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Music as Medicine Three Mothers Requesting Live Harp Music for Their Hospitalized Children I’m employed as a harpist at a children’s hospital where I perform in areas like the waiting room next to the emergency room, wards near the nurses' stations, and even individual rooms if invited by patients or family members. I also play for premature babies in the neonatal intensive care unit. I started as a volunteer musician at the hospital ten years ago as part of a community service project. With my music I entertain, distract, and relax parents, patients, and employees, as part of the Healing Arts Program, which allows me to experience the occasional unforgettable event, such as what happened the afternoon I played for a teenager in a coma. It was the first in a series of events where three parents requested live music for their hospitalized children.
As I walked through the trauma ward carrying my harp, the first mother stopped me and asked, “Who is that for?” The harp, made of Brazilian rosewood draws attracts attention from the curve of its neck to the pyramidal shape of its body and the full sound it creates. With a smile I responded, “For you!” and I began to play a soft piece of music for her in the hallway. Just as I completed the song she asked, “Would you play for my daughter?” Then she added, “She is in a coma and they do not know why.” I agreed to play for her daughter. I don’t remember turning down a request to play for a patient these past ten years, but I braced myself for what I might see. Perhaps my fear was because once I played for two hours for a four year old boy on life support who had been found at the bottom of the family swimming pool. I found the experience emotionally difficult and attended the funeral to get some closure. Taking a few steps into the daughter’s room, I stood with my harp at the side of her bed. She rested awkwardly crosswise, with banks of monitors at her headboard, a dedicated nurse at her feet, and her mother at her side. I began to play a soft, calming melody by Erik Satie, trying to play as slowly as I should. I then began to play “Con Te Partiro,” a song made famous by Andrea Boccelli and Sarah Brighton. The mother recognized the song and said, “Oh my! My daughter loves to sing that song!” Within a minute both the nurse and the mother noticed a change in a monitor’s display. Later I would learn they recognized an improvement in her condition. They turned and looked at me and said in a serious tone, “Thank you very much”. Taking this as an indication that I should leave, I did so at once not knowing if I would ever learn what happened as I am not permitted to ask questions as per hospital policy. The next week I was walking with my harp through the same ward when a second mother asked me if I would play some music for her son, which I agreed to do. As we approached her son’s room she said, “Amy went home!” I asked, “Who is Amy?” She explained that Amy was the teenager I had played for, that she came out of her coma and that her mother felt my harp music had helped. It could have been a complete coincidence that I happened to be playing my harp as she began to regain consciousness but it may have been that particular song that jarred her back to reality. I followed this second mother into the dark room where her son lay stretched across his bed without responding, as if in a coma. A tall adolescent, he wasn’t as present as Amy had been when I entered her room. His nurse was more serious than attendants usually are when family members bring along live entertainment. I gently played my harp as I stood about four feet from the patient watching him through the vibrating nylon strings. After a couple songs, this mother quietly said, “Thank you very much.” as if giving up on the idea that live music would help bring her son back to her. I began to lift my harp and was about to walk out when she asked if I could play “You Are My Sunshine”. Though I had never played the folksong, I started playing it by ear, surprised at how easily the old tune brightened the dreary room. I was about to end the song when I heard her begin to sing the lyrics. She sang from her heart, looking down on her son, while I played the accompaniment. When she reached the end of the song, both the nurse and I welled up with tears as we heard her sing the final words to her son: “You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you. Please don’t take my sunshine away.” I followed the nurse, who quickly stepped out to compose herself. Several other nurses immediately consoled her as she splashed water on her face with her small hands. I’d never seen a nurse so moved. As I carried my harp past the huddled group of nurses, a third mother across the trauma ward called to me. She asked me to play a few songs for her son, John, who she said was fascinated by the harp. As I carried my harp into his room and noticed an artificial respirator with all its tubing near his head. John, a tall and lanky teen, immediately focused on my hands moving over the strings, finding their way between the octaves. The polished wooden curves and angles of the harp may have also drawn his attention. For twenty minutes he quietly, yet penetratingly, focused on my performance. So taken with the visual and audio presentation of the unusual musical instrument, John watched with fixed attention, perfectly still, and nearly breathless. I left the room with respectful thanks from John’s mother. Later she found me playing for parents and patients waiting to be called in for appointments, and she told me that she had asked me to play for John because he had just panicked when the respirator tube had been removed from his throat. He felt he could not breathe without mechanical assistance. She saw me across the hall at that moment and felt that John might be calmed by the harp music. He was so distracted by the experience that he forgot about his “need” for the respirator. After I left the room, he continued to breathe naturally. His panic had subsided when the harp performance captured his attention. I would have never known this had his mother not found me in the lobby. I left the hospital with a sense of purpose and hope. I had seen that live music, far from being mere “entertainment”, was as important as medicine in helping patients heal and recuperate. |
