Little Miracles: Real life stories to make you laugh and think. Preface by Rolando Villazón

By RED NOSES Clowndoctors International

»As the impressive stories in this book illustrate, the experiences of the RED NOSES clowndoctors are as diverse as life itself: from cheerful and happy to moving and touching! The stories are all based on true situations. Look forward to stories full of little miracles.«
Clowndoctors from Austria, Germany, the Czech Republic, Poland and many other countries describe moving encounters with patients, young and old: Évi, who dances her heart out with the clowns even though she can hardly stand on her own two feet; Álmos, an autistic boy who suddenly starts to speak when the clowns are there; Annie, who turns the tables and makes the clowndoctors laugh; or Melisa, a patient with cancer for whom the doctors had no more hope, but who nonetheless overcomes the crisis after the clowndoctor's visit. This book perfectly illustrates the power of laughter and humour, and the ability of the artists to create moments of happiness and joy in every situation, even when things seem lost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amalthea Signum Verlag
• Release date: Nov 2, 2015
• ISBN: 9783903083066

Book preview

Little Miracles from Austria

A Spell of Lightness

Christian Sommer

It’s Friday morning, and we – my fellow clown colleague, Lotte, and I, clown Bernhart – are visiting the waiting rooms of several outpatient departments in a large Viennese hospital. Sometimes, we also get invited to pay a visit to children in the intensive care unit (ICU). Today is one of those days.

In my mind, the ICU is a cold department in which silence is strictly enforced. There’s a constant bustle and a whole lot of tension. The often dramatic fates of young and adult patients burden me with the same kind of heaviness that surrounds the whole station – but maybe I’m the only one who perceives it this way.

We take a deep breath before we enter the intensive care ward. The door to the first room purrs open in an automatic and brutally intrusive fashion. Many expectant eyes welcome us, along with two very frightened ones. A soft whimper that belongs to those frightened eyes can be heard – accompanied by the sight of a small, fairly thin and definitely powerless body.

We stand in the doorway and try to greet the children with our quietest »Hellos.« The frightened child’s reactions suggest that there’s one hello too many. Lotte steps out of the room while I stay. All is well now, or at least, all is quiet. »Well« is different, especially now that I’m standing here without my companion. We start a little game: Lotte comes in, then leaves again. I get her back, but she disappears again behind the sliding door. The game confirms once more that the little guy can only handle the effect of one of us – and that one happens to be me.

I really have no idea who is more timid at that moment. The little guy, as anything that is »too much« or »too loud« would crush him, or me, as I don’t dare to threaten that carefully woven thread of curiosity and acceptance. Mustering up all my courage, I venture an approach. A couple of sounds plucked on the ukulele. A song. And large eyes and a smile. Moments of closeness between the mother, the brother and the child. I find myself in the background and that is good.

The last notes of the song fade away, and I know that I can come closer for a goodbye. One red nose is here, but we still need another one – for the older brother, who can certainly help me with a magic spell. But the brother can’t help out here. Oh! What to do?

Suddenly, a fervently whispered »HEY PRESTO!« emerges from the trembling body that now boasts sparkling eyes. Amazement at the sight of his magically conjured foam nose. Great amazement on the part of the rest of us. The boy gives me a hardly noticeable »high five« and whirls me through the air that way. And he laughs. A lot.

I leave the room and search for Lotte in the ward. She’s gone. I pass by the boy’s room again and see her standing near the open door. Everyone is talking and giggling. I feel a refreshing lightness flowing out of that room. I’m sure it will continue for a while.

A Little Big Success

Jutta Pichler

Two clowns knock on the door to the speech therapy department in the Ear, Nose and Throat (ENT) ward. We’re often warmly welcomed in this department.

In the room, we meet a 45-year-old man who has become mute after suffering a severe traumatic brain injury in an accident. He can’t speak and his communication is very limited. At the moment, blinking or turning his head are his only ways of entering into contact with the outside world.

A speech therapist and a physical therapist are working with him in front of a mirror. At their beckoning, we enter the room softly and slowly, and we say a clear »Hello.« We welcome each other very gently and quietly.

Earlier, during our meeting with the nursing staff, we had learnt that this patient’s accident occurred while working in the forest. In the room, I suddenly remember the song, »A little man stands in the forest.« Singing in two voices with guitar accompaniment, we give our full attention to the patient. As I write down these experiences, my eyes still well up with tears – the patient slowly turns his gaze towards us and seems to be fully attentive. The speech therapist lets us and her colleague know just how special his response is, and we find ourselves right in the middle of a little miracle.

Later, the speech therapist explains what was so special about this encounter – never before had the patient responded in such an obvious manner. For a long time, they had been helping him try to relearn how to swallow. Despite it being a very difficult process, our song had magically and effortlessly brought forth his swallowing action once more.

We’re deeply touched and happy to have experienced such a moment.

Coming Back to Max

Martina Haslhofer

I had only been working as a RED NOSES clown for a short time when I met little Max in the intensive care unit. He was a gregarious five-year-old who had been involved in a tragic traffic accident – he broke free from his mother’s grasp and ran straight into a passing car.

Max suffered multiple injuries and had to be constantly connected to a respirator. He required lots of attention and was confined to the intensive care unit, where he would spend much of his life. This was also difficult for his family, as they had to travel long distances to visit him in the ICU.

With that information in mind, I visited this very special little boy twice each week. He struggled to communicate because speaking was difficult for him, but little Max loved the clowns and looked forward to our regular visits. He loved nonsense and reacted to many of our comic situations in a way that exceeded our expectations. He always had great fun whenever he was able to make us anxious – and that was something he could easily do because clowns can be great big scaredy