Music in the Madness
February 24, 2010
photo by photobucket.com
I have friends who can navigate the labyrinth of hallways and departments of the local hospital with equal measures of grace and ease, as if they are walking through their childhood homes. These are friends who do not work at the hospital, though. They are not doctors or nurses or radiologists. They merely have had the misfortune of an accumulated number of instances in which they’ve been forced to endure the suffering of being there.
I myself am thankful that I require very specific directions on where to go and for what. I don’t like the hospital. Never have. Aside from the birth of my two children, every thought connected to it is a bad one.
And now I can add one more to the list. Maybe.
A few weeks ago I exercised every bit of grace at my disposal and slipped on some ice disguised as snow. The thump resulted in a bit of salty language and a sprained shoulder, which required a trip to the seventh circle of hell and its radiology department.
I was not alone. The forty-something lady beside me offered a hello and then resumed her crocheting. When I asked what exactly she was creating, she said she had no idea. That was when I knew I was in trouble.
The retiree on the other side of me paused in his crossword puzzle, shook my hand, and asked what was wrong with me. I was halfway through my childhood before he clarified and asked what was wrong with me physically.
A two-year-old girl, sweetly unaware of the pain and suffering around her, was using the chair across from me as a jungle gym.
Among the dozen or so others were the young and the old, the professional and the blue collar, the bruised and the broken, all shepherded by two nurses with tired faces and thick glasses who guarded their flock with Nazi-like efficiency.
I spent the next ten minutes leafing through an old newsweekly (Can Obama Win? asked the cover) and the ten after that listening to the two-year-old girl screaming in agony because she failed to stick her landing off the chair. I was about to ask the crossword-working retiree beside me if I could borrow his pen and jam it into my eye, effectively putting myself out of my misery, when an announcement came over the intercom that someone was stroking.
A flurry of activity outside the open door. Nurses quick-walked. Electronic doors whooshed and shut. Elevator doors pinged.
Despite my normally stoic and reserved nature, the whole experience was beginning to wear on me. I decided x-rays weren’t all that necessary. People went for thousands of years without x-rays. And in a way I’d be healthier without having all that radiation zapped into me. I grabbed my hat and coat and sat them on my lap in a first step toward leaving.
The truth? I didn’t want to be around all that pain and suffering. I didn’t want to be reminded that life was in fact a fragile and fleeting thing. Life makes much more sense outside of a hospital than in one. It’s more permanent, more solid.
More beautiful.
But then mixed in with the cacophony of beeps and sirens and chatter came a noise I did not expect. Wafting through the door came music. Someone had decided to sit at the baby grand piano in the lobby to score the day’s events.
I checked my place in line with one of the nurses and decided I had about twenty minutes to spare, then I strolled out the door in the direction of the tinkling ivories. There at the piano sat a young man in faded jeans and a leather jacket. A pair of sunglasses was perched on top of his head, which moved back and forth a bit in concert with his melody.
The songs varied—classical, jazz, and blues. Especially the blues. If there was ever a place for the blues, it was a hospital.
The nurse stuck her head out the door to tell me I was on deck. I never got a chance to talk to that man. Never got an answer as to who he was or why he was there. He was gone by the time I left.
But I like to think he played that piano often and for no other reason than he felt he should. For proof that music can be created in even the worst places.
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22 Responses to “Music in the Madness”
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I’m a writer whose first novel, Snow Day, will be published by FaithWords in 2010.
But don’t let that fool you. I’m just as confused as anyone.
And that is fine with me, because the great thing about wandering around in the fog is that you never know what you might run into.
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Music makes all things bearable.
I’ve had the misfortune of knowing a hospital inside and out. I knew the staff, as well as other patients, their friends, and family. This is NOT something I’d wish upon anyone… but it is a part of life. Those moments where there were distractions like the one you described are priceless! Music can be magical and sooo soothing.
Great post (as usual), Billy.
Yeah, I have no idea how people can stand working in hospitals. They must have some special gift that lets them tolerate the suffering and misfortune.
I have a love/hate relationship with hospitals – I know them better than I ever thought. I don’t like the smell, the pain and the uncertainty that lurks at every corner. But they’ve helped save a few lives in my family (mine included) so how can I not love them in some ways?
Have you seen the video about the elder couple playing piano at the Mayo Clinic? It’s priceless. http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=355710874198&ref=mf
Here’s a better link for the Elderly Couple Playing Piano at the Mayo Clinic:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RI-l0tK8Ok0
You have to see him tap her on the butt
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I love this post. Thanks for sharing.
I could give guided tours of two local hospitals, and one several miles northwest of me. I got used to it, and didn’t mind so much because each time mom went in, she came out. I actually learned to make myself “at home” and went to the linen closet when mom needed an extra blanket because she was cold, or a towel for a bib. I found the “nutrition station”
so that I could microwave food that had gotten cold. The people who worked there were very understanding of my need to do things like that for her.
I used to be very uncomfortable in hospitals. It seems that God provides the strength we need as needed, and not before. I know you know what I mean.
There is a quote I love that says this-
‘Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life’….Berthold Auerbach
A hospital seems like a place that is crying out for music. I love that you found it there.
Ten years ago, this is how I felt about hospitals, too. Just driving by one made me sick, let alone walking in and seeing scary words like “neurology” and “hem/onc” and “nuclear medicine.”
Then, on Feb 26, 2000, my daughter was born and I began a 7-week stay at the hospital. By the end of that stay, it felt more like home than home did in a way. Because only there did I feel totally confident that I could care for my new baby. We took her home terrified by the lack of monitors, nurses, and doctors — I thought they were the only one who could keep her alive. I was actually relieved when she got sick and was readmitted three weeks later. Gradually, we gained confidence in our ability to care for her, but the hospital is no longer a terrifying place to me. It’s a place of hope and healing and incredible people. When I go, I always find reason to be thankful for the life God has given me.
Wow. You made me cry. I wish I had heard the music when I was there.
What a beautiful post! I hope your shoulder’s doing better.
Perhaps it was an angel that knew what you needed and perhaps quite a few people needed and decided to provide something to allow the time to pass much more quickly and enjoyably!
I pray that you are doing well and will be up and back to your old self in no time.
Love and Hugs ~ Kat
I was sitting here wondering how on earth you happen upon so many profound experiences when I realized that you don’t happen upon them–you recognize them. Well done, Billy.
the unit that i work on has it’s share of sorrow, it’s true, but there’s quite a bit of music going on as well.
thanks for hearing it, billy. i think you have a gift for that.
I can’t imagine working in a hospital either, but as a pastor I’ve gotten more used to visiting them. As I read, I thought of the church and that some people conclude that life makes more sense outside the church without having to deal with everyone else’s pain and suffering. Interesting to note that we sing and make music there too… Thanks Billy.
I CeLeBRaTe those whose gifts do not know the boundaries of hospital and sickroom doors!
I had the privilege of accompanying my husband to chemo infusions last summer and we were delighted on several occasions to find a pianist or violinist in the lobby, people brightening the days of others who had hard things in front of them.
I’m at home in a hospital. Every once in a while, an odor will trip a memory of my days as a student nurse. I’ve held hands with patients, prayed with them, had my gloved hand in their bellies. I’ve spent my fair share of time as a patient, too, and as a family companion. Yes, there is suffering and pain and drama. But there’s also joy and compassion and love and hope. And it’s a great place to learn patience.
I purchased a harp last year. My dream is to learn to play well enough to take it into the ER lobby, or critical care, or the OR waiting room, or the nursery, or the nearby hospice. Music is so soothing, so therapeutic.
I’ve learned to always take along my “own” entertainment rather than leaf through those totally used, abused, and germy magazines:) An Ipod, the Iphone, a crossword, a sudoku – anything that will take my mind off of the wait. The music from a “grand” – what a wonderful diversion you were offered.
Prayers for happy shoulder again soon! Nice post. Would love to have you visit me at http://dwmindsieve.blogspot.com……….also recommend http://countyparson.blogspot.com – the parson has a nice metaphorical piece on surfing today and well, I, I just have a prayer to share.
I’ve known the hospital more than I ever wanted to
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Oh, yay. Music calms the soul. Heals the wounds. I’ve been to the ER about five times so far in raising my four sons. I still have several years to go!!!