During filming the other day, one of the young guys who works for the studio had a seizure.
I was chatting with Melinda, mother of the girl in the video and all around good egg, when a group of people started to gather by the door. Melinda said, “He’s having a seizure.” I don’t know how she knew that. From where I was standing, all I could see were his hands. He was crouched down by a large table, his hands on its edge, fingers balled into fists, wrists crossed.
It was clear that nobody, including me, had any idea what to do. The group crowding around him making sympathetic noises didn’t seem to be helping much.
Melinda watched for a moment, sizing up the situation, then strode over and started giving orders. “He needs to be put on his side. Don’t try to make him stretch out. We need to move him away from all this equipment so he can flop around if he needs to. No, don’t put a pencil in his mouth.” She was not bossy, just clearly in charge.
Kudos to Melinda.
About five minutes later, some EMTs arrived. Kudos to them, too.
I think the whole thing made an impression because of the strangeness of the situation. There we were in a filming studio, creating a completely artificial world, when reality came thundering in with a bang and a roar.
None of the kids who eventually watch the video will ever know how many people it took to create that world, or that Kiko and Skyla were sweating buckets under the hot lights, or that we had horrible fatty-meat bentos for lunch. All they’ll see is a perfect set with perfect lighting and smiling faces and rainbows and unicorns all around.