We have a virus running around camp now, especially among the Intermediate girls. Sore throat and headache. All of the girls come in for an initial visit and then we follow-up with Ibuprofen and cough drops. The girls are good about it. Some, however, realize how nice the infirmary is. We have air conditioning, magazines and TLC. They realize that they like being here versus their cold, damp, public cabins. They start coming in at the beginning of the day and want to just “lay down” for a couple of hours. It’s like playing the lottery for them here in the infirmary—if they get one of the hard core nurses, they are sent back to class within minutes. If they get one of our softies, they will indeed spend another morning in our infirmary.
I have been struck by the weakness of these girls. Granted, we have had a couple of campers whose strep and mono tests have come back positive, and we give them all the care and attention they need. However, most of these girls are just a mess, and if I think about, really quite manipulative.
Having spoken to grown-up children of physicians, I have discovered that we have had one of two very different experiences. Either the child was worried about and doted on (and has since become quite a hypochondriac), or as is more often the case, they were left to work through illnesses on their own. This was my experience, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Unless I was burning with fever, or vomiting, or having severe intestinal distress, I went to school. I went to school with coughs, a runny nose, headaches, pains in various joints and even the hay fever symptoms with which I suffer now—you name it. I can distinctly remember my sixth grade trip. I don’t remember where we went, or what we did particularly, but I remember I had the worst case of heartburn for the four days of the trip. There were times I wasn’t sure I could move I was in so much pain, but I never complained. I never told a teacher, although looking back now, Maalox or a Tums would have brought welcomed relief. In high school, I remember I bruised my coccyx (tailbone) or a corner of an end table at home while retrieving a dog, and I couldn’t move for months. When I would need to get up from my bus seat in the afternoon, I would have tears in my eyes from all the pain. And this went on for months. No ibuprofen. No icing (although that might have produced some funny stories considering the location of my pain). What came of all of this?
Where are these campers? Are there girls out there like that? I know there are boys like that. Mark was hospitalized two years ago here at Interlochen, and I didn’t even get a phone call. It was several weeks after he returned home that he told me he had gone in with nausea, fever and a headache and could hardly stand. He was probably dehydrated, and the nurses forced fluids, but it was no big deal in his mind. For my kids, they realize that making up the work they miss is worse than going to school feeling a bit ill.
The other day, we had one of those tough campers, and she became my hero of the day. She was tall for an Intermediate camper, and I’m guessing that this is her last year in that division. She walked into the clinic and said that she had “some bites” on her leg and could we tell her what was biting her? She pulled down her mandatory red knee-hi socks and revealed what looked like TUMORS covering both of her legs! Seriously, the bumps were four inches in diameter and bleeding. She had had them for days and was scratching them in her sleep. She didn’t ask for any medication (although you can believe that we covered her in every known ointment on the planet) and didn’t express one complaint. Borrowing one of Mark’s favorite expressions, she’s a CHAMP!
On the other hand, we have our “frequent flyers”, those who just want to hang out in the infirmary. When I saw the same three girls come in yesterday for a sore throat again and wanting to be seen by the nurse for the third time in a day, I asked them, “Now girls, when you are at home and you have a cold, do you go into the doctor’s office three times a day?” One girl looked at me sheepishly and said, “no”. The other girl said, “Well, yes actually, because both of my parents are doctors.” Grrrr….don’t even get me started.
At this point, I can’t resist writing about two sweet campers who were also frequent flyers. Their names were Joycelyn and India, and we lovingly referred to them as “the dynamic duo”. Let me try and paint a picture of them.
I know this isn’t very p.c., but they were two little black girls from Florida. I’m guessing that they came up to camp together since they were completely inseparable while here. They both played viola in the Junior Symphony Orchestra, so they couldn’t have been more than 10 years old. They had the most amazing hair. Yes, hair. Both of them had this elaborate design of braids on their head. The braids would move around the front of their heads and be bunched up in the back with a ponytail, or just hang loosely. Seriously, their hair was just gorgeous.
When they first started coming in, I thought they were the cutest little things. They had tiny little voices (especially Joycelyn) and they appeared sick. Sore throats, headaches, coughs. After a couple of days, I knew their names on sight, and this should have been a clue as to their real intention.
I started noticing a pattern. They came in the morning before rehearsal began, always with identical symptoms. They would repeat their visits at 3:00. It took several days before I began to realize that they were pulling the wool over our eyes. We have to treat every camper like they have a serious illness which we did, but then I started thinking. If they were indeed in Glo’s orchestra, I wanted to have a look at Glo’s schedule. Turns out, these two were missing sectional rehearsals every day at 3 p.m. Like I wrote earlier, Helen finally just sent them away.
Finally, I want to contrast these stories with one more.
The nurse with whom I’m working this week is Nancy. She is the smiliest, funniest person. She laughs constantly and just has a general joie de vivre. Her daughter, Bethany, 16, is here with her as a camper, and the two of them are constantly out and about, discovering every fun thing to do here in Northern Michigan. I was surprised to discover a couple of days ago that she is currently in remission from Stage 4 breast cancer. The prognosis for her life is less than 10 years. She wouldn’t have told me about this except I offered her some food that her oncologist has advised her not to eat. Her husband died a few years ago, so it’s only her and her daughter. She was explaining a number of private phone calls she received the other day—it was her investment advisor who was helping her prepare her money for her daughter after she dies. It was only of necessity that she even told me about it, but she never volunteered the information. She loves life, and even more so now—she is trying to live with no regrets.
And I suspect, if I asked her, the last place she would want to spend her remaining moments of life is in an infirmary. I wish some of these young campers could have some of this perspective from Nancy. Don’t use illness as an excuse to not live. Live as though it’s your last day and enjoy it to the fullest.
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