Forgot your password?

We just sent you an email, containing instructions for how to reset your password.

Sign in

  • Dear Friend,
    We have a few stories to tell, but by telling part of this one, the one that has
    dominated our life for the past two and a half years, we may be able to help raise
    awareness, and help those who've helped us in time of need.
    The 1st of September, 2007 was a beautiful, sunny day.
    We got home later than our usually regimented routine has us, so after washing
    off face paint and hair colour, we sat down in front of our favourite Saturday
    evening show together with fish and chips.
    Thorn, whom has autism (hence the routine and familiar structure in our house),
    woke me the next morning at the always precise time of 5.30am, got up, opened his
    curtains, dressed and was ready for breakfast, and I, as usual, dragged myself out of
    bed made a cuppa and breakky and set the TV to his usual shows. Unusually, Thorn had
    allowed me to doze back off to sleep on the couch. Part of Thom's routine was to wake
    his sister, Harmony, at 6.30am. He woke me to tell me she would not get up. Surprised
    the bouncing on the jumping castle the previous day. "She'S done wee in her bed!" he
    replied with an urgency in his voice. Shocked but uncertain that it was so, I went
    straight to her room, Thommy running in front of me. "Harmony," I said, rubbing her
    shoulder as Thorn pulled back the covers to reveal a wet bed, "Harmony, wake up! Come
    on darlin'!" There was my little girl, soaked in urine, her blonde ringlets stuck
    to her face with dried vomit, not responding to me. With panic I said "Harmony, come
    on, you've got to get up!" I shook her and demanded "I'll count to 5 .." something
    that never failed no matter what trick these cheeky pair were trying to pull. I
    looked across the bed to see terror in Thommy's eyes. "It's ok mate, Harmony is sick,
    please go and wake your dad, get him to come straight to Harmony's room, it's very
    important!" David, the twin's father had stayed the night as we'd organised, to wake
    and spend Father's Day with the kids.
    We piled into his van. Dave in the front, horn-honking and speeding through
    the fortunately empty streets of Geelong on a Sunday, Father's Day, to emergency.
    Thorn in the back singing 'twinkle little star' with me, and Harmony, wet and limp,
    sickeningly twitching in my arms. As I carried her through emergency she was snatched
    from me, people rallied around her, she was stripped naked, surrounded and hooked up
    to machines, she had so many needles poked into her little body in such a short time,
    they had worked down to the veins in her feet. What is happening? My mind seemed to
    be racing yet I felt as though I was watching a slow motion picture.
    Somehow I thought for Dave to take Thorn to friends. How would he cope without
    his sister and 17 How would he cope without his daily routine? How would he sleep
    without his medication? My attention soon turned back to this 'movie' going on in
    front of me, as somebody explained to me that they would need to comatose and intubate
    Harmony to keep her breathing. Then she was taken to have scans, as poisoning was
    ruled out, after assuring both myself and the nursing staff she couldn't have reached
    any poisons or medications. She came back from her scan with the news of an unknown
    dark spot on her brain, they'd called a helicopter to take us to the I.C.U at the
    Royal Childrens Hospital. We were told that possibly she'd not wake and probably if
    she did, she'd not have use of her left hand side and likely to have lost her sight.
    I recall thinking that I myself would die because the pain was so unbearable,
    a pain that has at times made me wish I would, a pain I soon had to learn to live
    with. The helicopter wouldn't get there in time, instead we found ou~selves kissing
    her goodbye as she was strapped into a road train along with machines and a team of
    I.C.U paediatric staff. Dave and I followed, the longest trip of our lives, up the
    Melbourne Hwy, tear-soaked we drove mainly in silence, Dave drove, I cried.
    P.T.C. That's how it all began and since then we've had times that were worse, some
    that were so dark, nothing else but pain seemed to exist. Harmony has had more
    procedures, operations, finger pricks and tests than I could possibly recount. she's
    had two Cranial operations, in total lasting about 12hrs, 7 weeks of radiotherapy to
    her head and spine, 6 months of intensive Chemotherapy and many long term hospital
    stays, visits and appointments.
    Some days are harder than others when you've been taken from your special
    needs child to watch his twin fight for her life. We soon found our life support,
    irreplaceable and priceless, the support and relief that no-one else, no medicine, no
    medical professional could provide, yet was so necessary in helping to heal our faith,
    our hearts, and I believe, my daughter and so many other children. Doctors so in need
    no amount of money could buy on days they were busy. Doctors as rare as hen's teeth,
    underpaid and overworked. Doctors Harmony cried and begged for, "Mumma, if only I could
    see the Clown Doctors today, maybe it won't feel like I am going to die."
    These incredible men and women from The Humour Foundation got us singing again,
    made us laugh, brought sparkles back to our eyes. They took us from a hospital
    room we'd called home for 6 months to a playground of laughter and cheeky tricks,
    pranks, jokes and skits. They helped turn our darkest moments into more pleasant
    happy and even very memorable times. There is nothing they can't help to overcome,
    be it needles, operations, painful procedures and finger pricks, mothers struggling
    to convince their children that everything was going to be ok - all would be ok if
    visited, or the promise of a visit from the Clown Doctors.
    Soon the Clown Doctors became my strength. After a visit to the procedure room,
    that was accompanied by pain and trauma, Harmony in tears, arrived back to her room
    to be greeted by a Clown Doctors 'Post card' on her pillow. The tears were replaced
    with a smile from ear to ear, it simply read:
    "Dear Harmony, Dr Doctor and Dr Archoo,
    Came to see and visit you."
    with this thought, our day had suddenly become bright again. Harmony loves these
    guys, Thom loves these guys and I love these guys too! We cannot thank them enough.

    Thank you Clown Doctors.
    • Share

    Connected stories:


Collections let you gather your favorite stories into shareable groups.

To collect stories, please become a Citizen.

    Copy and paste this embed code into your web page:

    px wide
    px tall
    Send this story to a friend:
    Would you like to send another?

      To retell stories, please .

        Sprouting stories lets you respond with a story of your own — like telling stories ’round a campfire.

        To sprout stories, please .

            Better browser, please.

            To view Cowbird, please use the latest version of Chrome, Safari, Firefox, Opera, or Internet Explorer.