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Years ago when I was in nursing school, our dreaded psych rotation began.  The eight of us in our clinical group dutifully showed up at the hospital and went through our orientation.  We received our assignments (essentially following the floor nurses the first day), and we were all pretty nervous.  

After a few weeks, we were still a bit nervous.  We'd witnessed a few somewhat violent outbursts from patients, and not being accustomed to being on a floor full of people whose world views were, to say the least, different, we learned that we had to really pay attention to what was going on around us.  All of us had noticed a patient who was maybe in his early 40s.  None of us had seen him interact with other patients or staff.  He would make eye contact, walk around...and that was about it.  None of us had been assigned to him, so we didn't know anything about his diagnosis or mental health history.

As Christmas was approaching, our instructor asked if any of us was a musician.  Three of us raised our hands, and she enlisted us to put on a short program of Christmas music for entertainment diversion for the patients.  Two of us played guitar, and one played the piano, so we met at the pianist's house and rehearsed 3-4 times before our big debut in the psych ward.  

On the day of our mini-concert, we got set up in a room about 15x15 feet, where there was an upright piano, while the staff notified the patients that there would be some live Christmas music, and all were invited to attend.  A dozen or so patients came in and sat down, including our mystery man.  We went through our set, which lasted around an hour, and were rewarded by smiles and uplifted moods, and comments like, "Wow, who'd have thought we'd get to see a band in this dump!"  (Most of them were quite funny, really!)  

The last one to stand up to leave was our silent wanderer.  He waited until the other patients had left, walked up to us and shook our hands, smiling.  "Thanks."  Then he walked out.

One of the psych attendants looked absolutely stunned.  Once the patient left, he looked at us in a bit of a state of shock and said, "He's been here for over two months.  That is the first word he's uttered since he arrived."  He quickly left to tell the nurses and psychiatrist, leaving us standing there, our heads spinning.  Our instructor was beaming.

Behold the power of music.

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Wow, Joellen, that is an inspiring story! Thanks so much for sharing it.

It is very touching on it's own, there's no doubt about that.  But maybe it's particularly timely given the circumstances under which I find myself reading it tonight.

This category was suggested earlier today by Steve Ambroise and so I put it up at his request. He must not have gotten back yet to post what it was he intended.

This afternoon, I made a visit to my mother who resides in an extended care home. It is not a visit I particularly look forward to as she is at this point quite non-communicative but I do feel it important to make the effort. Today, I did what I often do when I go there: I spoke quietly to her, massaged her hands, then read for awhile. She used to be a voracious reader and always appreciated a good story. After that, I just sang to her awhile, first running through a few songs I remembered her singing with my father while he still lived, and the rest simply improvised. The two things I remember bringing her joy were books and music.

For the duration of my efforts, she appeared quite oblivious, something I have grown to expect and learned to accept. But then she closed her eyes and almost inaudibly, began to make a kind of glottal humming or keening sound.

I chose to take her response, little that it was, as a sign of contentment or pleasure.  I like to think that in those fragments, she is reconnected briefly to those familiar things that she once held dear.

Behold the power of music indeed. =;-)

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Great story Joellen. I figured that I was not alone in witnessing the magical power of music and that's why I suggested the catagory to Fhaedra. As it turns out, Fhaedra has also experienced such things. Thanks to both of you for sharing, here's my story.

After having a bad morning in 1986 busking on a very windy day on the pier in Santa Monica, California I was asked by a young man if I'd come down to the beach to play for a group of kids he was taking care of. He didn't tell me untill I'd agreed but the kids were all blind or deaf or mentally handicapped. There were about 20 kids and I was rather uncomfortable with the situation at first but gave it my best shot and started playing and singing my heart out for them. They loved it. Even the deaf kids placed their hands on my guitar to feel the vibrations. Lots of the others were dancing and laughing. Afterwards the young man that had asked me to play told me the whole thing was very remarkable because most of the time those kids were very withdrawn and quiet. Even though he worked with these kids regularly, he had never seen so many of them open up and express so much joy before. It was great for the kids and I gave them something kind of special but they gave me much more in return.

That was my most rewarding performance ever. Anybody else have a story about the power of music? I'd love to hear it if you do.

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Actually, this breaks my heart a little.

My mother had Alzheimer's before she died. I tried to help her as much as I could - I was the last one who she could identify at the end (although I don't think she knew who I was; just that I was somehow important to her). The last couple of years, I seemed to be constantly doing stuff for her. I'd visit as often as I could, prepare meals for her, do the housework, look after the garden, liaise with doctors and the community health team - and eventually arranged for her to move to a residential care home when she couldn't cope at her own home, no matter what help was there.

In amongst all that, I found so little time to just sit with her and talk and read to her - just to be with her, rather than buzzing around straightening things out. It was better once she was in the care home - I could 'chat' with her (she found it impossible to hold a thought long enough to put it into a sentence towards the end). I also read to her as she used to love books; though again, her memory was so bad that she'd have forgotten the beginning of a paragraph by the end of it. But in all that time, I never played to her. I don't know why, and I regret it a lot now. I think she would have loved it.

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Joellen -as an aside. What you said about the dreaded 'psych' rotation ...

I don't know if I've ever told you, but Strings - the singer in the old band, is a psychiatrist. Since the first year she graduated as a doctor she has been interested in overcoming the fear of psychiatric patients that is so common amongst trainee doctors and nurses. She started up a class aimed at helping students over this hurdle which has been very successful. By the time she and I were on our travels in the US in 2008, she had got a publishing deal from Oxford University Press to write a book that covers this ground, which was published the following year.

Her 'Extreme Psychiatry' course is going strong and now teaches 30 students per term and has a long waiting list. The 'Extreme Psychiatry' name comes from the idea that any doctor or nurse should be able to 'do psychiatry' anywhere. Mentally ill people get physical illnesses and injuries also!

The book, 'Psychiatry PRN' is very accessible and full of really practical info and advice and I'm pretty sure is available in the USA , but certainly from Amazon:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=psychiatry+PRN&x=0&y=0

Here's the website for Extreme Psychiatry:   http://extremepsychiatry.wordpress.com/about/

If you know any student nurses and doctors who would like some great resources to help them with this area, do point them to the links above.