
[This article appears in the digital publication Jest for Clowns, Volume 1 Issue 3, March/April 2019]
Opening the door to play
The other day, on clown doctor rounds in PEDS, I peeked in through the side of the window curtain to size up the situation and start my funny bone assessment.
(Note: The funny bone assessment is not a physical exam to make sure the funny bone’s connected to the humerus bone . . . that’s an Anatomy 101 joke . . . humerus, humorous. Pause for groan. It’s a mental checklist to gauge the mood in the room, the physical environment, the readiness and willingness of the patient to be playful, and the kind of interaction that would be appropriate, beneficial, and engaging, given the age and condition of the patient. It occurs very quickly and usually on the fly. It’s a phrase I came across in my research before I started hospital clowning. I didn’t come up with it, and I’m not sure to whom I can give credit, but it fits brilliantly with the clown doctor’s thought process. Being present and in-the-moment, sensitive and responsive to the patient’s needs, making the serious playful. Especially and serendipitously with a clown doctor named Dr. Fun E. Bone.)
Through the side of the window curtain, I saw a little boy (five years old, according to the nurse), very fixed on his TV screen. Mom was sitting on the bed with her phone, facing the door.
There were contact restrictions, so I knew I had to clown from the door. Occasionally I’ll gown and mask up when there are contact, airborne, or droplet precautions, but I generally leave that call to the nurses.
Before I knocked on the door, I thought I’d try to pique some interest and playfulness using the blinds over the window on the outside (hallway side) of the door. A playful sequence with the blinds can go like this (all played as if I don’t know anything’s on the other side, since I’m just curiously exploring):
I can raise them very slowly, a little bit at a time, until my surprised face (surprised to see anyone inside the room) is fully revealed. This builds anticipation and surprise.
Or, I can raise the blinds a little bit at a time and have some physical comedic play at each stopping point, like wiggling fingers, waving, lowering myself for a peek, or having my rubber chicken/lovely assistant, Dr. Fowlbreath, take a peek. I listen for chatter or giggles or reactions (this time, I heard mom say “What IS that?”), and then continue until the blind is fully opened. And, boy, am I ever surprised. (I’m always surprised. Kind of simple minded that way.) And they were surprised and amused that I was surprised.
Then I quickly lower the shade, embarrassed by our collective surprise, hopefully getting them curious about what’s next.
So the play continues. Poked in Dr. Fowlbreath, red nose covered beak first, to look around and check things out, look behind the door, and read the patient’s name on the board. More giggling.
Close the door. Knock, open the door and send in a cascade of bubbles. More giggles. Close the door.
Knock, poke head in, say hello, introduce self and Dr. Fowlbreath, and ask “what’s your name?”
Then he starts directing the play. Do you know any tricks? Yes, I do have a few in my bag of tricks here (medical bag).
I pull out my soft change bag, zippered chamber is open, reach through to knee, oops, have mom zip it up, show empty, do you know any magic words? produce thumbtip to silk from Mom’s ear, silk back into change bag to create a winter activity book.
Do you know any more? Onto some rubber chicken stunts, like flying. “No, no, she really has to fly, you just tossed her up!” Went out into the hall for more flying lessons, back and forth across the doorway. Of course this was met with belly laughs, and playfully dismissed as goofy.
Finished up and said good bye by disappearing my leg behind my bandana. Later, at a chance meeting at the nurses’ station, I ran into mom, who had tears (of joy) in her eyes, and said “Thank you so much.”
When on clown doctor rounds as Dr. Fun E. Bone, I have this routine/protocol that I follow in PEDS (Pediatrics):
Scan my badge for security entry to the unit.
Say hello at the nurses station.
Do a quick visual inventory walkthrough of the entire unit.
Return to the nurses station to discuss need-to-knows.
Visit each room and patient, as appropriate.
The protocol in the ED (Emergency Department) is similar, with the exception that I skip the walkthrough. The hospital’s ED is the largest and busiest on the West Coast between Seattle and San Francisco, with four pods of rooms and a total of over 80 beds, so it’s less intrusive and more efficient if I get specific rooms-to-visit information from the charge nurse first and head out in quest of smiles and laughs and uplifted spirits with that list in hand.
On my initial walk-through of PEDS, I can tell who has contact restrictions and airborne precautions from signage posted outside each door. I’ll usually peek through the side of each window shade to see if lights are on or off, curtain drawn, who’s asleep and not to be disturbed (sleep is good), who’s got family members visiting, approximate ages of the patients, and patient accessibility and mobility.
Note pad and note-taking crayon in hand, I return to the nurses’ station in PEDS to chat a bit with staff, if they’re not too busy, and talk about need-to-knows and rooms-to-visit.
I’ll confirm the posted restrictions (and whether it’s OK to clown at the door) and where patients should not be disturbed and allowed to sleep. We’ll talk about ages of the patients, family members visiting (or overnighting), and anything else that’d be helpful for me to know going in, such as levels of anxiety or pain or recent changes, like a new arrival, going home today, or just back from surgery. They also might mention if they’d like me to help support them during a procedure by interacting, distracting, changing the mood, or encouraging the patient.
Maybe in one situation out of 100, the nurse might say something specific about the patient’s condition, but since I’m there to treat and interact and draw out what’s well in them, information about what’s ‘wrong’ with them is generally more than I need to know.
This prepares me for how to approach each door, saying hello, introducing play and interaction, being appropriate for age and conditions, and doing a funny bone assessment.
Research says that there are six elements of play: anticipation, surprise, pleasure, understanding, strength, and poise. Play should be fun.* As clown doctors, we transform the mood from serious to playful. We engage patients and people and let them direct the play.
Later that same day, I visited a 9-year old girl in the ED, where the doors are wide open, sometimes with a curtain pulled across. I knocked, her face lit up, I said, “Knock, knock,” and she started with her own made up, free form, creative, nonsensical knock knock jokes, completely pirating the whole conversation in a child’s playful way. This lasted over ten minutes. Lots of spontaneous laughs. What a hoot. Finished the visit by drawing her blood. She wanted blue blood. I gave her blue.
Paging Dr. Fun E. Bone . . .
Salem Health followed Dr. Fun E. Bone during National Clown Week last summer. They posted this short piece and video on the hospital’s web site and Facebook page (links below).
Dr. Fun E. Bone is making his rounds as National Clown Week winds down (Aug. 1 to 7).
Salem Hospital employees, patients and visitors sometimes may run across this unique “doctor”. Mike B. — also known as Dr. Fun E. Bone — has volunteered at the hospital for the past four years.
“I’ve got the best job here because it puts a twist on what people might expect in a hospital,” said Mike. “It changes the whole world for them. Usually there’s anxiety or sadness or fear or even some pain. So for me, I’m just a humorous distraction from that.”
Mike always asks for permission first before he enters a patient’s room. He started working part-time as a clown in 1980, and it soon grew into his lifelong passion.
https://www.facebook.com/salemhealth/videos/10157624545767926/
http://www.bustertheclown.net/paging-dr-fun-e-bone.html
* The Elements of Play: Toward a Philosophy and a Definition of Play, Scott G. Eberle, American Journal of Play, volume 6, number 2, Winter 2014.
Opening the door to play
The other day, on clown doctor rounds in PEDS, I peeked in through the side of the window curtain to size up the situation and start my funny bone assessment.
(Note: The funny bone assessment is not a physical exam to make sure the funny bone’s connected to the humerus bone . . . that’s an Anatomy 101 joke . . . humerus, humorous. Pause for groan. It’s a mental checklist to gauge the mood in the room, the physical environment, the readiness and willingness of the patient to be playful, and the kind of interaction that would be appropriate, beneficial, and engaging, given the age and condition of the patient. It occurs very quickly and usually on the fly. It’s a phrase I came across in my research before I started hospital clowning. I didn’t come up with it, and I’m not sure to whom I can give credit, but it fits brilliantly with the clown doctor’s thought process. Being present and in-the-moment, sensitive and responsive to the patient’s needs, making the serious playful. Especially and serendipitously with a clown doctor named Dr. Fun E. Bone.)
Through the side of the window curtain, I saw a little boy (five years old, according to the nurse), very fixed on his TV screen. Mom was sitting on the bed with her phone, facing the door.
There were contact restrictions, so I knew I had to clown from the door. Occasionally I’ll gown and mask up when there are contact, airborne, or droplet precautions, but I generally leave that call to the nurses.
Before I knocked on the door, I thought I’d try to pique some interest and playfulness using the blinds over the window on the outside (hallway side) of the door. A playful sequence with the blinds can go like this (all played as if I don’t know anything’s on the other side, since I’m just curiously exploring):
I can raise them very slowly, a little bit at a time, until my surprised face (surprised to see anyone inside the room) is fully revealed. This builds anticipation and surprise.
Or, I can raise the blinds a little bit at a time and have some physical comedic play at each stopping point, like wiggling fingers, waving, lowering myself for a peek, or having my rubber chicken/lovely assistant, Dr. Fowlbreath, take a peek. I listen for chatter or giggles or reactions (this time, I heard mom say “What IS that?”), and then continue until the blind is fully opened. And, boy, am I ever surprised. (I’m always surprised. Kind of simple minded that way.) And they were surprised and amused that I was surprised.
Then I quickly lower the shade, embarrassed by our collective surprise, hopefully getting them curious about what’s next.
So the play continues. Poked in Dr. Fowlbreath, red nose covered beak first, to look around and check things out, look behind the door, and read the patient’s name on the board. More giggling.
Close the door. Knock, open the door and send in a cascade of bubbles. More giggles. Close the door.
Knock, poke head in, say hello, introduce self and Dr. Fowlbreath, and ask “what’s your name?”
Then he starts directing the play. Do you know any tricks? Yes, I do have a few in my bag of tricks here (medical bag).
I pull out my soft change bag, zippered chamber is open, reach through to knee, oops, have mom zip it up, show empty, do you know any magic words? produce thumbtip to silk from Mom’s ear, silk back into change bag to create a winter activity book.
Do you know any more? Onto some rubber chicken stunts, like flying. “No, no, she really has to fly, you just tossed her up!” Went out into the hall for more flying lessons, back and forth across the doorway. Of course this was met with belly laughs, and playfully dismissed as goofy.
Finished up and said good bye by disappearing my leg behind my bandana. Later, at a chance meeting at the nurses’ station, I ran into mom, who had tears (of joy) in her eyes, and said “Thank you so much.”
When on clown doctor rounds as Dr. Fun E. Bone, I have this routine/protocol that I follow in PEDS (Pediatrics):
Scan my badge for security entry to the unit.
Say hello at the nurses station.
Do a quick visual inventory walkthrough of the entire unit.
Return to the nurses station to discuss need-to-knows.
Visit each room and patient, as appropriate.
The protocol in the ED (Emergency Department) is similar, with the exception that I skip the walkthrough. The hospital’s ED is the largest and busiest on the West Coast between Seattle and San Francisco, with four pods of rooms and a total of over 80 beds, so it’s less intrusive and more efficient if I get specific rooms-to-visit information from the charge nurse first and head out in quest of smiles and laughs and uplifted spirits with that list in hand.
On my initial walk-through of PEDS, I can tell who has contact restrictions and airborne precautions from signage posted outside each door. I’ll usually peek through the side of each window shade to see if lights are on or off, curtain drawn, who’s asleep and not to be disturbed (sleep is good), who’s got family members visiting, approximate ages of the patients, and patient accessibility and mobility.
Note pad and note-taking crayon in hand, I return to the nurses’ station in PEDS to chat a bit with staff, if they’re not too busy, and talk about need-to-knows and rooms-to-visit.
I’ll confirm the posted restrictions (and whether it’s OK to clown at the door) and where patients should not be disturbed and allowed to sleep. We’ll talk about ages of the patients, family members visiting (or overnighting), and anything else that’d be helpful for me to know going in, such as levels of anxiety or pain or recent changes, like a new arrival, going home today, or just back from surgery. They also might mention if they’d like me to help support them during a procedure by interacting, distracting, changing the mood, or encouraging the patient.
Maybe in one situation out of 100, the nurse might say something specific about the patient’s condition, but since I’m there to treat and interact and draw out what’s well in them, information about what’s ‘wrong’ with them is generally more than I need to know.
This prepares me for how to approach each door, saying hello, introducing play and interaction, being appropriate for age and conditions, and doing a funny bone assessment.
Research says that there are six elements of play: anticipation, surprise, pleasure, understanding, strength, and poise. Play should be fun.* As clown doctors, we transform the mood from serious to playful. We engage patients and people and let them direct the play.
Later that same day, I visited a 9-year old girl in the ED, where the doors are wide open, sometimes with a curtain pulled across. I knocked, her face lit up, I said, “Knock, knock,” and she started with her own made up, free form, creative, nonsensical knock knock jokes, completely pirating the whole conversation in a child’s playful way. This lasted over ten minutes. Lots of spontaneous laughs. What a hoot. Finished the visit by drawing her blood. She wanted blue blood. I gave her blue.
Paging Dr. Fun E. Bone . . .
Salem Health followed Dr. Fun E. Bone during National Clown Week last summer. They posted this short piece and video on the hospital’s web site and Facebook page (links below).
Dr. Fun E. Bone is making his rounds as National Clown Week winds down (Aug. 1 to 7).
Salem Hospital employees, patients and visitors sometimes may run across this unique “doctor”. Mike B. — also known as Dr. Fun E. Bone — has volunteered at the hospital for the past four years.
“I’ve got the best job here because it puts a twist on what people might expect in a hospital,” said Mike. “It changes the whole world for them. Usually there’s anxiety or sadness or fear or even some pain. So for me, I’m just a humorous distraction from that.”
Mike always asks for permission first before he enters a patient’s room. He started working part-time as a clown in 1980, and it soon grew into his lifelong passion.
https://www.facebook.com/salemhealth/videos/10157624545767926/
http://www.bustertheclown.net/paging-dr-fun-e-bone.html
* The Elements of Play: Toward a Philosophy and a Definition of Play, Scott G. Eberle, American Journal of Play, volume 6, number 2, Winter 2014.