Sing a Song for Me

In spite of all the negative experiences this disease affords, every once in a while, there's still a ray of sunshine.

My husband was taking a nap on his bed when I arrived today, which isn't all that unusual. I checked his closet for misplaced or missing items, then sat by him as he slept peacefully. When he awoke, I greeted him with my usual smile and kiss(es). He seemed in no hurry to get up, so I prattled away about this and that, sang a few tunes, and was checking more song lyrics online when who should appear? The music therapist! Perfect timing.

I wish you could have seen how my husband responded to the singing and guitar strumming today. It no doubt would have warmed your heart as it did mine, and you might even have been a bit teary-eyed, too.

He was all smiles and even "sang along" with a "word" and even an understandable word here and there, moving his shoulders, occasionally closing his eyes tightly and pursing his lips as he used to do when "feeling" a tune, obviously and undeniably enjoying what can only be described as a joyous, lighthearted, captivating experience for him. It was uplifting and gratifying for me (and for the therapist), as well.

I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate this music therapist. Not only is he a talented musician and vocalist, but he goes out of his way to learn the songs that will be pleasing to a man of my husband's generation and situation.

I've said this before, and it certainly appears to be true time and again so far:  Music is transcendent. It's magic. It's miraculous. It reaches back to long-forgotten times and places and emotions, and -- at least for a moment -- fires up the imagination to connect with the spirit. If you have a loved one in hospice care, be sure to request music therapy. In a world where I don't imagine there are very many pleasures remaining, this one is not to be missed.

I didn't manage to capture the beatific smiles and engaging eye contact,
but believe me when I tell you he was having a good time!

Another Trip to the ER

It was a fine Monday afternoon. I was in my ruby red car ("Petunia"), on the highway, on my way to see my beloved, listening with satisfaction to the audio version of Pride and Prejudice, when my dash display indicated an incoming call from a number I didn't recognize. Because the hospice folks call from their cell phones, I do my best to answer now, just in case. I always hope it's a spam call, though, because calls from hospice or the facility always throw me into panic mode. There has simply been so much stress, so many not-so-good-news calls, and so many fight-or-flight reactions that my heart automatically skips a beat. Breathe in. Breathe out slowly. Breathe in. Breathe out slowly. Stay calm.

I pressed the answer button on my steering wheel. It was the facility, and the voice of the medical technician came through the speakers. My husband had suffered a major seizure as he was walking; hit his head while falling, unconscious, to the floor; and been unresponsive long enough to cause alarm before "coming to." Hospice had been called, and the hospice doctor deemed it best to send my husband to the emergency room for a CT scan to rule out a brain bleed. If so, it would be an important thing to know.

Somehow, I managed to maintain my composure behind the wheel, arriving at the facility just as his  ambulance was leaving. I followed, and within minutes he'd been transferred to the emergency room, where I tried to keep him calm and comfortable while we waited. His blood pressure, heart rate, pulse, oxygenation, and temperature were all normal.  I was happy that it wasn't necessary to draw blood, do an IV, or try to get a urine sample. Sticking him with needles would have caused him such distress, and he was trying to pull off the monitoring gadgets that were fastened to him as it was.

Ultimately, the CT scan results were also okay, though that experience was good for a chuckle:  "Ma'am, we need your husband to lay flat on his back and keep his head very still for this," said the technician. My response? "Good luck with that!" But they somehow managed, my husband was discharged and returned to the facility, and that was that.

I stayed with him for several hours, watching over him so he wouldn't be alone. Just in case. It wasn't exactly the kind of visit I had hoped to have with him, but all's well that ends well.

By the way, in case you're wondering about his weight, it had to be checked twice again this month. When I asked if he'd been weighed and his chart was checked, the weight shown seemed too high. I asked that he be weighed again, and he seems to weigh the same as last month. But who knows? It would be fantastic to have confidence in that number.