I just got back from a grand adventure filled with peril, fun and alpacas, but to tell you that story, first I have to tell you another.
Lately, I’ve been working for Hemophilia of Georgia on their new video project. When I went to the first meeting, all I knew about hemophilia is that the last Tsar of Russia’s son had it. My ignorance isn’t uncommon. Because the disease is so rare, not many people know about it. I found out in the meeting that over seventeen thousand Georgians are dealing with genetic bleeding disorders like hemophilia. The rareness of the condition makes them feel isolated- as children, they feel outcast from their “normal” friends because they can’t play freely. Parents feel like they have to pack them in bubble wrap. It’s a hard place to be, emotionally, financially and medically.
So, I got booked on this job to write the scripts. It was a rush job- I had a week to accomplish what would ordinarily take a month, so I wrote like the wind. Suddenly I didn’t have time for my normal endeavors- laundry, cooking, lolly-gagging in the woods, my afternoon Tai Chi break in the side yard. Johnny was on his own. He walked the dogs and did laundry and cooked — fried chicken and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches (the Elvis Healthy-Colon Diet).
By hook or by crook I got the scripts written and began to pack for my trip to Camp WannaKlot (the summer camp designed for kids with bleeding disorders). The video team was spending the day there, capturing interviews and footage of the campers. I finished packing and pointed my car east on I-20, heading for Rutledge, to the special needs camp.
Because it’s such a far drive, and because I had an early call (6 AM) I booked a room for the night at a close-by motel. The price was right and the photo on the website had looked ok, but when I got there, dusk was falling and I realized it was in a pretty rough neighborhood. My room was on the bottom floor. I asked the desk clerk if I could switch to an upper room since I was a female traveling alone. She confided that the bottom rooms were used by their business travelers but the upper rooms were used by the “local riffraff,” so she thought I would be safer downstairs.
I drove around the back to Room 116. It smelled clean and even had towels folded into the shape of swans on the bed, but after inspecting the door locks, I was concerned. They didn’t look real reliable. I opened and closed it. The screws of the hasp jiggled loosely in the wooden doorframe. I puzzled on it for a minute and then drug the heavy desk away from the wall and over in front of the door. Next I took the ironing board and lodged it against the desk, then jammed it underneath the doorknob. Safe as a bug in the rug. That, plus “Woah Nelly” (that’s what Pop called my 380 pistol) on the side table. I knew if the ravening Zombie Apocalypse hordes tried to push the door open, I’d be awake and up, and be able to blow a hole through the door big enough to throw a cat through. I slept like a baby.
The next morning, we got to the camp bright and early and the fun began. The day was hot and humid but bearable. The smell of light mildew and trench-footy sneakers took me straight back to Woodland Christian Camp where I went when I was a girl.
The video crew shot all morning. First thing we captured was the Infusion. That’s where the kids infuse their blood with a clotting factor, so if they’re bumped or bruised during the rough play of the day, they don’t have terrible bleeds. After that, they just had fun like regular kids at camp- horseback riding, paddle boarding, fishing and rock climbing.
Then the crew had a surprisingly delicious lunch in a cafeteria full of kids who were chanting at each other and banging on tables like primates (as camp kids are prone to do). After lunch we took all the gear to the petting zoo where we got close and personal with a trio of goats, a Brahman bull calf and an alpaca named Tina. I earned my merit badge for the day when I stopped the film crew from wading into a patch of poison ivy to get a perfect shot.
I interviewed lots of kids, grabbing sound bytes. Because kids with hemophilia are often told, “What they can’t do,” we wanted to hear from them “what they can do.” One freckled boy was eager to share. “I can fish!” A gap-toothed girl bragged, “I climbed the rope course.” When I got to the last interview of the day, it was a councilor who had also attended the camp as a boy. When I asked him, “what can you do at camp?” He thought for a minute, and then flashed a warm smile. “I can feel the same as everyone else. And I can feel loved.”
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