and secretly proud of. They tell me about the mistakes that they pray no one ever finds out about. They tell me the things that make their hearts break and their souls sing.

Oddly enough, for as talkative and up front a person as I am, I don't always talk all that much, mostly listen and I keep a lot of secrets. Which is funny because sometimes I never see or hear from some of them again. They only do one summer at camp and they don't write or call or whatever. If I bump into them somewhere it's good to see them, but awkward and strange as well.

Coming back from camp I find that this summer in particular a lot of what I heard weighs heavy on my soul because it seems so many today are bleeding internally. These are the good boys, the role models, the future leaders and they are so confused and so lost. Yet even with ten to fifteen years on them I'm not real sure I know the answers anymore than they do.

This week I went back to being Miss X at my school. Talking mostly to real adults of course, but Miss X. Here I do have the answers and I am "The Teacher" and my job is so much more finite and bounded and in that way I feel more powerful and in control. Yet, I don't feel as connected either. I am also a lot less confused.

It's Saturday night and I'm getting ready for bed, but I miss keeping an ear out for that shuffle of feet outside my medlodge door or the softly whispered "Hey Sandy." Nana goes to bed early and so it's just me and the dog now. There are no burdens for me to share, no stories to hear and no secrets to keep. I miss them.

I miss my boys.

(So to add to the insult of not posting for nearly a month I now am creating injury by being sappy and philosophical and rambling and probably a bit odd, just ignore me. Students return on Tuesday and I imagine I'll be quirky and cynical again. Also I still need to recount the great Monkey Bridge incident, tick digging, Christmas in July, the chain-saw incident... Just for Beata... And the most important lesson I learned all summer.)

Communication

There were lots of things I learned this summer. Lots of things I knew, but saw in practice and a couple things I learned about myself. One of the biggest things I learned/saw was how important communication is and how differently men handle issues of leadership and communication in comparison to women.

While at camp there was a lot of communicating going on, just never between the people who really needed to talk. It amazes me how much things can get out of whack because we won't say the things that should be said.

This summer at camp was most likely the smoothest summer ever in terms of camper/scout master satisfaction, professional accomplishment and the like. There were very few traumatic (read interesting) injuries and few genuine crisis at camp. Yet, for all that ease, smoothness, pretty picture, this summer was most likely my least favorite of the four. People didn't talk to each other, they talked about each other and people were not honest with each other when the time came. This is a very foreign concept to me. Granted sometimes I don't say anything, but for the most part it is very hard for me to keep my thoughts to myself on issues I consider important and if someone asks me what I think I tell them. Further I would never say something behind someone's back that I wouldn't be willing to say to their face. Seriously.

This summer, however, I said nothing, just like everyone else. In my case I didn't say anything because I was the medic not the administrator and I really felt it wasn't my place. This created a lot of internal stress for me, though. I think I slept for nearly 18 hours straight when I got home and then another 10 hour shot afterward. Now I am back at work at school with educational professionals and the difference is amazing. We are dealing with a lot more problems, bigger volume and more stressful issues and yet I feel so much more relaxed because here we talk about them, we discuss it and we fix it or at least find a workable solution. What a difference!

Not to sound sexist, though I do think there are definite issues of gender, but I wonder if that is because the teaching field is predominantly female where as the boy scouts are predominantly male (hence the name). This is also funny to me because in the past I have always said I prefer working with males as they tend to be much more straight forward and simple in their relationships. Which is true. In this case that simplicity twisted back on itself and created the most unpleasant work attitudes I've seen in some time.

Sorry to be so critical-analytical. There were some pretty cool stories and I will share them shortly, about chain-saws, ticks, hijinks and such, but before I could even get to those I needed to get this part off my chest.

Recharge

Hey! No I didn't die. Sorry about that. I figured I'd have so much to say while at camp and I did, unfortunately there was nothing left over energy wise to say it with. Also now I can no longer access my blog while at school, so...

But, there are lots of things I am still processing from camp and I totally will share,

so stay tuned...

What is an Emergency?

At camp, the word Emergency is dangerous on the radio, so we don't use it. If it is a medical emergency you are to simply ask for, "The Medic" and all I will ask is where you are. The part the becomes amusing is what people constitute as an emergency. I've been called as "The Medic" for splinters, headaches, and a "boo-boo."

This Thursday, staff night off, I got called as "The Medic" to the waterfall. Children met me as I ran up the hill, "there's blood everywhere! It's broken! You can see bone!" People were screaming and running and waving hands. When I got there another staff member had already gotten there first. He was gloved, holding pressure on gauze on a leg of a child being held by three scout masters and this child was screaming. The staff member moved his hand and I saw a small square of gauze below the one he was using and it had a 1 inch circle of blood on it. I had to count to 10 before I look under it to see the small skinned section. I guessed maybe 5 stitches, (the kid actually got 8). I smiled at the kid and said, "No worries, quick trip to the ER and you'll be home in two hours."

Then the screaming really started.

At least the scout leaders told me later they were sorry such a fuss was made over something relatively minor and they hoped they hadn't ruined too much of my evening.

Another child came into my office screaming in pain on Monday. He wanted to go home. He was in the worst pain of his life and wanted me to send him home. He had had surgery two months earlier and I needed to get his mother on the phone right now, it was an emergency. His mother was 10 hours away in Florida. But she needed to come get him right now. No, he had no pain prescription, he didn't want any pills. He wanted his mother. We called mom. She said she would come. But then the next morning he was fine. However as a precaution we wanted him to go back to using his crutches and stop doing swimming. Child didn't like this. So...

His mom called me at 4:30 AM on Thursday morning to tell me that her child could walk without crutches and do any activities he wanted to. She called this early she said because it was an emergency.

OK.

So, I find myself wondering, how do we determine emergencies?