Dr. Red Nose’s Diary – When I Say I Am a Dr. Red Nose

When I say I am a Dr. Red Nose, many people ask me these two questions:

The first is: “When you see children suffering so much, how can you still smile and perform?”

All along, after I finish a day of performing at the hospital,

I feel extremely fulfilled.⠀⠀

The children I see,

may have difficulty moving because of needles in their backs,

or may have to lie down because surgery makes them uncomfortable,

but the way they play and laugh,

is exactly the same as that of healthy children.

I have seen them drag their tired bodies up because they still wanted to dance; I have seen children whose inflamed mouths made speaking painful still constantly direct the clown; I have seen children listen to the clown sing right up until the moment before anesthesia.

Clowns are also very much like children: curious and fond of playing.

Clowns often forget the work their boss assigned them,

and run off to find things that attract them,

and even if they are beaten with a hammer, have their pay docked, or are fired,

clowns will never give up the chance to get close to them.

⠀⠀

For us actors, all of these things require practice,

but children are different—they are born with it.

⠀⠀

Instead, I admire how they can still go from sobbing uncontrollably to laughing through their tears because of a clown’s performance, even in such a high-pressure environment as getting an injection.⠀⠀

What they reveal is the purest and most sincere emotion,

and I believe anyone who sees it must be very happy, right?

These are the things I see when I perform!

⠀⠀

As for the second question everyone asks,

it is: “When a child passes away, how can you bear it?”

We can’t!

We never manage to bear it……

I need to find time to have a good cry,

to truly let it out, and I need to talk to my partners,

forcing them to bear it with me,

Especially in the past eight months, several children have passed away,

all children we had accompanied for a long time and with whom we had very close relationships.

For some, we were honored that their parents asked us to accompany them until the very end; others passed away during the pandemic, when we could not go to the hospital.

Sometimes it was a message; sometimes it was a phone call,

and each time, we were dealt a heavy blow completely without warning,

after which we had to take a deep breath quickly,

so that we could face the dizziness and vertigo that followed.

The children’s passing completely crushed me,

and made me wonder how the human body could possibly contain so much water.

But these children are also the ones who hold me up.

I remember the time I spent with them,

when we always played with all our might,

a journey without regrets or anything to be sorry about.

We may feel sad because of parting,

but we also feel happy because we had each other.

Once, when a child was about to leave after our performance,

they said, “I’m having surgery tomorrow.”

Suddenly, they seemed so mature,

and their expression told me that they knew what it meant.

That was the last time we saw each other.

I uphold my professionalism,

and try my best not to let personal feelings cross the line.

Following the ritual recommended by my counseling teacher,

after the performance,

I remove everything from today along with my makeup.

“If you knew this was the last time you would ever see the person in front of you, what would you do?”

I would act just as I always do, without any difference.

I do not want them to feel that,

because we are about to part, I accompanied them more wholeheartedly.

Every time I see them, I give them my whole heart.

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