Betty’s Story – Part 1 (of 3)

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I know, I know. I shouldn’t pick favorites. I try to uphold each individual to the same level and value all of my experiences equally, but sometimes you can’t help having more of an affinity to one situation/person over another. So, I want to tell you about a “favorite” patient of mine. It is more a favorite string of sessions or a favorite response to music therapy. It is a favorite way of conducting a session, or rather, a patient who challenged me to utilize music in a different way than I had ever done before. This patient is not one of my “favorites” because of who she was, she was just like many of my patients previous to her, but there was something special that happened in our sessions together, unlike what I usually see.

Betty* was on hospice and referred to music therapy for improved quality of life. She was bed-bound, in her 90’s, and blind. There was seemingly not much for her to live for. As I learned over our time together, she did not have any family around and the one person she still had a relationship with did not live in the same state, nor have interest in visiting at this time.

I was a little taken aback when I first met Betty. Her skin was pale and bumpy, her eyes were glazed with possible cataracts and no sight, and her figure was thin and stiff. She lay there, with her long limbs, and did not even see my daze at first sight of her. I was embarrassed at my thoughts, my response to this beautiful human being, but I was just an intern. I had no real exposure to the elderly and dying, except for my few visits to a memory care unit while in college. Seeing people in this state of life, frail with decaying bodies, was new to me. My senses were picking up on what to expect on a daily basis – urine bags, medicine bottles, putrid smells, nurses in scrubs, stretchers, and even a person covered by the thinnest of sheets whose life had just left us and whose body was being wheeled onto an elevator as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. I was quickly adapting to my environment and retraining my responses to such stimuli.

When first meeting Betty, I found myself enjoying conversation with her. Her voice was round and low with the charm of old-English vocabulary. She had gratitude for life and there was an element of richness to her speech. Her stories held meaning and worth to her. Betty was a musician her whole life. She sang and played piano. She conducted choirs and mastered the organ. She was even in the chorus of a Broadway show. Her life was enmeshed in this art form that was pleasant to the ears. Betty shared her cherished memories, and I wish I could remember more to share with you.

Sessions with Betty consisted of trying new interventions and touching the edge of my musical limits. Betty expressed her lament for her voice as it was not what it used to be. She could not support herself singing anymore, and so she closed her eyes and listened. She requested songs and shared her thoughts on the music. Each day, I walked into her room with the sound of a radio faintly projecting the classical station. When asking to turn off the radio, I always promised to turn it back on upon leaving her room.

Betty’s main goal in music therapy was pain management as she was most often in pain each day I arrived. There were some days when she would cancel a session due to her pain. But the times she let me visit were the days when she saw the value of music in relation to pain. One day in particular, I asked her what her pain level was from 0 to 10. She gave me a number and I responded with, “We’ll do some music together and I’ll ask you again what your pain is in a little while.” We went through the session, I played guitar and sang, I may have played a short song on the flute that day as well, and we discussed the music. At the end of the session, I asked her once again what her pain level was and she replied with, “Oh, I know how powerful music is. Music definitely helped me feel better today.” Besides her words, I observed her body, her breathing. I took notice that her body looked less tense and rigid after the music therapy session. I noticed that she appeared to be more comfortable in her bed because of the increased relaxation. Music assisted Betty in being distracted from the pain, in turn, increasing her comfort.

*Name has been changed to conceal identity