Giving Thanks

In our line of work, we meet every kind of child, who is at the hospital for every kind of reason. Some just for a routine visit, some for a period of treatment, and some for far more serious reasons - and for far longer - than most of us can stand to imagine. We do our work; singing songs, telling jokes, running into each other, playing peekaboo, finding out what the particular thing is that makes each kid smile (or relax, or roll their eyes, or forget about the blood draw they just endured). Every single one of these connections from patient to patient, no matter how silly and inconsequential, is of the utmost importance to us. But sometimes, as much as we wish it wasn’t so, we really get to know someone in the long term. Maybe it’s another in a series of long rounds of chemo, or a complex set of comorbidities, or the thrice-a-week dialysis appointments, or waiting for a new heart. Our relationships with these children get much more time to develop - sometimes over several years, and sometimes even for the entirety of a patient’s life. They collect every team member’s sticker, they know us all by name, and before long have seen all the tricks we have. They give us messages to pass along to the others on our team. They post signs on their doors saying “CLOWNS PLEASE COME IN”. We engage in toilet paper battles and subsequent revenge plots. We begin to appear in the printed photos they hang on their walls. We start to know the name of their dogs back at home, be familiar with their siblings and their parents and their grandma, know what their favorite movies and activities are, and even have the privilege of observing how they change as they grow older. 

Today, on rounds at Boston Children’s with my trusty partner Dr. Idontknow, we came across one of those long term friends. Because of the HIPAA laws that we make great efforts to respect, there is very little I can share to describe this child, other than that she has (over the period of more than a year) become my absolute favorite. So smart and so precocious, always up for a debate or some long-winded silly theorizing, and always the reason that I end up behind schedule on the days when we are visiting that floor. We don’t have favorites, of course,… but then, of course we do. 

Recently, our team received the absolutely joyous news that this young patient finally was able to resolve the treatment which had kept her admitted for so long. We were all just about as excited as we’ve ever been! Balanced with our happiness for this small person and her family is a confusing mix of sadness not to see her again, and also the hope that we never ever see her here ever again. All those emotions live in one hand, and in the other is our duty today: to appear in the doorway as two idiots who have no clue what is going on, and who only see before us a kid who is our friend and deserves levity. 

We approached as always - happy to see each other and visiting familiar topics. Part of the art of being a clown in a hospital is to put all the knowledge you have of a child’s real-life medical complications somewhere far away in the back of your mind, behind a closed door so that you can find a way to just be right there in the playful moment with them. The recent procedures had definitely left her with lower energy than usual, but we were thrilled to see how well she was doing. When we created a game of hiding stickers for her to find around the room, she hopped up enthusiastically to find them. “And by the wayyy,…” she said, spreading her arms out to the sides and implying something grand with the tone of her voice. She spun on her heel and did a full rotation. We two clowns stood there confused, not getting it. “See?” She spun around again. “NO TUBES!” Her happiness and freedom struck me as soon as I realized. “I could never do this before because I would get all tangled up!” This was the first time in a very very long time this girl had not been hooked up to a medical device every single hour of the day and night. This was the first time in a very very long time that this girl had been able to just… twirl. 

What a beautiful, joyful thing it is to twirl. To be a child with nothing attached. To wonder what it is that makes you dizzy, and to twirl, and to giggle about it. What a wonderful thing. 

Today was our last day on rounds before Thanksgiving break. There are big turkey stickers decorating the hospital windows, and the nurses were all wearing silly thematic headbands and cheerfully wishing us happy holidays. Tomorrow, many of us will visit family, or welcome our loved ones into our homes. And at the same time, so many families will still be right there in the hospital - their undesired home for the time being. I can only marvel at the strength these people have, and admire their dedication and patience and love. Once again (and again, and again) I am floored by the amazing resilience of these children, like my little friend, and like so many other friends we have made. As a frequent visitor, it is my greatest privilege to witness. When I look at all these things, it is exceedingly easy to be thankful! We are surrounded by so many huge, glorious things to appreciate. So I guess there’s only one thing this clown can advise you to do, if you are so lucky to be capable. If you have the ability to twirl… DO IT!