My daughter dislocated her arm falling off a slide.

She was 4 years old and after her fall, her face had gone as white as a sheet. The pain was so intense she didn’t know how to vocalize it. I assumed she’d just had a tumble and that everything was ok, but we had been practicing putting numbers on pain, so I said, “From one to ten, how much do you feel?” “Ten” she whispered, before giving way to the waterfall of tears that threatened to drown her.

I rushed her to the hospital, where they took her into surgery after taking xrays. Afterwards, they decided to keep her in for four days, to check on her recovery. Even with painkillers, she was in great discomfort the whole time. The only relief she had was the briefest of visits from the hospital clowns. Two delightful, colourful beings that entered our room and entertained her with a magic trick.

And what do you think she now remembers of this experience (some 20 years on)? The trama of the fall? The endless agony? The fear of being wheeled into surgery?

No. All she can remember are the #clowns.

Your ability to inspire joy and laughter affects other people’s lives, let your clown out on a daily basis.

Caroline Dream