Dr. Red Nose’s Diary – Building a Bridge in the Air

On Wednesday evening, after finishing work in Tainan, I drove south down the west coast, circled around the end of the mountain range, and turned uphill, drawing a big smile on the navigation map. After a three-hour-and-ten-minute drive, I got out of the car, carrying musical instruments and luggage (including clown props, costumes, and a change of clothes). When I looked up, my spirits opened up along with the cloudless, star-filled sky.

Early the next morning, as soon as we stepped through the entrance of Mackay Memorial Hospital Taitung Branch, we felt an atmosphere completely different from that of ordinary hospitals. Whether medical staff, social workers, or administrative personnel, it was as if there were no social bubbles; they gave us a sincere and direct feeling without any distance, mixed with lively, energetic, and warm greetings.

Because it was a mixed ward, there were not many children hospitalized that day. After the social worker helped us understand the children and their conditions that day, I painted Polo’s thick eyebrows and cheek dots, put on my costume, slung my guitar over my back, put on the red nose, and set off with my companions after warming up. Most of the children we met that day were relatively shy and withdrawn. Perhaps colorful costumes and unusual behavior like those of Medical Clown rarely appeared in the eastern region, or in wards filled with white floors, white ceilings, and white walls.

“Lion” Mimi, “Sailor” Polo, and A-Wu, wearing goggles, were three noisy Medical Clown parading down the hallway—three Medical Clown gently approaching the children. A little girl named Xiao-Zhen (pseudonym) looked curiously at Mimi. When A-Wu was about to introduce Polo, Xiao-Zhen showed a somewhat withdrawn and frightened reaction toward the tall Polo. Mimi and A-Wu hurriedly told Polo to be careful not to scare Xiao-Zhen. Polo slowed down and gently approached, but because he moved too slowly, he unexpectedly became sleepy. “Polo fell asleep. Let’s wake him up together,” Mimi said to Xiao-Zhen. So the three of them worked together to wake Polo up. “Hi! Xiao-Zhen, I’m Po……” (falls asleep), “Polo, wake up!” Xiao-Zhen called out to wake Polo, becoming happier each time. The uncertainty and tentative exploration in the air gradually transformed into excitement and anticipation of the clown’s reactions. Asleep, awake, asleep, awake—Polo finally succeeded in introducing himself and became friends with Xiao-Zhen.

Social worker Yi-Pin, wearing a black-and-white polka-dot skirt and holding a polka-dot clipboard, led the three Medical Clown through the corridor and layer after layer of automatic doors to the PICU (intensive care unit). Unlike the other floors, this place was as quiet as a calm, windless lake. We met an old friend, A-Hua (pseudonym). Since the onset of A-Hua’s illness, he had grown from a little child to nearly a teenager, remaining in bed the whole time. His youthful spirit was trapped in a body that had lost its functions, unable to express or respond through bodily movements or language.

We put on isolation gowns, carried the guitar outside them, held shakers in our hands, and entered the isolation room. We gathered around A-Hua’s bed; the light was bright and the space was narrow. Mimi gently said, “Hi, A-Hua, we’re here.” My fingers automatically plucked the strings as if wound by a mechanism, playing one melody after another, but my attention was focused on A-Hua’s face. His eyes were wide open, and I could not tell whether he was listening to us call his name. Along with the rhythm of the music and shakers, Mimi gently touched A-Hua’s cheeks and arms, softly calling his name while taking his hand. Next, the clowns together gradually transformed the originally gentle melody into a lively rhythm. We gently danced around A-Hua, stimulating him slightly through touch and sounds from different grains.

The air was filled with the faint smells of disinfectant and adhesive bandages, along with the vibrations in the air produced by vocal cords, guitar strings, and shakers. Suddenly, all three clowns sensed A-Hua’s deep and subtle reactions. Was it a flicker in his eyes? A twitch in the muscles of his face? Or had the frequency of the rise and fall of his chest become slightly different? We did not know. In any case, a connection appeared between A-Hua and us—impossible to describe in words, abstract yet deeply certain. This feeling was truly wondrous, as if we had built a bridge in the air.

After the performance ended, we passed Xiao-Zhen’s hospital room on the way. As soon as she saw Polo, she excitedly called his name. We walked through the long corridor and returned to the lounge. I thought to myself that perhaps A-Hua had not reacted at all at that moment; perhaps he was entirely unable to understand what we had said to him. Or perhaps the ones who received comfort and were moved were not A-Hua at all, but Mimi, A-Wu, and Polo.

Every time we serve at a hospital, we can always feel our own smallness. We cannot truly change anything, nor can we truly stay and accompany the children forever. But as a senior colleague once told me: A clown meets you on a long road and stops to spend a wonderful stretch of time with you. Afterwards, the clown continues moving forward, while a smile remains in your heart. Although, for the inexperienced Polo, he often could not successfully create a good performance, the children’s participation and the cooperation of his companions could make the moment more organic and more interesting. For Polo, every encounter with a child was something that inevitably made him want to cherish and hold on to tightly. Embarrassingly, it was often the children’s suggestions and laughter that saved Polo!