If They Could See What I See...

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If they could see what I see…

If they could see what I see, they would be as fascinated as I am how powerful and healing music can be in a hospital setting.

If they could see what I see, they would see the connections created by music. To others. To oneself.

If they could see what I see, they would realize that those working on recovery also need something to help heal their soul and their mind. They would see that music is the ultimate mind-body-soul connector.

If they could see what I see, they would see that music reduces stress and anxiety in a unique, non-pharmacological way. They would see how her face softened, as I saw, when the music was introduced. They would see that after I asked her to focus on the music, and to put her thoughts about the biopsy to the side for a few moments, that we went on a journey. They would see how I  initiated the music with some purposeful tension and then gradually moved to release and more soothing themes. And as dissonance started to resolve, her face softened. Her breathing slowed. They would see that the music… helped. She said so, but more importantly, I saw it. I saw it on her face. The music gave her some much needed reprieve.

If they could see what I see, they would see how music helped regulate her breathing. They would see that when she sang with me, her breathing slowed and deepened, moving right into the rhythm of the music. (Which I purposely set the tempo slightly slower than her breathing rhythms, and gradually decreased as we moved into the chorus.) They would see that her breathing followed. I could see it. I could see her chest moving slower and less tension in her shoulders. I could see that she was breathing slower and deeper… because of the music experience.

If they could see what I see, they would see how a song, a meaningful song from long ago can help orient. They would see that she was confused and anxious. Perhaps not knowing where she was. Just sitting in the chair, gripping onto the arms as if holding on for dear life. They would see that when I played and sang Blue Moon, something changed. Suddenly she didn’t look as lost. She didn’t look as forlorn. Her grip on the chair released and… she smiled. I saw it. When the song finished, she spoke to me for the first time. “Do you know, that was the song that was playing when I met my husband. He was so handsome in his uniform.” And she told me about him. And I could see that she was more present and less anxious.

If they could see what I see, they would see that music brought some resolve and comfort while reflecting on a life well lived. They told me that “she was always just a country girl.” And that she loved country music. They spoke about her cooking and the fact that she was tough yet loved them all so dearly. It was hard for them to see her so weak as she would soon take her last breath. But they knew she had a good 90 plus year run. They would see that I played a ‘lullaby’ version of Blue Eyes Crying In The Rain (Willie Nelson). And that there were tears. And that there were also smiles. I could feel the love in the room. Actually, I could see it. When I finished, they said, “That’s her favorite song. How did you know?” I don’t know. (But it does happen more than seems coincidental.) They would see that it was the perfect song to ‘send her off with’. And that it gave some, resolve, some meaning, and some closure to her family. After all, I could see it.

If they could see what I see, they would have seen the woman, in her 40s, who had been in and out of the hospital over the past few months, whom I visited with not long ago. They would have seen that she had various medical issues, mainly with infections as a result of her cancer. And that she was quite down with “not seeming to ever get better”. They would see that we spoke a bit about her journey, her pain and generally just not feeling like a ‘real person’. We also spoke about music, and I asked her if music was important in her life. “Oh yes, I love music. I love all kinds of music, especially uplifting and soothing.” I suggested she now just “take a break”, that she just put “all of the medical stuff aside for a bit and just listen. Close your eyes and let the music in. Sing along if you like… and breathe.” For the next 30 minutes there was no sound in this hospital room but music—the sound of my guitar, the sound of my voice, the occasional sound of her voice. And her breathing. And if they could hear what I heard, when the music concluded, they would have heard her say:

“I really needed this. I really needed something… different. Here in the hospital, it’s just like not being a whole person. The music… I feel it deep inside. It heals my soul. I just realized that nothing is healing my soul when I’m here. And when my soul is healed my body will be ready to heal too.”

If they could see what I see, they would see that music therapy prompts tension release, can be cathartic, helps one cope with extended hospitalization, promotes emotional outlet, reduces blood pressure, pain, anxiety. Orients. Empowers. Restores a sense of self. Gives back some control. Provides empathy and hope. Comforts. Soothes the mind-body-soul…

If they could see what I see, they would see that music therapy is an evidence-based practice based on both quantitative and qualitative research.

If they could see what I see, every hospital would fund and make music therapy an integral part of patient care.

If they could see what I see…

(*the stories presented in this blog are based on accounts or experiences and are not actual accounts or experiences.)

Raymond Leone, MMT, MT-BC is a board-certified music therapist based in Northern Virginia and writes extensively about music and wellness.