I danced with Bella for the first time
as Bei Mir Bistu Shein filled the room.
And her blue eyes locked with mine.
We took turns singing
and forgetting the words.
She led, I followed.
A waltz step here,
Hands on our hearts,
our foreheads touching,
as we communicated through movement and music,
making sense through nonsense.
Bella is 83 and lives with dementia.
贝拉 83 岁，患有失智症。
The dance gives us a chance to find each other.
How did I learn to dance with dementia?
Because I'm not a dancer.
And I'm not a doctor.
But I've played one in the hospital.
I'm a clown doctor.
Or a medical clown.
My tools are whoopee cushions,
You know the old adage "laughter is the best medicine?"
I hear that a lot.
Now, at the same time, there are studies to support it,
I'd like to take you behind the nose and go beyond the laughter
and share a few things that I've seen skating through ICUs.
In my Heelys.
穿着我的 Heelys 暴走鞋。
Because I take medical clowning
very, very seriously.
My mentor was conducting clown rounds in the hospital
when he was approached by a nurse.
They needed to put a tube up the kid's nose.
Kid didn't want to do it,
so rather than hold the kid down,
they asked my colleague if he could help.
So the clown asked for a second tube
and shoved it up his own nose.
Oh, please don't do this at home.
Now, the kid saw this,
grabbed his own tube
and promptly stuck it up his own nose,
The clowns, the nurse and the patient
discovered a creative solution for their situation together.
And guess what, there's research to back this up.
Randomized controlled trials in Israel and Italy
show that medical clowns can be as effective as tranquilizers
with no side effects.
In 2004, I started conducting my own clown rounds
在 2004 年，我在纽约市的 纪念斯隆-凯特琳癌症中心
at the Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center in New York City.
My colleague and I were invited to accompany a young six-year-old
with the most adorable southern accent,
to accompany him while he got his chemotherapy port flushed,
a very uncomfortable and regular procedure.
We joined him, his mom and the nurse
in this tiny, closed curtain cubicle.
Every medical clown encounter begins by obtaining consent from the patient.
So we ask him if we can be there.
He says, "Sure."
We're often the one element that a child could control
while they're in the hospital.
So we start with a card trick,
fan the deck so he can pick.
But as soon as the nurse approaches with the needle
to flush the port,
he starts screaming and cussing
like no six-year-old I'd ever heard in my life.
So we say, "Hey, should we come back later?"
He stops, mouth open,
eyes wet with tears, face flushed pink with anger,
"Oh no, you're fine, I want you to be here."
So we start playing a song,
my colleague on recorder, me on whoopee cushion.
The nurse approaches with the needle,
and it happens again, this torrent of four-letter words.
He went from playing and laughing
to screaming and crying,
back and forth until the procedure was complete.
For the first time,
I experienced this odd duality of joy and suffering.
But not for the last time.
See, when we're there, we're not there merely to distract
or make anyone feel better per se.
The medical clowns work moment by moment
to create connections between the clowns,
the nurse, the parent and the child.
This provides a source of power or control for the child
while supporting the staff with their work.
I've spent over a decade bringing joy and delight
to the bedsides of terminally ill children
in the top hospitals in New York City.
And you know what I've learned?
Staff, family, patients.
The patient's in the hospital because they're hurting.
The family's hurting as they navigate uncertainty, grief
and the financial burdens of care.
The staff is hurting, only it's more than burnout.
More and more health care workers
are reporting feeling overworked and overextended.
Now, I'm not so naive as to suggest
that the solution is to send in the clowns.
What if the tools of medical clown arts practitioners from around the world
permeated our entire health care system?
In 2018, at the Healthcare Clowning International Meeting,
they represented over 150 programs in 50 different countries.
有 50 个不同国家， 150 多个项目参加。
University of Haifa
offers a formal undergraduate degree program in medical clowning.
Argentina has passed laws requiring the presence of medical clowns
in public hospitals at their largest province.
And this work affects more than the patients.
It makes things better for the whole health care team.
One of my favorite games to play in the hospital
is elevator music.
I love elevators, because they're a place
where paths cross, different worlds meet.
and just begging for a little playful disruption.
and "The Girl from Ipanema" starts playing on Hammond organ,
because I keep a portable speaker hidden in my pocket.
So for those used to using the silent, sterile elevator,
it's a moment of surprise.
Folks have permission to acknowledge or not this disruption.
The game grows with every stop,
because as soon as the elevator stops,
the music stops.
New passengers get on,
and the current passengers get to witness the new passengers --
their surprise -- as they hear the elevator music for the first time.
You experience the shift of adults
standing silently, strangers in an elevator,
to attempting to suppress their mirth,
to, "Is this a party or an elevator,"
filled with full-on laughter.
Research conducted in Brazil,
Australia, Canada and Germany
confirm that the artistic interventions of medical clowns
improve the work environment for the staff, beyond the elevator,
and support their work administering care.
Promising research in the US indicates
that arts programing in the hospital
can improve the work environment,
leading to increased job satisfaction
and better quality of care.
My work has taught me
how to actually be present.
How to breathe in a room with a person in pain.
How to connect
and build trust, no matter the age, ability or illness.
And how medical clowning is an excellent way of using the arts
to put the care back in health care.