I had such a lovely time at their conference. What a wonderful bunch of people! I felt so welcomed, so at home and so grateful for the wonderful bunch of human beings that bring so much joy.
My speech made the clowns cry....and they gave me a standing ovation. I broke the clowns, people!
After my speech they made me an honorary clown!
And then we had a raucous game of Bogan Bingo. Folks, you have not played bingo until you've played Bogan Bingo with a bunch of clowns!
The following is the transcript of my speech.
Hi everyone
and thank you for having me. Yes, I am Leisa and I am Mum to four now adult
children – Sarah is 29, Chloe is 26, Tim is 25 and Riley is 20.
At first
when I was asked by Jo to come and speak I didn’t really know what I was going
to tell you. I have no words of wisdom to impart and know nothing about
clowning other than the fact that my children can tend to get highly
embarrassed with my antics down at the local shopping centre – groovy dancing
in the aisles, lip synching to the music they play over the PA and having
conversations with automatic tellers.
So….I’ll
tell you what your impact has been on our story.
The Royal
Children’s Hospital has been a part of my life, our lives, for as long as I can
remember. I went there as a baby, when I was six and again when I was 14. I was
fortunate not to experience any complications in regards to my condition so my
own visits to the hospital were few and far between, however my memories of
being there are seared into my brain – and not necessarily in a good way.
Appointments and treatments didn’t seem as child focussed or holistic – and of
course back then there were no such thing as Clown Doctors who I am SURE would
have made my visit a whole lot more memorable in a GOOD way! In the 1970’s the
focus seemed to be on the clinical side – diagnosis and symptoms and wanting to
know if I was reaching all the expected milestones rather than who I was as a
person.
I’m glad I
didn’t go there too often.
Most of my
dealings with the Royal Children’s Hospital were as an adult – as a mother. Our
first visit was a prenatal visit in 1986 and then became regular occurrences
after the birth of our first daughter back in 1987.
We never
expected that the Children’s Hospital would become such a big part of our
lives. As you can see, I was born with a form of dwarfism – the most common
form known as achondroplasia. My husband at the time was also born with
dwarfism – a different type to mine. Both of us enjoyed relatively healthy
childhoods with very little or no medical or surgical intervention. When we
decided to have children we had no reason to expect that our children would not
have the same experience.
It didn’t
work out that way.
The Royal
Children’s Hospital became a big part of our lives for almost thirty years. In
the early years of raising our children, every few months we would spend an
entire day at the Children’s as we’d have multiple appointments at several clinics.
You name it, we’ve been there – ultrasound, x-ray, MRI, medical photography,
neurology, neurosurgery, bone dysplasia, genetics, spinal and scoliosis clinic,
respiratory, urology, encopresis, physiotherapy, Day Surgery, the Operating
Theatres, Recovery, Inpatients, Outpatients and the dungeon – which is what
Sarah used to call the room where they’d make her spinal brace.
We used to
know the old hospital like the backs of our hands and I used to joke that we’d
been almost everywhere except Intensive Care.
It wasn’t
such a joke when we ended up there too after a frantic dash to Emergency one
morning.
In the early
days of our life at the hospital we learned the waiting game, and that
appointment times were only guidelines. Your appointment may have been scheduled
for 9am but if you were seen before 11 it was a good day. Back then PAGERS for
parents weren’t even something considered. You get a PAGER now if you get tired
of waiting and want to wander off and play in the playground or go and look at
the meerkats! LUXURY!!!!
No, back
then it was sit and wait – and over the years we learned to prepare for a day
at the hospital. We armed ourselves with snacks, drinks, books, art supplies,
toys, activities and changes of clothes. It was like packing for a weekend
away! We learned to wait – and I guess that’s why they call us patients –
because you learn to be PATIENT and wait your turn. Over the years I would
people watch and learned how to pick a NEWBIE from a mile off. After 15 – 20
minutes waiting they’ll get up and enquire at the desk, mentioning the time of
their appointment and the length of time they’d been waiting. I’d chuckle to
myself and say, “There’s a new one. Sit down love. They’ll get to
you…eventually…”
I don’t know
when we first encountered the Clown Doctors doing the rounds. I know I had a
few kids by then though and was a well-seasoned and tired hospital parent.
There were a
group of irreverent clowns careening down the corridors towards the lifts –
making noise and merriment, commenting about silly things, making jokes with
children, parents and staff alike and bringing with them an element of fun.
They stopped and talked with us and I specifically remember Dr. Peg who was
blowing bubbles and eating them as they floated down, telling the children that
they tasted like strawberries. She then became distracted and started rummaging
about in her coat pockets. She pulled out a sample bottle, containing yellow
liquid.
“Mmmm….!”
She said……”Urine sample!”
And
proceeded to drink the lot in one gulp!
Hospital
visits, for me at least, became a lot more fun.
When I was
preparing to speak today I decided to do some research and ask my children for
some of their memories of the Clown Doctors – after all, the children are who
you’re there for, right? It’s a CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL so the focus is on
children, I would assume.
Each of them
told me that they remember the Clown Doctors being there, they remember talking
and laughing with them….but they were so overwhelmed with everything that was
happening to them that they found it difficult to focus and fully engage with
them. Their thoughts and worries were focussed on their wonderings about what
was happening to them and listening out for the one word they dreaded the most
– SURGERY.
But please
don’t think your antics were in vain. They weren’t. Please don’t think your
spending time with is was wasted. It wasn’t. You helped enormously.
You helped
me – their mother. And I wanted to let you know how important that was and is –
helping the WHOLE family, not just being there for the kids – for although the
actual procedure or surgery or condition is happening to the child and the
focus should naturally be on them, the situation is affecting the WHOLE family.
And a Mum
needs to be there for her child – and the other children too if there’s more
than one. Yet sometimes – often in my case – she becomes so overwhelmed with
the enormity of what’s going on that the relief of the Clown Doctors coming on
and easing some of that tension…..well……it’s invaluable….and so healing…..even
for the mother.
Honestly,
after interacting with you, engaging in your silliness and sharing a laugh I
felt a little more relaxed and ready to continue supporting my child.
So, I wanted
to say Thank You.
Thank You
for being there.
Thank you
for bringing your brand of silliness that helped so much in lessening the
tension.
Thank you
for prescribing a truckload of chocolates for a four year old girl who was
waiting to have both her legs surgically broken and reset with pins and screws
and a wicked looking frame that we learned to manage.
Thank you
for helping me learn that to cope with the trauma of the whole thing we needed
huge doses of fun and silliness along with the midazolam, the diazepam and all
those other drugs ending with PAM.
Thank you
for listening for heartbeats in foreheads, and elbows and knees and big toes.
Thank you
for trying to climb IV poles, running away with wheelchairs and looking at
charts and telling kids that they had the biggest and smartest looking brains
you’d ever seen.
Thank you
for coming to see us after we had just endured the scariest and most horrible
times in Emergency – where we went right to the edge and came back again, where
people worked intensely and quickly, where I heard words I didn’t want to hear,
saw things I didn’t want to see and was possibly more confused and terrified
than I’d ever been my entire life/
Thank you
for your gentle and beautiful brand of humour after we transferred out of ICU
and back onto the ward. Your presence was so calming and reassuring. You broke
the tension. You brought back smiles and giggles. It was your presence that
assured this mother that things were OK – that the terrible night we had
endured was over and we were back on the road to recovery. All you had to do
was be silly. You blew raspberries on the windows, you knocked things over you
juggled random things and then you flattened your faces against the window,
making my girl smile the most beautiful smile in the world.
Your
presence at the hospital is such an integral and important part of hospital
life. You bring life and fun and silliness to a place where sometimes people
can get lost in uncertainty and fear. You calm nerves, bring distraction,
dissolve tension and help us all to remember that life is good and silliness
and laughter is a vital part of getting better and healing.
All my kids
are not kids anymore and they have graduated from the clinics at the Royal
Children’s Hospital and attend adult clinics at the Royal Melbourne and Monash.
They’re all responsible for their own medical care now and they do it on their
own. This Mama has had to learn how to relinquish that “control”.
However I
did accompany one of my daughters to her visit to the Spinal Clinic as an adult
at the Royal Melbourne. It felt as though we were at square one – starting all
over again. The building was unfamiliar, we were unsure of where we were going,
the corridors were darker and the walls were plain and missing all the bright,
happy art work we had been accustomed to for so long. We felt nervous and
small.
And one of
us commented……
“You know
what this place needs? Clown Doctors. I’d feel so much better if Clown Doctors
were here!”
And it was
in that moment that I realised how important you guys are. You really are.
So thank
you.
