The good... and the bad

I have two stories for you today...

The good:

I went to a facility the other day and met with a woman. She had a diagnosis of Dementia, she loved Irish tunes. She laid sprawled in a geri-chair, seemed very agitated, and all alone. At first my supervisor tried playing the guitar by her side but the patient was so agitated and uncomfortable. She kept trying to pull herself up and into a different position. My supervisor wanted me to jump in while she went to find a nurse to help move the patient to a more comfortable position. I got down on my knees, scooted right up next to the patient, reached out to hold her hand, and just sang every Irish tune I knew. (Thank goodness we always celebrated St. Patrick's day in Practicum - and that many residents in Iowa tend to have a strong German/Irish heritage). The patient turned to look at me and in a slurred, toothless, loud voice - she started singing right along with me... Oh Danny Boy, My Wild Irish Rose, I'm Looking Over a Four Leaf Clover, even My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean... she looked at me, sang every word, and held my hand the entire time. When I ran out of Irish type tunes, I sang Scottish ones. I could have stayed with her forever. This Patient is exactly why I am so in love (already) with this work.

The bad:

There was another storm in Chicagoland earlier this week and as a result caused the worst power outages since 1998 (if I am not mistaken). Facilities were still running on generators and are getting HOT. When it gets hot, windows are opened. When windows are opened, flies get in. When you sing and there are flies in the room you run the risk of having a fly get sucked into your mouth. These are the risks music therapists face every day.

That's all I have to say about that.

Giving through grief

The first time I ever went to visit my husband's family was for a meeting that was being held at the church where he grew up. It was about an hour and a half away from our little college, across the unfamiliar gravel roads of his childhood. Between giving directions he laughed at his city girlfriend white knuckling through the back roads of southeastern Iowa.

After the meeting we went over to his grandparents house to visit for a little while to visit. Upon entering I was bombarded with offers by his grandfather. Would I like any one of the following:
1. Cheese sandwich (something my husband considers a delicacy and I really just do not understand)
2. Oreos
3.Ice cream
4. Homemade chocolate chip cookies
5. Doritos
6. Ice Cream and Oreos
7. Water
8. Milk
9. Mountain Dew
... the list could continue.

Forget the fact that it was about 10pm, but also in an effort to be as low maintenance and an unobtrusive "easy" guest, I turned down most of what was offered. Opting for a water and a few Oreos (I mean who can say no to Oreos?).

After we left and headed back to Monmouth, I remember looking at my new boyfriend (and now husband) and asking, "Do you think they liked me?" He answered, "I'm sure they loved you... but you could have eaten more." :)

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Just a few days ago my supervisor and I were out seeing patients when we got a call to see someone actively dying. We headed right over for what would be one of my more memorable visits so far. We were greeted by the patient's daughter who showed us to her room. Upon entering we met the most distraught young boy. He showed us his iPod, instructing us on what music she likes, and requested in the most grown up way a preteen boy can, "Make her happy. Just make her happy." My heart broke for him. He told us stories of how he is the favorite grandchild. The special nicknames his Grandma had for him and the music they listened to together. Looking around the room it was clear he was a cherished child as his pictures graced a majority of the frames, were slid into the sides of mirrors, and covered the side table.

Her priest came and gave the anointing of the sick. Her daughters crowded into the room to take turns caring, holding her hand, and whispering their love between kisses to the cheek.

After about an hour and a half of providing music for pain management and to "provide a peaceful holding environment" (one of my favorite documentation phrases often used here)... my supervisor and I made our way out of the family's house. Before we could get to the door though, we were stopped.

"Do you want something to eat? Come here! We have more than enough food... please, eat!"

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A few days later and a visit to a different patient, with a family I could easily have just fallen in love with... ok let's be honest, I DID fall in love with... upon our arrival we were met with offers for food or a drink (which included a list of various beverages probably 15 varieties long).

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A separate visit to another family with a 1 year old on hospice care I sat with the social worker, the chaplain, and the sweet girl's family. As we were walking out the door I was presented with a Minnie Mouse invitation to the child's birthday party a few weeks away. The family who hardly knew me more than an hour wanted to share with me the awesome joy and accomplishment of celebrating a 2nd birthday with a child who was not expected to live past the first 24 hours of life.

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It has been these encounters of pure gratitude and the need to give back that have caught me off guard. I always seem to walk away from patients wishing I could do more... or even still having that feeling of "what am I doing here?" as if I am an impostor.  These people let us into their home and see them at their most vulnerable. We enter their lives only for a short while and yet they are so grateful. My first inclination is to deny their efforts... they don't need to serve me. I never want to ask for anything or require any attention. However, it may be the therapeutic! It's very different for me, but it's also very nice of them to do.