Clown doctors bring laughter and joy to Melbourne hospital patients

Clown doctors bring joy and laughter to patients in need, but it's not just about wearing a red nose and oversized shoes. For David Wells, a seasoned performer with a 47-year career in the arts, being a clown doctor requires a deep understanding of empathy and connection.

“OK, be gentle,” Freddie the Clown says, as he leans in to see a patient that's asked to touch his big red nose. “Ow!” he yelps, and the room giggles.

Freddie is visiting a ward at the Kingston Centre, a geriatric care and rehabilitation centre in Melbourne's south-east. It's part of a six-month trial with Clown Doctors Australia, an organization that has trained around 100 laughter care specialists to visit patients in hospitals and aged care facilities across the country.

At first, not everyone was pleased with the idea of a clown doctor. “Initially, I thought a clown, ugh, great, you know,” Sue says, rolling her eyes.

But three months into the trial, Freddie has won over Sue and the rest of the room. “Now I think, 'Wow Freddie, you are really good. You make everyone happy',” she says.

David Wells, the man behind the nose, has had a long and varied career in the performing arts, from acting to busking on the streets. “When I'm out there entertaining, it's all about me,” he says, pretending to strum an imaginary guitar. “Here, it is different. It is about them. It's a collaboration.”

Wells completed a one-year “clownternship” with Clown Doctors Australia, which involves a rigorous audition and training process to learn how to bring laughter and joy to hospital settings. According to David Symons, artistic director of Clown Doctors Australia, the organization looks for performers with a strong background in the arts, as well as sensitivity and empathy. “We go through a long audition process and training process, to learn how to bring those skills effectively to the hospital settings,” he says.

The goal of the clown doctors is to connect with patients as individuals, meeting them where they are in their mental or physical state, and uplifting them. “It might be small and gentle. It might be raucous and loud, but it is what that person needs now,” Symons says.

In this room, where the oldest person is in her 90s, the audience wants songs with a smile. Freddie has performed Show Me the Way To Go Home and You Are My Sunshine with everyone – even hospital staff – joining in.

Michelle, who is in a wheelchair, was also a skeptic at first. “I didn't used to like clowns and then I met Freddie and he's turned me the other way,” she says, giggling. “He always remembers me. He also has a song made up for me. ”

The ward's nurse unit manager, Ashley Southin, says the trial has been a resounding success so far, with the laughter contagious. “It's made the ward more enjoyable,” she says. “I have a number of physios that are keen to join them and follow the clown doctors around.”

For Wells, being a clown doctor is a highlight of his long career. “It's meaningful, it's rewarding, it is also outrageously fun,” Freddie says. “I come home emotionally spent, because the stakes are high.”