“We’re never going camping again”

In the past two weeks, while awaiting the arrival of our second son, our first was finally learning a love of the outdoors. The local council in Nuuk runs a series of free activities and courses, particularly for kids on their summer holidays. So we excitedly signed him up for an ‘experience nature’ course run by a couple of local Greenlandic adventure and outdoor guides – Two Ravens. Over the course of a couple of weeks, they were running a four-day course for ten to fourteen year olds, culminating in an overnight camp. For my husband and I, this was exactly our idea of a fantastic few days out. Nuuk – like so many places in Greenland – has an unbeatable local natural environment literally on its doorstep, and I mean literally. From our doorstep, we walk a few metres to a gurgling stream draining a lush green slope that drapes the rocky rise leading to a small mountain in our backyard. From the top, there are views to the fjord, its rugged granite peaks, and seemingly endless possibilities for wilderness trekking.

Our son’s reaction to being signed up for this course was less enthusiastic. We’ve always struggled to instill in him our own passion for the outdoors. But like so many similar endeavours, it’s different – more interesting, more fun – when your parents aren’t involved.

Day one was cloudy and a bit cold. But bribery and coercion got him out the door, and the arrival of one of his friends joining the group sealed his reluctant commitment to see the day through, though he was quite clear that he wasn’t yet committing to the whole course. But at the end of day one, he returned with at least some stories of apparent enjoyment – playing in a rocky stream in bare feet, collecting edible plants to add to their soup for lunch. On day two, our son’s friend had left on holiday so more bribery, in the form of chocolate, was required. But he returned with new stories, this time more forthcoming, of catching fish in the fjord, of learning to make a fire to cook said fish. By the time his third day out on a longer hike came around, our second son was starting to stir inside me, the first intermittent twinges growing into more substantial discomfort.

When the fourth, and last day’s hiking and camping was around the corner, our first son was looking forward to an adventure. A trek in the nearly endless yellow evening Arctic light, cooking over an open fire, playing with his new friends, snuggling into sleeping bags and sharing smuggled candy. Now he was expecting to have fun. Meanwhile, son number two was on the move and my world – inside a birthing room at the hospital – was closing in to one of simple perseverance, finding whatever mental or physical means to grapple with growing waves of pain sweeping from my lower back, through my bones, shooting down my legs, and waning again with the vile promise of more potent return.

My Greenlandic midwife, who spoke no English, explained, questioned, and comforted me in Danish. So between contractions, I passed on précised English translations to my husband. As the day progressed, my translations became more and more concise – starting with whole sentences, transitioning through short phrases, and ending with single word communiqués. Eventually, my husband was completely uninformed and simply responded to my single word requests – “Gas”, “No”, “Water” – delivered at increasingly higher volumes. By the evening, with the baby refusing to move into a suitable position, the doctor advised proceeding with a ceasarean section and within the hour I was on the operating table, almost a dozen medical staff busy around me with their various tasks preparing for the surgery, my husband beside me, and both of us relieved to be nearing the end of this particular day. As the surgical staff prepared, a couple of nurses seemed to struggle to hang an unwieldy green canvas curtain between my upper and lower body, shielding me and my husband from view of the impending surgery.

“It’s just like going on a camping holiday,” the anaesthetist joked, to which my husband responded impassively, and to noone in particular,

“In that case, we’re never going camping again.”