Dr. Red Nose’ Diary – When Dr. Red Nose Enter an Adult Cancer Ward

December 27, 2022, was the first date I firmly remembered since becoming a Dr. Red Nose. That day, I went on duty at Hualien Tzu Chi Hospital for the first time. Besides Hualien’s beautiful weather and scenery, the warm welcome from Hualien to me and my nursing partners, there was also the most important breakthrough that left the deepest impression on me—the first time Dr. Red Nose had ever performed in an adult cancer ward. Before the performance, I had many worries and felt nervous. I had previously been more familiar with performing for children and elderly people, but performing for young and middle-aged adults was a completely different field. Adults are different from children. Adults are more socialized, and compared with children who may still be somewhat unaware, adults have a clearer understanding of what the journey after being diagnosed with cancer may look like. They also have a deeper fear of death, more things they worry about and cannot let go of, and more complicated emotions. Could we do a good job facing adults like these? Could we bring them moments of laughter? I was secretly worried the whole time.

As soon as we stepped into the adult cancer ward that day, we sensed that the atmosphere was different from that of the pediatric ward, intensive care unit, or day care center. It felt heavier, more somber, and closer to the end. Because of time constraints, the head nurse gathered the patients who were in relatively good condition at the nurses’ station. My partner and I sang a love song there, and looked for a male lead for the romantic scenario in the song. Although the change was very slow and subtle, during the performance I felt the atmosphere throughout the nurses’ station quietly changing. The nurses gradually gathered around to sing along and cheer with us. Little by little, patients began singing along with us. Someone served as a musician and helped us keep the beat, while someone else handled the lighting and created a soptlight for the scene. In the end, we successfully found a male patient to play the male lead in the scenario, singing a heartfelt duet and embracing my partner. Seeing their trembling yet genuine smiles, despite their weakness and their struggles with illness, I deeply realized: “No matter what age we are, and no matter how close we are to death, we all have the right to be happy.”

There was also an unexpected little incident during the day’s performance. One of the male patients remained silent throughout the performance, until Sai Sai (my clown character) went around interacting with each patient one by one and tried to speak with him. He called out to the clowns very firmly and angrily, “Get lost!”

The volume and hostility startled me greatly at the time, but I also did not want to affect the other patients who were watching the performance, so I continued interacting in my clown persona. Although I remained shaken for several minutes afterward, once the performance ended and I thought back on this moment, I also remembered what the French teacher who came to teach us during training week had shared, and I felt much more at ease. Perhaps, for this male patient at that moment, being able to express his anger was also a form of healing and acceptance.

Perhaps he could not tell his illness to “get lost,” could not tell the medical staff to “get lost,” and could not tell his negative emotions to “get lost,” but at least he could do so to a clown. Adults’ everyday lives are usually filled with so much suppression and so many ways they are expected to behave after becoming socialized. Therefore, letting adults play like children, be impolite like children, and get angry like children—these are gifts and the best companionship that clowns can bring.