Seniors say the darndest things

Today we went to a new facility that I will be taking over during the rest of my time at Seasons. One of the facility's employees wanted to see music therapy in action, so off we go to see some the patients signed on to our services. We get settled into a quiet room, the patient was sleeping peacefully. As I start to play the patient's roommate walks in - having freshly showered. In order to give her some privacy my male audience excused himself from the room, and closed the curtain around myself, my advisor, and the patient. As I hear him close the door behind him, I also hear the squeaky clean resident yell after him, "Suck my d***!!" I look over at my advisor with what I am sure were eyes as big a saucers and holding back a laugh.

Throughout the rest of the session, thinly veiled (one hospital curtain separation) commands such as
"shut the hell up" wafted over my improvised guitar playing. But then the kicker came...

The roommate pulled back the curtain, looked at us, whipped the curtain back into place, called out, "EAT MY SHORTS!!" and stormed out.

I couldn't make this stuff up... even if I tried.

"Hospice is like a box of chocolates"

I have really come to understand that in hospice, you never know what you're going to get.

I have a client who I just love. He is hilarious. Apparently, he is exceptionally inappropriate with other people who care for him (earning him the title of "dirty old man") but with me he's just downright funny. I ask if he would like some music and he says yes. Then, before I even get the guitar case open he hollers, "Well, come on then!" or "Let's go!" He sits and listens to the music with his eyes closed and responds after a song has completed by saying, "That was beeeeeeautiful" or he'll comment, "That was an oldie but goodie". Sometimes he'll say, "You left me in left field with that one". I'm really not sure how to take that last comment...

On the other hand I see a client who is always in bed, normally asleep, and NEVER responsive. He's a hard one to see because while it's easy just to play some improvised bedside music, its frustrating because it's hard to tell if he even hears it, let alone responds positively.

Last Thursday, I went to go see this client. It was my last stop of the day and the facility is close to home so it's easy to stop by on my way out in the morning or on the way back in the afternoons. I signed into the facility, made my way up to the patient's floor, and found his bed empty. Inside I thought if this guy died and no one told me, I'm going to be frustrated. I ask a nurse passing by where the patient is, and she directs me down to a common area where I have never been before. And there he is! Sitting up in a broda chair. Awake, alert, and oriented x1. WHAT?! I hardly even recognized the man. I introduced myself and he responded! Said a very clear yes to wanting music and talked to me through the entire session. Yes, he was also talking to a few hallucinations, but where did this come from?! He SANG ALONG with a few songs and when I placed my guitar on his lap for vibro-tactile stimulation, he even tried strumming a few times on his own!  I was flabbergasted. We had such a great time together talking about his past and singing songs that I stayed for longer than I have ever spent with him. The time flew by!

I think I floated home... thinking about how different each day is for everyone. You have to go into each session as if this will be the last time you see that patient and do the best for them every time. And honestly, once you think you have someone "all figured out"... you don't. You never know when something will happen from "out in left field".

Yes, hospice is like a box of chocolates... you never know what you're going to get. 

and it's really oh so sweet.



On my own...

Let's take moment to sing...

ok, just had to get my diva on for a moment. :)


Today was my first official day on my own <<fighting the urge to sing again...>>, though I ended up doing one visit on Friday unattended (I shadowed the team chaplain and while she had an urgent phone call I was up to bat. I sat with a patient's wife on Friday and used active listening, live music, proximity, reinforcement and prompts to help validate her, her husband, and their life together. After being with her for an hour and  half, playing some good old songs "none of that jive music" as she put it, and having her teach me the secret to a 65 year marriage I left that assisted living facility on cloud nine.

Today was just as wonderful. Since, the visits are "transition visits" my supervisor is attending them with me, but I have to do it all myself. And.I.Love.It!! From the patient who cracks me up continually to the sweet heart who sings along. From Irish tunes to American standards, introductions to documentation, I felt like I was doing exactly what I was supposed to be doing. Sure! There are lots of things that I need to work on... realizing part way into a song that the meter is 4/4 as opposed to the 3/4 I am playing or having the gumption to just take the lead in a situation and "go for it". But as I continue on my journey I am continually faced with the question, "Isn't it hard to work in Hospice?"

Two months ago that was a real fear of mine. That it would be too hard. I'm a fairly emotional person. I cry at sad/happy/sappy/scary movies. I cry at weddings. I empathize with others to a fault. I had a very serious fear that this position would prove to be to much. To much death. To much sadness. Now, my honest feelings are not of fear or sadness. Rather they are of pride in the work that every one of the staff members on the hospice team does. The feeling of making a difference in the world. Ok... making a difference in the life of one person. I love the results I see...

• the tears of a wife as I sing Ave Maria
• the slow steady breaths of a patient with Pancreatic Cancer as I improvise at his bedside
• the recognition of a song for a patient with an Alzheimer's diagnosis as they sing along
• the comfort a patient diagnosed with dementia feels (and the much less agitated/more cooperative attitude they display) when being played music as they are given a shower
• the smooth transition from labored breathing while being assisted with a BiPAP to breathing on their own
• the memory made for a family member or an entire family as they spend musical (non-medical) time with their loved one

The work of a music therapist is profound and awesome. I do not feel sad working in hospice. Yes, today I held back a few tears seeing the major decline a patient had taken since the last time I had been to visit, but I am so grateful that I was able to do something for them to make that day, that hour of their life, a little better. I am privileged. I am blessed to be able to share my talent in a way that might help someone. I am so thankful that I have an opportunity to use my gifts this way. The founder of Seasons Hospice, Marcia Norman, MS, RN explains:

When we touch a single piano key, we hear not a single string, but the rich sound of many strings vibrating in harmony. When we touch a single life, the harmony that spreads enriches the lives of many. 

I'm not saying that I am any big deal. By no means. I am not out changing the world. But I just feel lucky to know that maybe I made a difference to someone somewhere along the way.

A man was walking along a deserted beach at sunset. As he walked he could see a young boy in the distance, as he drew nearer he noticed that the boy kept bending down, picking something up and throwing it into the water. Time and again he kept hurling things into the ocean. As the man approached even closer, he was able to see that the boy was picking up starfish that had been washed up on the beach and, one at a time he was throwing them back into the water. The man asked the boy what he was doing, the boy replied,"I am throwing these washed up starfish back into the ocean, or else they will die through lack of oxygen. "But", said the man, "You can't possibly save them all, there are thousands on this beach, and this must be happening on hundreds of beaches along the coast. You can't possibly make a difference." The boy smiled, bent down and picked up another starfish, and as he threw it back into the sea, he replied. "I made a difference to that one."