Portal de Periódicos da CAPES

A Daily Dose of Music

2023; Elsevier BV; Volume: 23; Issue: 7 Linguagem: Inglês

10.1016/j.acap.2023.05.005

1876-2867

Christine Shrock,

Music Therapy and Health

It was a quiet summer day near the end of my intern year. The sunlight streamed in through the windows as I stood in my living room, violin in hand, laptop propped up on a pile of books, and binders of sheet music spread across my couch. I logged into Zoom and waited with nervous excitement until the masked face of a nurse and her elderly patient appeared on screen. Introducing myself as a pediatric neurology resident and violinist, I offered a selection of musical genres and songs. The patient’s face brightened and she asked for “Amazing Grace.” As I played, she closed her eyes, her wrinkles softening into a gentle smile. Later, with a twinkle in her eye, she requested her favorite jazz song by Nat King Cole, reminiscing about how she danced to this song long before I was born. When I finished, she asked if I would play for her again the next day. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’d be busy working. Then the nurse brought the Zoom tablet to another room, where a patient around my age told me that this concert was the first thing she had looked forward to in weeks. I offered her Elgar’s “Salut D′amour”, explaining that it was a love song. “How did you know I needed exactly this?” she asked, sharing how she had been missing her boyfriend, who could not visit because of COVID-19 restrictions. She FaceTimed him to listen as I played, and I felt my music transcend the miles separating each of us to reunite the couple in spirit. Before the COVID-19 pandemic, I was part of a chamber music group with four friends who were also medical professionals. We met regularly, sometimes even after overnight shifts in the hospital, to learn new pieces, rehearse, and perform. On those days, once we left the hospital, we would transform from healthcare workers to musicians, and the sounds of heart beats and deep breaths through our stethoscopes would be replaced by Dvorak’s intricate rhythms and soaring harmonies resonating from our instruments. It was a joy to play together. Then the pandemic hit. As social distancing orders went into effect, my chamber group, like other music ensembles, was forced to take an involuntary hiatus. Suddenly, our musical reprieve was gone at a time when we needed it the most. Overwhelmed, sad, and scared, I watched as emails flooded my inbox with rising death tolls, alerts of more floors being converted to intensive care units as patient numbers exceeded hospital capacity, and requests, then notifications, of redeployment. I held back tears, my feelings of helplessness juxtaposed with gratitude at the community support for “healthcare heroes.” As Spring 2020 came around, I learned of a new initiative being launched at the Boston Hope Medical Center, a field hospital that had been opened in the convention center to care for subacute and unhoused patients recovering from COVID-19. The Boston Hope Music and Wellness Program was designed to infuse music into the healing process. Over a hundred musicians, many of whom were also healthcare workers, recorded performances with personalized introductions, which were played three times daily for the patients. The performances were also shared online, where patients could watch them at any time on donated tablets. Almost immediately, patients began walking and dancing to the music together, and a powerful connection was forged, both among those within the walls of the field hospital and virtually with the outside world. Doctors, nurses, and staff also enjoyed these daily doses of music, finding moments of peace and solace amid the enormous weight of their work. This music initiative provided an impetus for my chamber group to reunite, virtually this time, to record music together via an online platform and to share it with patients. We enthusiastically recorded songs, clumsily at first, learning to layer our individual parts one by one into a coherent whole. It felt strange recording alone and imagining the missing parts. We would send around the recordings, round robin style, and wait in eager anticipation until the last of the five parts had been filled in, like the final piece of a puzzle. It was unlike any performance we had given in person, and yet, with introductions and messages of hope included before each piece, we felt that we were communicating deeply with our audience. Moreover, our foray into this new musical landscape gave me a renewed sense of purpose. As a pediatric intern at the time, I shared the guilt that many pediatricians felt, watching our adult medicine colleagues bear the brunt of the pandemic and witnessing the enormous strain on adult emergency departments and intensive care units while our pediatric wards remained relatively spared. Being part of the Boston Hope Music initiative not only allowed me the opportunity to play music for others again, but also it provided an avenue to care for some of the most vulnerable people affected by COVID-19 in a unique and innovative way. Although the field hospital in the convention center was decommissioned when the first wave of COVID-19 cases declined in the summer of 2020, its example sparked a wider effort to bring virtual live music to patients. Initiatives such as Virtual Bedside Concerts were created, partnering with local hospitals and nursing homes to provide music as a source of comfort and healing. Each Virtual Bedside Concerts performance was unique, and intentionally so, because it involved a personalized live concert and accompanying conversation with a patient. We would start by getting to know the patients and asking what types of music they enjoyed most. Often these conversations led patients to share stories and memories, bringing them back to happier times and giving us a glimpse into their lives outside the hospital room. The individualized musical programs that we then crafted for them unlocked deeper emotions that words sometimes couldn’t express. It was humbling to witness how the music, coupled with a conversation, lifted even the lowest spirits. Perhaps equally poignant and more striking, was the ripple effect that occurred as the music touched healthcare providers as well, offering a brief reflective moment during their busy shifts, and even the performers themselves as they played from their hearts. I came to appreciate what a meaningful and therapeutic experience these music performances created for patients fighting COVID-19 alone, and also how much we, the providers suffering from the aftershocks, needed the music too. The following winter, I played another virtual concert from my living room, this time with snow falling outside the window. This concert was for veterans at a long-term care facility that had suffered one of the deadliest outbreaks of COVID-19. These veterans were no strangers to trauma, having served in the major wars of the last century, and the tremendous additional losses they faced from the pandemic were heartbreaking. For them, I played Elvis’s “Can’t Help Falling in Love,” a familiar song from their youth. As my bow glided across the string and drew out the poignant harmonies, I studied my audience within the Zoom boxes on my computer screen. One gentleman hobbled over to a pile of music books, rummaging through them until he finally found the lyrics and began singing along. Another group of people started dancing, and still others wiped away tears. I smiled, my own eyes watering as I watched this beautiful scene unfold. As we mark three years since the pandemic began, I think of the scars of loss and isolation that still run deep, and the ways in which we have adapted to a new way of life. My hope is that we will remember the impact that live music had in alleviating loneliness, fear, and suffering among patients and healthcare workers during the most desperate times of the pandemic, and that we will continue harnessing the healing power of personalized bedside concerts to provide needed comfort, social and emotional connection, hope, and a musical remedy that transcends time and space. None. I would like to thank my chamber group (the Longwood Chamber Players), the Boston Hope Music team, the Virtual Bedside Concerts team, and providers and staff at partnering hospitals for making all this possible. I would also like to thank my family and Dr. Bob Vinci for encouraging me to share my story and for their editorial feedback, which was not compensated.