As a counselor at a kids camp, I have seen a multitude of frightening scenes, but this one year was special.

Little girls were piling into the campground by the van-load from all over the state. Parents were dropping off sleeping bags, pillows, suit cases and teddy bears with a mixture of sadness and well-disguised glee.

I had checked in 12 of the 13 girls listed on my cabin roster when a man threw a large black duffle bag in the room at my feet. A little chubby girl, Becky, who just turned six years old the Saturday before, came in right behind it without her paperwork.

Hrmmph! This guy knew better. He was one of the boys' counselors. He knew that you just don't drop a kid off without all of the papers properly filled in. Little Becky looked nice and clean, but no child was coming into my room without the mandatory head check. Camp is great, but not if you have to take a delousing shower.

The man that brought little Becky to me begrudgingly took her for her screening. She passed with flying pigtails and returned to our cabin.

Now was the time to let the girls introduce themselves to each other, and time for me to sort out who was who. Little girls exchanged names and told their new friends about the harrowing trips that brought them to camp that warm summer day.

As I gathered up all of the check in paperwork, I noticed that Becky was doing a little two step next to the front door. When I asked her if she needed to go to the bathhouse to use the potty she bobbed her head up and down enough to give me a headache from watching. I had my assistant take little Becky down to the bathhouse to do her business.

Fifteen minutes passed. The girls needed to get to their first official camp activity, but Becky had not returned to the cabin yet. I decided to get the others ready to go. By the time I got the other girls lined up and ready to go, Becky came bounding through the door. I asked her if she was ready to leave with everyone else.

She got a very concerned look on her face. I began to worry. I followed her gaze to her wrist where a brownish patch of something sat glistening in the fluorescent cabin light. She said, "Miss Tammy, I have poopy on my wrist." Promptly, I reached out to grab the child to rush her to the bathhouse and the industrial strength bottle of anti-bacterial cleanser. She pulls away and rubs at the brown patch of poop. I panicked. She then takes the rubbing hand and places it in her mouth.

AAAAAAAAAA!

In my first twenty minutes of camp, I had a child eat poop.

This did not bode well for the rest of the week.

I rushed little Becky to the bathhouse where I promptly doused her with an entire bottle of anti-bacterial soap. She asked for water, but I didn't dare dilute the germ killing power of this amber salve. Slathering it on thicker and thicker as sweat began to pour down my face, I thought "How will I explain to little Becky's mother that I allowed her child to get e.coli poisoning in the first twenty minutes of her first camp experience?"

After a good fifteen minutes of scrubbing, I rinsed little Becky's hands off, but what was I going to do with the poop she had swallowed?

Immediately I called the camp nurse, alerting her to the possibility of an e.coli situation from a bit of fecal feasting. She performed the mandatory panic shuffle that resembled mine from earlier in the day. Then she told me that she'd get back to me later the evening after consulting with a few other medical professionals.

The remainder of the day went on with ease. The incident of that morning would have all but vanished if it weren't for all of the other counselors licking their wrists as they passed me. Some even calling out to me, "Miss Fudgesicle!".

As evening fell upon the camp, and the girls snuggled down into their beds for a goodnight story, there was a light rapping at our cabin door. It was the nurse with six pack of Caffeine Free Diet Coke. (Thankfully, the nurse realized that this little girl didn't need any caffeine or sugar. She had plenty of her own energy.) Little Becky was to drink as much of this Coke as we could stuff in her. Something about the acid in the Coke would kill the germs in the poop.

Hey! I wasn't arguing at this point. I just didn't want a sick little kid on my hands for a week. She managed to slam down nearly two full bottles. Just enough to hear her belly slosh when she shifted on her bed.

The Coke worked like a charm. Her system was flushed, and I got to spend the next two days with a little girl with really nasty diarrhea.

It was a lovely year.

-- Tammy [1]