I spent 10 days in the Dominican Republic recently, and the highlight was our annual camp for about 40 boys with hemophilia. If you read my blog from last week, you will see that many of our boys live in extreme poverty. As founder Haydée de Garcia, president of FAHEM, the national hemophilia organization said, “Camp for them is like going to Disney World for an American child with hemophilia.”
Camp–no matter how grand (like Paul Newman’s camps) or small–like ours–is magical for any child but especially a child with hemophilia. Here, they get to be a regular kid, able to do so many things normally not allowed or even conceivable. Our boys played “baseball,” using their bare hands and a rubber ball, but with what competitiveness! (Baseball is a national passion here) They made masks for carnival, the theme of the camp. Swam in a huge pool, did competitive ball games, had rap sessions with a counselor, watched movies, and best of all… got factor. The DR bought no factor last year, at all. What they had came from donations, like from Project SHARE, our humanitarian program. All the factor at camp this year was donated. And without factor, there would be no camp.
Get your carnival masks ready!
We had a few surprises, like a visit from baseball great Stan Javier, formerly of the Mariners and Giants. And on the last day, Carnival! After breakfast, we heard horns blowing, percussion, and across the lawn came a carnival crew, and everyone got in on the action. No one can party like the Latinos can!
I’ve watched this camp grow from an idea on paper, to a first attempt in 1999 to now a world class camp. It’s a model for anyone running a camp for kids with hemophilia in developing countries. My boys, who were ages 8 and up in 1999, are now in their twenties and are counselors–and tower over me! They love that I return to camp when I can, and I in turn love to be there, and love them. They teach me all the time about reliance, appreciation and giving back. Some of them were in constant pain at camp this year, discernible only by a serious look on their faces when they thought no one was looking. They do without: ice applied to a joint instead of an infusion of factor. But nothing dims their joy. We should all live so in the moment, with such joy.
(Thanks to Save One Life for a donation to help meet camp expenses! Many of our beneficiaries attended camp. If you want to help with camps like this,consider making a donation to our camp campaign going on now at www.saveonelife.net Gracias!)
Abil loving pool timeJoint damage on a boy with hemophilia
Wilson relaxes on the swings
Laurie suggests exercises to do
The winners!
Learning to do an infusionStan Javier of the Giants visitsMecho and Laurie join in!
Blood, sweat and tears literally flowed at the Dominican “¡Yo Si Puedo!” summer camp in Lomas Linda, Dominican Republic this past week. Blood? Because the 40 children and teens attending all have hemophilia, and when you are exited, attending what may be the brightest spot in your year, running, playing, dancing—oh my, can the Dominicans dance!—and you are never on prophylaxis because there is so little factor available, then you are naturally going to bleed.
No problemo. The good news is that we had plenty of factor for camp, thanks to a generous donation. And you wouldn’t believe how these kids played, knowing they had factor to back them up. With a theme of the “Wild West,” our little cowboys were pretty rowdy!
This is the 11th annual Dominican camp, called “Yes, I Can!” in English. A little over twelve years ago, when I first arrived here, the DR had next to nothing for hemophilia care. No factor, not even donations, a poorly run hemophilia national organization—in name only—and a patient registry of less than 50, if even that. Patients were shut out of participating in their own organization, until one woman and her colleagues decided to shake up the system and return power to the parents. Haydee de Garcia and friends succeeded, and the DR today has a government that buys factor, a patient registry of over 260, regular meetings and events, a strong new organization that is patient-centered, and best of all, a fantastic camp.
Sweat? The humidity hits you like a sledgehammer on this beautiful tropical island nation. My feet swelled within a few hours and I sweated constantly for the next four days. Camp is about 40 minutes outside the capital Santo Domingo, in the rolling hilled countryside. The stunning facility where we hold the camp has stately white houses for dorms, a thatched-roof dining area, a big in ground pool, and no hot water! That’s fine because you look forward to the chilled water to cool you down and wash away the constant perspiration. Three showers a day and back on go the damp clothes, only to be soaked again within an hour in the dripping air.
The acclimated Dominican kids never seem to sweat, though. I watched the in awe as they rolled out of bed at 7 each morning, formed a circle at 7:30 am and did their group calisthenics with “Cuchito” the coach, and then paraded into the outdoor dining area for a hot breakfast. Then there were classes about hemophilia, story times, pool times, a rowdy time with inflatable bouncing castles and jumbo slides and a very special visit yesterday to a rodeo—the first one in the DR! As always, camp ended with a wonderful talent show, including skits about hemophilia, and we were all dancing the merengue when the clock struck midnight.
We had probably the best camp since 1999, when it was founded by Haydee and the Fundacion Apoyo al Hemofilico (FAHEM). Then, it was rustic and without amenities. None of us knew how to run a camp, but still we had a great experience and created fond memories. Fast forward and now we have a world-class camp, and the little boys who attended the first camp in 1999 are now counselors, young men who model everything from how to have manners, to how to be part of a team, how to settle disputes, how to be patient and disciplined, and how to have fun safely.
Tears? That was a surprise for me. I’ve been watching these boys for 11 years, and as a mother, am bursting with pride for the initial campers and the men they have become. Brahian, Javier, Alphonso, Luis, Dámaso, José G., Isaiah, Henry, Carlos and José Luis—what amazing and beautiful young men with hemophilia they all are. When we sat down yesterday morning for a rap session about who they are, what their role is in the future of the organization, leadership, and the importance of them taking on even more leadership in preparation for the day when current leaders are gone, the boys expressed their thoughts and feelings.
It started as a rational discussion about leadership and camp, but then it was as if the past 11 years welled up like a swelling ocean wave, carrying with it all the feelings of little boys who left their mothers for the first time in 1999 to young men who have shouldered silently more pain than most of us know in a lifetime. In giving us, the adults, thanks for what we have done for them—personal sacrifices, long nights of planning, days and weeks of organizing, late night visits to the hospitals–tears began to flow when they realized what their lives may have been like had there been no Haydée, no Mecho, no Dr. Rosa or Dr. Joanne, no FAHEM, no camp. And when one wept spontaneously, several others quietly wept, to release all the common feelings of a decade and in gratitude that their futures have been secured. As one young man said, “These are tears, not from sadness, but from joy.”
Many of these boys and young men come from homes where there are few material possessions, sometimes even no plumbing. They live in houses, make-shift sheds, or cramped and hot urban rented rooms. Camp is so much more than a fun time for them. It’s a celebration of life, a communion of children and young adults who share a common pain, and a foundation for the future. It gives them hope that things will change. Blood, sweat and tears? Bring them on: the blood and sweat you cannot avoid at a hemophilia camp in the tropics. The tears are a delicate leaking of innermost feelings of gratitude– for being alive and for being loved.
This camp is one of the greatest things I have ever been involved with, and nothing makes me happier than to see the boys together, as friends, as mentors, sharing life and memories, and preparing to raise the next generation. I am here till Wednesday, when I leave on a 8 hour bus trip to Haiti–stay tuned!
To me, there’s nothing more rewarding or satisfying than to travel through clogged urban streets and alleys, or jostling out on half finished roads, or sometimes no roads, in the broiling heat to visit hemophilia families in their homes. It’s like hunting for elusive diamonds. Amidst the trash, slums, poverty, sweltering humidity, you sometimes get an unexpected surprise that makes it all worthwhile. We had three of these happen to us in the Dominican Republic following camp last week.
Last Tuesday we visited a family right in Santo Domingo, the capital and the oldest city in the Americas. That’s right: this is where Columbus came four times during his voyages, to the island of Hispaniola. Dominicans are a beautiful blend of European, indigenous people, Africans (brought as slaves) and Spanish. Santo Domingo is home to the first hospital in the Americas, featured here, now in ruins.
I think we saw all these nationalities in the Torrres family. We met all three children: Alexander, Bryan, and Victor. Alexander and Victor had been at camp with us all week– but no one knew they were brothers! They have different last names, and this underscored the need to get the national registry more precise. The foundation FAHEM needs to be able to know that two children are brothers, not from their names, but also from their shared address.
The family lives in a two room dwelling that they rent. Rent is 40% of their $95 a month income. Try to think how to live on that with three kids with hemophilia! It boggles the mind. Only the father works. The young mother stays home, though there is little to do when there are only two rooms. She spends all her time with the children, shuttling them back and forth to the hospital. We are enrolling all three children in Save One Life.
On Wednesday, we started our day by visiting the de Jesus family, in the barrio La Cruz. It was about a 20 minute ride outside the capital. Rural poverty is quite different than urban poverty. In some ways it’s worse, because you lack plumbing and water. But then, there is space, more quiet, more nature. Damaris lives in such a place: a two room house with a tin roof that cooked the kids inside like a microwave. Haydee de Garcia, founder of FAHEM, the Dominican hemophilia society, and I were sweating by the time we hiked up the little hill to see her. With us was Haydee’s nephew Luiggi, who served as our translator.
No refrigerator, no bathroom, no running water. And yet, her tiny house was as clean as could be, with flowers on the small kitchen table, and the floor swept. The children were clean, and Damaris was carefully groomed. I was very impressed. Wilmer fussed, and I bent over to whisper in his ear. Maybe he can hear; he calmed down quickly and his eyes grew wide. My first job out of college in 1980 was working with mentally and physically handicapped children and adults, so I am used to being with and caring for these children. I’m not shocked and I don’t do pity, but I can empathize. Both boys have hemophilia. To bring Wilmer to physical therapy each week, Damaris has to carry him in her arms on the public bus, and then walk. As a result of his disability, Wilmer’s back is rigid and his limbs taut. It cannot be easy at all to bring him. I tried to hold him and it was nearly impossible. And she knows she has a lifetime of this ahead of her.
When we entered the house, it was allegedly to see Darling, Damaris’s five year old. What we did not expect was that her other son, Wilmer, age 18 months, had something wrong with him. Damaris told us that just in February, her baby with hemophilia had a spontaneous head bleed. She rushed him to the hospital, but he was in a coma by the time she got there. Now he was permanently brain damaged. He is blind and she does not know how much he hears. We were saddened by this tragic situation in front of us: Damaris and her husband earn only a little, have no luxuries at all, not even a fan to keep her baby cool. Inside the small house, the temperature was about 90 degrees, and there was no way to keep away the abundant and voracious mosquitoes that nibbled on our ankles.
Outhouse
But Damaris never complained and was humbly grateful when we told her we would find sponsorships for both boys, giving her an additional $40 a month. We first decided they needed a fan more than anything, to keep the baby cool. And we gave her the money on the spot. With many hugs and smiles, we left for the next family.
Further out into the country, we came to the De la Rosa’s house, a lovely but modest home on a dirt road. Three big boys with hemophilia: Anderson, Alexander and Anthony. Their sister, Angelina, sat in on the visit. The boys are all in their late teens and look fantastic. No joint damage, well developed musculature. It got me wondering. These handsome guys didn’t look quite–normal.
As we did the intake interview for Save One Life, I started asking about their extended family. One sister died in childbirth. Uncontrolled bleeding. Another died from her period. These boys don’t get joint bleeds but get a lot of nosebleeds. Haydee and I looked at each other: could they have von Willebrand instead of hemophilia?
We asked them to get tested at once so we can get their diagnosis straight. We have held off getting them sponsorships until this is done. But all in all, I was thrilled that we made the visit. They were diagnosed about 10 years ago, and could very well be misdiagnosed. Though the mother said that factor VIII concentrate “works” on the boys, it could well be that a product was used that contains von Willebrand factor.
A surprise: they don’t have hemophilia but VWD!
I wish we had time to visit every patient, in every country. Home visits are the single most important thing I can do, and I love doing them. In these three visits we learned something new, something important, and something the national foundation needs to know. And the stories we hear make us humbled, grateful and better people. As Mother Theresa once said, “The poor have much to teach us.”
Great Book I Just Read:Krakatoa by Simon Winchester One of the world’s worst natural disasters took place on Monday, August 27, 1883, when the small island of Krakatoa in the Sunda Strait near Indonesia exploded and destroyed itself. The blast– believed to be the loudest sound ever known–was heard thousands of miles away and killed over 36,000.
Author Simon Winchester is a geologist by education and trade, and now is an engaging writer. The book is not about a disaster, as much as it is about geology, and the science of volcanoes and the earth, which I found to be absolutely riveting. I never knew about this and I cannot wait to learn more about Mother Earth and from where this self-destruction originates.
You’ll learn about subduction and tectonic plates, about how only recently did scientists agree that the earth’s plates are moving! You’ll learn about early trade in East Asia, and about Indonesia in the 1800s. Winchester even ventures to say that the devastation, and the poor handling of it by the Dutch, left the door open for radical Islam to invite itself in. Indonesia is now the most populous Islamic country on Earth. How nature changes politics.
I loved this book, but I can critique it on two things: first, Winchester has a choppy style, and the book swings like a pendulum from this topic to that. Sometimes it seems that the eruption is only a blip, a thing standing in the way of his discourse on geology. The second, most disappointingly, is that although 36,000 died, you don’t hear about any of their stories. They are not as important as the rock, the plates, the volcanoes. I kept waiting to read about the people, what happened to the people? Hardly a word. A chapter about the victims—who were they? Who survived and how?– would complete this amazing story. Three stars.
I woke up Sunday morning at 6 am, after being serenaded by roosters all night long, who echoed their cries into the lush rolling hills outside Santo Domingo, the capital of Dominican Republic. Morning in the DR is lovely, with mist clinging to the trees, and the sun just started to bake the ground. After a chilly shower, I left my sleeping roommates (including my 15-year-old daughter Mary) to join about 50 boys with hemophilia to do morning exercises with “Cuchito,” their coach. If only we could wake up this way every morning of our lives!
After fun exercises and stretching, to get the boys’ joints limber, we marched– and I mean, marched–off to breakfast, always a healthy and hearty meal. The boys then prepared to leave their their DisneyWorld, their adventure land, their annual mecca. Packing, laughing, hugging–the Dominicans are known for their great affection towards each other–the boys reluctantly made their way to the bus and back to Santo Domingo.
But what a time we had! On Friday the boys were treated to a surprise: a visit from Marcos Diaz, world class long distance swimmer. Marcos gave a spellbinding speech poolside about discipline, perseverance and setting goals. He isn’t just a swimmer: he was born with severe asthma, and was not expected to ever do much in life. He didn’t let his asthma stop him, and set out to conquer it through swimming. We took many photos, and I think the adults were as excited to meet this national hero as the children.
We had carnival, arts and crafts and then, the Talent Show!! It was wonderful: full of music and dance, and unexpected but hilarious skits from the teens as they mimicked the adults–including the founder Haydee de Garcia, and me!
Camp “Yo sí peudo” has ended and was a magnificent, fun time for all. If you look at the logo on Ronnie’s yellow shirt, you’ll see the camp theme for this year: metamorphosis. It’s our tenth anniversary, and we’ve watched little children grow to men, from caterpillars to butterflies, ready to spread their wings. Knowing they have hemophilia, some disabilities, and even poverty, nothing could be greater than the smiles on their faces, and the hope in their hearts.
What could be more fun than attending a camp with 50 boys with hemophilia in the summer heat with activities, great food, camaraderie, a talent show, carnival games, swimming pool and meeting a world class celebrity?
Doing it in the Dominican Republic, a tropical paradise.
It’s the 10th anniversary of a remarkable camp, “Yo si pudeo!—Camp “Yes, I Can!” I would dub this one of the best, if not the best, camps for hemophilia in the developing world. And I know what it has taken to make it so as I was here for the very first camp in 1999.
Back then, as I told the staff today, I came to the DR give direction and advice. Things like: you need volunteers. You need to raise money. You need to quarter the medical area, preferably out of the dorms. You need Plan B for when it pours rain for three solid days. You need name tags, a list of each camper, and above all, you need factor. And factor can’t be stored with the raw meat.
It was a long learning process, but with each camp, the experience got better and better. I was delighted in 2005 to attend my fourth camp and saw not only a medical room, but also one under lock and key, clean and organized, with fresh flowers in a vase. Not only did the kids have nametags, but they had groups, which were named, and each group assigned a teen counselor. The counselors were the teens who grew up in camp. Amazing!
Ten years of camp came together seamlessly to create an awe-inspiring four days. The children were dropped off by family members on Thursday at the Robert Reid Memorial Hospital in Santo Domingo, the capital. I eagerly greeted the children I had come over 10 years to know and love, and met some new ones. Once assembled, they were hustled off to a chartered bus for the quick 25 minute ride to Lomas Linda, a lovely, lush town nestle in the hills. This was an exceptional venue—a private function house, with a huge wrap-around veranda on which were oversized chairs and hammocks, enticing visitors to relax. Parrots in cages, a pool table, gorgeous tropical flowers, I felt like I was back in colonial times, at a governor’s house in some far reaches of the world. Except, of course, for 50 Dominican kids with hemophilia having the time of their lives.
All the children were assigned to a group, distinguished by a color, and had color bands around their wrists so there was never a doubt which group they belonged to. And each child had a nametag, so that we could all learn one another’s names.
The day begins at 7 am sharp with stretching on the lawn, headed by “Cuchito,” the coach and motivational man who showers the boys with love and discipline, and lots of fun. “Consado? (Tired?)” he shouts; “No!” the boys yell back while marching. “Alegre? (Happy?)” he shouts; “Si! (Yes!)” they reply. For 30 minutes they march, stretch, jump and loosen up, then eat a healthful breakfast. After that, there is pool, arts and crafts, rap sessions, educational seminars or rest times. The older boys look after the younger; and everyone is expected to participate, pitch in, and be the best teammate possible. It’s a successful recipe: the kids are attentive, behaved, active and happy.
One big surprise came when the kids were assembled outside the compound, eventually allowed back in through a series of “obstacles” as a group, with each obstacle an educational game about hemophilia at a table, staffed by maybe Dr. Rosa, their pediatric hematologist, or Dr. Joanne, the adult hematologist. When they passed through all the obstacles, they entered the main lawn of the compound, where there was a carnival! The center of attention was a huge, inflated slide which could and did hold up to 20 boys at one time, sliding, diving through tubes, climbing over inflated bars and then emerging at the end through two holes. No one seemed to notice when the clouds opened up and poured rain on everyone for about 20 minutes. Everyone beamed sunshine from within.
Many of the boys suffer permanent joint damage, and though young, walk with disfigured ankles, knees, and hips. I see Gabriel, who has a dazzling smile, trying to keep up with his friends by hopping-running-hopping-skipping-running to accommodate his crooked legs. He cannot be more than 15. Others have bleeds, and need to be reminded to stop playing and visit the medical ward. Though factor is a luxury here, being together with their hemophilic brothers is an even greater luxury, and one they don’t want to miss.
Today we came back to Santo Domingo, with stronger bonds and happier children. I hope to write more about the experience because so many wonderful things happened, and because it was our tenth anniversary.
I ended the day telling the staff that I used to come to the DR to give them advice on how to run the camp. Now I come to learn from them how to run a camp, and how to raise children with hemophilia when there are few luxuries, little medicine and no resources. Well, not no resources; the DR is rich in human resources, where creativity, hard work and dedication is changing the lives of so many children.
Check in again soon to read more and see the kids with their celebrity hero….
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I’ve watched this camp grow from an idea on paper, to a first attempt in 1999 to now a world class camp. It’s a model for anyone running a camp for kids with hemophilia in developing countries. My boys, who were ages 8 and up in 1999, are now in their twenties and are counselors–and tower over me! They love that I return to camp when I can, and I in turn love to be there, and love them. They teach me all the time about reliance, appreciation and giving back. Some of them were in constant pain at camp this year, discernible only by a serious look on their faces when they thought no one was looking. They do without: ice applied to a joint instead of an infusion of factor. But nothing dims their joy. We should all live so in the moment, with such joy.
