Music "Therapray"

"Do you remember me?" asked the middle-aged man, a shy smile brightening his unshaven face and unkempt hair. It was Wednesday afternoon and the music therapy group on the psychiatric unit was about to begin. I noted something vaguely familiar about his smile and said, "Well, it's been awhile since you've been here, hasn't it, John?"

"Yea, it's been awhile. But the last time, you did this song with us." He dropped his head, opened his nearly empty wallet and carefully unfolded a dirty, tattered lyric sheet with the words to the song "You've Got a Friend." He had carried that song sheet in his wallet for over three years! "I really like this song. Could you play it again? I know all the words now so you can use my sheet, but I want to keep it when you're done singing, OK?" How could anything be more OK? Those to whom we minister provide such "Amazing Grace."

The patients of the large medical hospital where I have practiced music therapy for nearly a decade have helped to deepen my relationship with this friend called Music. In fact, it is my best friend. Music touches us physically, psychologically and spiritually. Ever ready to comfort, motivate, praise, celebrate, mourn, or simply be present, music has provided human beings with a presence unlike any other. As Aldous Huxley said, "After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music."

Music therapy can be defined as the intentional and compassionate use of sound and rhythm to facilitate the healing process and address the needs of the human spirit. In music therapy, interventions are planned and implemented to reach the well part of a person while still attending to that which is ill, lonely, or out of balance. My task as a music therapist in a pastoral care department is to assess how I can best meet the spiritual needs of individuals by engaging them in a therapeutic process through music. Paul Nolan states, "Music therapy is understood as part of medical care. The methods used alter brain chemistry to the extent that feelings, mood states, and behaviors change in direct response to music therapy intervention." While brain chemistry was responsible for John's ability to focus on "You've Got A Friend" despite the schizophrenia he experienced, there was also an element of the song that embraced his spirit. Being a faithful servant to music, as well as to the Creator of music, it is this embrace that regularly rewards and rejuvenates my soul.

Some years ago, I received a nurse referral to visit a 2-year-old child with an untreatable brain tumor. Charlie, normally an active, curious, and vociferous toddler, now lay heavily sedated and very quiet as his mother held vigil next to his hospital crib. His mother was initially concerned that he would not hear the music through the fog of sedation, but when she observed me playing the harp with children in the playroom, she asked if I would play for Charlie. Gently I began playing. After several minutes of assessing his steady breathing and still body, indications that the music was not disturbing him, I began softly singing a familiar song, "You Are My Sunshine."

"Lovely," mom whispered. "How about 'Jesus Loves Me'?" As I began playing it, she started singing for her son. Soon her son began to snore rather loudly. His mom became ecstatic, saying, "He can hear the music! He's fallen asleep, not because of the morphine, but because of the music. He never snores during the day. I can hear him, oh God, I miss his voice, oh it's so good to hear him! Please keep playing." Tears stream down our faces as we pray our songs together. Music therapy often becomes music "therapray."

The presence of song melody and rhythm has been a part of human existence since time began. Humans use music to celebrate, worship, and praise as well as to mourn and sympathize. Physiologically, our bodies testify to the importance of rhythm. If our hearts beat irregularly, medical interventions bring stability back to our rhythm. Similarly, if our hearts are heavy with depression, music can comfort and restore harmony. In music, timing is everything, and yet so much of music is timeless. "How come when we do music, time goes so fast, and all the other time, it's so slow?" asks Adam after we share a wonderful drumming session. Adam, an 8-year-old diagnosed with a highly treatable form of sarcoma, had been flown to an American hospital for treatment that was not available in his homeland. Music therapy offered emotional support, as well as pain management. One day, he requested an American folk song, "Puff The Magic Dragon." His condition was stable but serious, so I avoided singing the words of the last verse, which begins "Dragons live forever, but not so little boys." At the end of the song, Adam said, "Isn't there a part where the little boy dies or something?" Sheepishly, I admitted that there was another verse and he asked me to sing it, which I did. "I almost died," Adam stated matter-of-factly. This young man then began to tell me how he thought he was dying as he flew to the United States when, despite his anger, sadness, and confusion, "they wouldn't even give me a drink of water!" He then said, "People never told me that I might die, but I knew it could happen. I'm done dying now, though." Indeed he was. Although he remained hospitalized for six months, Adam has enjoyed total remission for the past several years.

Too often, people complain that their identity is replaced by the disease for which they are being treated. Providing music therapy during hospitalization supports that which is right with a person, while other medical staff address the illness. In his book The Music of Man, Yehudi Menuhin wrote, "In any event, I feel it is the musician's role to maintain our trust in the world and the world's trust in us, to help us express genuine emotions. When music takes on the responsibility, it draws upon the best kind of human effort and is deeply therapeutic, harmonizing the physical and the spiritual, the intellectual and emotional, joining body and soul."

Two young women treated for very different diseases illustrate this phenomenon. Lisa, traumatized by a diagnosis of leukemia, found a glimpse of her "well self" through her flute. She had just finished her final exams when she was diagnosed with leukemia, her music minor lost among bruises and headaches and worry. Noticing how her face brightened as she talked of the group with whom she played, I recognized a kindred spirit and arranged to bring her flute to the oncology unit. When she picked it up and slowly whispered breath into the silver cylinder, she became one with the breath of life. A nurse, mesmerized by the music, called another to listen and the song grew. Then the patient became the song.

Another young woman suffering severe clinical depression at the tender age of 15 also was a flute player. A brilliant scholar, loved by family and friends, she stated, "No one understands, no one!"

"Is God there for you?" I ask, but there is no audible answer. "Maybe we could we play something together." She agrees, and with a hint of enthusiasm brings out her flute. My guitar follows the melody she begins. Music validates her pain, while still encouraging her participation in life. One breath at a time, she plays on and on. Breathe on me, breath of God. And indeed, God does.

Late one evening, a nurse referred me to a child who had been experiencing considerable pain. His eyes shot open with terror when he saw me and although he opened his mouth to cry, little more than a whimper emerged. Christopher was recovering from a painful surgery to replace the gastrointestinal tube through which he receives his daily bread. His tiny two-year-old body, lost between tubes, bandages, and diaper appeared rigid, apprehensive, and pain-ridden. I was yet another strange person disturbing the sanctuary of safety he felt in his mother's arms. As I introduced myself to his mother, she reassured her son and beckoned me to begin playing the folk harp I brought. Sitting a safe distance from his bed, I played and the sound waves traveled over and around his body. Slowly he turned his head towards me. His eyes, the only communication available between us, grew wide with awe instead of terror. "He likes Twinkle, Twinkle," his mother said. Twinkle, little star you hold more wonder than I ever knew there was. Severe spasticity plagued his arms and legs, yet stiffness melted away from his body. His eyes changed again from wonder to recognition as I began to play and sing the "Barney" song. This child had seen too many white coats and needles to truly trust the presence of another hospital woman. But "I love you, you love me" gets through, and the corners of his mouth turn upward. It's as close to a smile as he can muster and I repeat the verse several times. "Mas musica?" inquires his mother. Christopher nods a definite yes.

David Rothenberg said, "Music will not save or end the world, but it reveals a small part of the pure beauty accessible to humankind." Beauty is not often used to describe hospitalization, yet beauty accompanies each patient, and blessings abound. Music brings companionship to those who feel abandoned, comfort to those in pain, and love to those who fear. In the stories I have shared, none of the patients share the same religion. In fact, two profess a non-Christian faith and were apprehensive about a pastoral care visit. Yet in some way or another, regardless of age, religion, or disease, all the patients experienced spiritual support through music. Lord, continue to make me an instrument of your peace.
 

• The Music of Man ~ Yehudi Menuhin and Curtis W. Davis

Soozie Cotter-Schaufele, Music Therapist, Advocate Health Care System, Park Ridge, Illinois.