We spent the next hour working on Stewart’s foot. Between soaking it and using a sterile needle to pick back the tissue, we finally were able to get the glass out. By the end of it Stewart was finally able to put pressure on his foot with minimal discomfort. My back, neck and shoulders were screaming with pain and fatigue. David and Chubby looked spent too. We all exchanged weary high fives and thanks.
I peeked in on the little Cord Hut cake eater, Drew, in the infirmary. His back was turned towards me, but I could see he was sleeping comfortably. His breathing was slow and deep. I quietly stepped out of the infirmary. Must have been too much cake and too much camp.
I locked up the office and trudged upstairs. Himself had gotten the kids into their pajamas. He was reading them a book as they all cuddled together with him on the bottom bunk in the girls’ room. My son was fighting to keep his eyes open but was losing the battle. I scooped him up and carried him back to his bed and gently laid him down. I pulled the sleeping bag over him, stroked his hair and gave him a kiss on his forehead. He smiled, closed his eyes, and then he surrendered to sleep.
I changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. I sat on the bunk and was pulling on some socks when I heard a gentle knock on the door. I got up and peaked out. It was Bobbo. I motioned for him to whisper as I looked over my shoulder at my son sleeping.
“I have Matt outside the health office. He hurt himself playing tether ball. Can you please look at it? I think his thumb might be busted.” Bobbo whispered. UGH!
“OK. Let me get my shoes and the keys.”
I followed Bobbo down to the office. Matt, sitting on the chair in the hall, had his hand cradled in his lap. His head was bowed over. When he heard us open the hall door, he looked up and I could see his face was streaked with tears.
“Hey little guy. What happened?” I asked as I approached him.
“I jammed my thumb really hard on the tether ball. I think it’s broken.” He frowned.
“Well, let’s take a look. OK?” I said as I knelt down beside him.
I looked at his hand. There was no swelling at all. No apparent deformity or bruising. He had full range of motion all around, although he had some mild tenderness.
“I don’t think it is broken, Matt.” I told him as I clapped him on the shoulder.
“No?” Matt looked up at me with a tiny smile.
“Nope. Let’s get you some ice though. And maybe some acetaminophen too, OK? Those should both help.”
I opened the office and gathered all the supplies. I sent Matt and Bobbo off with instructions to return if things didn’t improve. I didn’t even bother to sit down as I wrote a quick entry in my nursing notes. I just had locked the office door when I turned to find Ashley escorting a camper through the hall door. I sighed and unlocked the door.
It was a constant and steady stream that evening. I never got the opportunity to leave the office as I dealt with a case of swimmer’s ear, then homesickness, constipation and then finally some itchy mosquito bites. Immediately following this unwavering flow of visitors it was time for evening medications. It seemed unceasing. I craved sleep. After the final camper left, I stepped out into the hallway and waited and held my breath. I hoped I was done for the night. I locked up the office and again dragged myself up the stairs.
As I walked down the hall towards my room and my beckoning bunk bed, I saw Alisa coming down the hall with her toothbrush. That’s when I remembered about Tim, the LIT 1 with the bug repellent in his eye.
“Oh, hey Alisa. How is Tim’s eye?”
“Oh, I think it’s OK. We rinsed it for quite awhile at the eye station, so it looked pretty good after that.”
“Oh good. I’m glad.” I said as I yawned. “Good night.”
“Night Anne.” Alisa responded as she disappeared into the bathroom.
I pulled open my door. Himself was reading a book, in the dark, with a flashlight. I gave him a quick kiss and then climbed the ladder up to the top bunk. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
…and with that the next piece of Swiss cheese lined up…
|Another level of failure|