Imagine twelve girls and two recent high school graduates in a room not much bigger than a college dorm. Now imagine that they all live there for a month. The fourteen humans share a bathroom with a handful of toilets, sinks, and showers. The girls wear each other’s clothes and sit on each other’s beds to hang out. In summary, overnight summer camp is a germ factory.
It was the summer of 2005, and I was back at camp for a third year. I had been for two weeks when I was ten and three weeks when I was eleven; now I was thirteen and staying for a whole month. The last activity block of the day was elective, so the girls from my cabin made staggered returns to our bunk from all over the large property to hang out and shower before dinnertime.
It was not unusual for a bug to pass around camp faster than the news of who was crushing on who, so my counselors were not especially worried when I returned from elective one afternoon and told them that I wasn’t feeling well. They probably told me to wait and see how I felt in a little while. I’ve been a camp counselor and teacher myself for many years at this point, and that’s exactly what I often tell kids who complain of a headache or stomach ache. Often, the child feels better after a drink of water, trip to the bathroom, or a meal, and no further action is needed.
That cabin was hot, especially in those late afternoons. There was a fan installed into the wall, but that was it. I heard they later put air conditioning in the cabins. In what I remember as some combination of actually feeling chilled and a 13-year-old act of defiance for my sickness not being taken seriously, I changed from shorts and a t-shirt to long pants and a hoodie.
My counselor soon noticed and asked me what the heck I was doing; remember, it was roasting in that cabin. I told her I was cold. I guess my dramatic behavior worked, because I was then taken to the infirmary.
The infirmary had a porch on which they stocked basics like bandages, sunscreen, and after-sun lotion. I stood on the porch with my counselor as we discussed my predicament with one of the healthcare staff. The conclusion was similar to what had been decided back in the cabin: I wasn’t really sick enough to be checked in at the infirmary. Also, they didn’t really have room for another patient at the moment. I was going to be sent back to rejoin my cabin group.
And then, right there on the infirmary porch, I threw up. That was enough to get me a spot in the infirmary.
I later found a letter home explaining the situation. I guess it was after rest hour, not during shower time, that I went to the infirmary.
