Believing In My Purpose...

I don't know what magic happened in the universe within the past month, but all of the sudden I am finding these amazing patients that are reinforcing my purpose as a music therapist. Here's a story about a patient with a fake name because HIPAA (yayyyy).

I first came across Bob in the ICU, when I was doing my usual medical rounds and follow-ups with Palliative Care patients. He wasn't on my list of patients to see that day. It's funny how your senses can tell you where your spirit is most needed. I stood outside of his room, overhearing his visitors and he erupting in laughter. I thought it was strangely beautiful that there was somehow this joyous mood in such a usually ominous environment where people are fighting for their lives. I was intrigued--this man and his family I *must* meet. 

As I entered his room with a knock, his family all gleefully invited me in for a session, exclaiming how much he enjoys music and how this was just what he needed. Now Bob was a gruff man with a gravely voice and the most genuine smile I had seen in a long time. He had suffered a traumatic brain injury from a horrific car accident and his memory was seriously affected, among other TBI symptoms. Since I went into his room on just a hunch, I didn't have any of this information prior. I walked into his room and noticed his disorganized affect with his off-topic statements, and decided to test his orientation. I was sad to discover that he did not know who two of his three visitors were, and also elated to realize that in spite of this he had plenty of pain medication to entertain us all afternoon! He was able to read my name off of my badge, and carry on basic conversation.

When I asked Bob what kind of music he would like to hear, he exclaimed, "Rock 'n roll!" while holding up his fingers in the traditional "rock" sign. I already knew this man was destined to be a patient I will never forget. We sang an Ozzy Osbourne song, and he knew almost every word. His family was laughing at his unfiltered sense of humor and crying at the realization of seeing their son/brother/nephew able to *remember* something. 

I left beaming from ear to ear, near happy tears, myself. Our following sessions were joyful, with the sweet, sweet tunes of our mutual favorite group- The Eagles. One particular session Bob was having a, ermmm, *difficult* time staying appropriate. It seemed that his TBI left him with no inhibitions and he was cursing *literally* every other word he sang to the song "Desperado." (I later reprised Bob's version to my Daniel, and we laughed, both impressed that I was able to keep a straight face.) He is my spirit animal...I jokingly thought. His cursing didn't bother me...his family would look at me concerned, as if I would leave his room offended. I later told them I'm used to working with seriously psychotic patients...and their Bob was a breath of fresh air for me! Although I wanted to stop and laugh, I would keep playing and singing the appropriate lyrics, often pausing and telling Bob he should try to sing the real words with me because how could we betray our Eagles?! He would smugly laugh and join in with me for a while.

One day when I reappeared for a follow-up with my pal, Bob, I stood in front of him with my guitar and asked him what I was holding (a guitar). I asked, "Is this a piano?" And he looked puzzled, but said, "No...not a piano." I questioned, "Is this a trumpet?" He said, "No...that's not a trumpet. That's a GUITAR!" I praised his language-finding abilities, and asked him, "Now Bob...why do I come visit you? What do we like to do together?" And...in true Bob fashion...he said, "I don't know...sleep together?" That got me. I laughed. The innocent and unfiltered Bob.

I only visited this treasure of a human being for two weeks before his family announced to me that they were closing in on a discharge date. I couldn't let him leave without saying goodbye...even though he had no idea who I was each time I came to sing with him! I stayed late one evening after doing outpatient work so that I could haul my guitar up to his room and sing with him one last time. He avoided eye contact, still looking so confused as to why he was in the hospital...he often mistook his sister for his wife, and his mother for his mother-in-law. But oh, did he sing...and not one curse word! His family hugged me, thanking me for the precious videos they took and will cherish, laughing at the humorous things Bob would say and do. They told me how important I was to them, and to this facility. And for the first time in a while....I believed that too.

This one's for you, Bob!

<3 Lauren