The Language of the Heart

Today was quite a day at the hospital. I was sent to play for one woman in ICU who was hooked up to life support and all sorts of other tubes and IVs. She was seated in a chair but she did not appear to be conscious. I knew she was aware of my music because I could read her vital stats change as I played. When I play for ICU patients, I mainly work to stabilize their pulse and bring their heart rate down by playing simple melodies in a steady, slow rhythm. I do not play anything familiar to the patient in these situations as I don't know what kind of history they have with a given song. We've all experienced when a certain song brought up old unresolved memories. When someone is so ill, we can't afford that kind of emotional charge--all of their energy needs to be focused on healing.

I was so engrossed in playing for her when suddenly I noticed a man standing in the doorway with his face in his hands as he cried openly. I was going to ask him if he wanted me to stop playing but then he came into the room and held the woman's hand (apparently his mother) and began talking to her. I could not hear what he was saying but I could get some of the tone of his voice. He spoke to her in a way that seemed he thought she could understand everything he said. Later, another man came into the room also crying and he held the woman's other hand. I continued to play as they cried. I understand that music can assist the grieving process and I kept playing my slow, lullaby-like improvised melodies. After about 20 minutes, I got the impression it would be nice for me to leave them alone with her to say what they needed to say.  They thanked me as I left and said that I played very beautifully.

Next I was sent to a woman's room who just suffered from a stroke. "I can't walk," was the first thing she said to me and then told me about her stroke. When I asked her if I could play for her, she said she liked that song, "My Girl," by the Temptations.  So, I started to sing this song and a big smile came on her face and she sang along.  As she was African American, I sang a few more songs by black artists. Once I said I really liked the old Spirituals and she looked surprised as if to ask me, "what one will you sing?" Then I sang, "Down by the Riverside," and again a big smile came. As I continued to sing, she closed her eyes and started to fall asleep. She looked very peaceful and as I slipped out of the room, she opened her eyes and said, 'bye."

Quite a day and again I feel so honored to play songs of the language of the heart. Though I was a stranger to them, the music helped to bridge our worlds and let tears to fall and smiles and memories to come.