A Music Therapist Shares Stories of Patients with Cancer

n/a.

approval, I recorded it and made copies for each member of her family along with copies of the lyrics. Mary died soon after, and I received a call from her priest asking if I would sing the song at her funeral. The family, deeply touched by Mary's song, had given the recording to her priest. His eulogy was an in-depth exploration of Mary's song. He believed the song was her attempt to heal her relationships with her family. It was not a neat and tidy ending to family reconciliation, but it meant the world to Mary's family. It was all they had, and it was enough.
In end of life care, music therapists often help patients access important memories and prior coping skills. I remember an elderly woman from Ukraine named Aneta who spoke limited English, who, when asked to recall songs from her country, began to sing a lullaby in her native tongue that her mother sang to her as a child. As I began to sing with her, her eyes grew wide in surprise. "You know this?" I witnessed the peace that came over her face, a dying woman, far from her home country with no living relatives, able to recall the comfort of her mother singing to her. Research tells us that music connects us to memories, to solace, to home [2].
Jarod's story is very different. By contrast, he was only 27 when he died of sarcoma. I asked Jarod to tell me about a time when he felt truly alive and connected to what mattered most to him. He told me about being in the woods playing drums with a group of his closest friends. He told me how close he felt to nature, his friends, and to his deepest self in that drum circle. When asked about doing it again, he looked around the sterile hospital room and rolled his eyes. I assured him that music lives everywhere, even in hospital rooms. In order to create an opportunity for Jarod to express himself, we were able to facilitate a drum circle, a commonly used music therapy intervention, with some of his friends, family, and his favorite nurses and doctors in his hospital room the week before he died. Even though he was weak and frail by that time, he revealed more vitality in that drum circle than we had seen in days. With Jarod's permission, we recorded the event as a legacy for his girlfriend and daughters. A few days later, Jarod was scheduled to transfer to a hospice facility close to his home. I received an urgent call from the nurse manager that Jarod wanted to speak with me. I quickly made my way to his hospital unit, and there, waiting by the elevator, were Jarod and his girlfriend and the ambulance team. "We couldn't leave without saying goodbye", Jarod said as he extended his hand. "Thank you for what you did for me. I am going to be OK, one day at a time".
Finally, I remember so fondly a 58 year-old woman named Donna. She had metastatic breast cancer, and the first time I met her, I was struck by her poise, dignity and fortitude in facing death. She possessed a strong Christian faith, and did not worry for herself. She crumpled, though, when she spoke of her daughter Crystal. She didn't want to cause Crystal any pain by leaving her, for they were as close as best friends. When I suggested we write a song that would leave Crystal a legacy of her mother's love, Donna's face brightened. Donna shared stories, memories, impressions, and I took notes. Later, in my office, I arranged her words into verse, and inserted them into the melody of Donna's favorite song. The next day when I sang it to her, she made some important corrections to the lyrics, and then agreed to sing it herself, even though she did not consider herself a singer. I recorded her right there in her hospital room, and gave her the CD and digital file that same day. Crystal was thrilled with her song. Donna later told me that writing the song-writing intervention helped her come to a peace of mind about dying. "Writing and singing that song helped me more than anything else", for in sharing her song, she expressed what mattered to her the most.
All of our patients who live and die with cancer have unique stories to share. They come to our hospital with a lifetime of experiences and relationships and coping skills. I treasure the times I have been able to help my patients manage pain, cope with grief and loss, improve family communication, find peace of mind through accessing comforting memories, express themselves, and leave a legacy to loved ones. Through the power of the therapeutic relationship and selected evidenced-based music therapy interventions, I have been privileged to bear witness as my patients share their stories.

Conflicts of Interest:
The author declares no conflict of interest.