When I first became a member of the Health Unlocked community, I had intended to post accounts of my visits to University College London Hospital where I work as a Volunteer. My role is Ward Musician, and to begin with, I would carry a portable keyboard onto a ward and play at patients’ bedsides. But since the onset of Covid 19, I use a Bluetooth speaker and play patients requests from my phone using the Spotify app.
However, I cannot recall ever posting anything on the site. So today is a first! And it’s a long one!
This account is of last Monday’s visit. Ordinarily, I pair up with Lisa, a former nurse, and together we go around two wards. Our uniform consists of a pink T-shirt, a customised lanyard and Id badge and a bright, lemon-yellow enamel tag, displaying your name in thick black text and held by a powerful magnet underneath one’s shirt. .
Lucy and I were asked to escort a young Indian man, newly recruited, allowing him to see how we approach, and speak with patients, although his initial role would be as a Rapid Response Volunteer, involving paper rounds, buying food at patients requests and other ferrying jobs.
The young Indian man was wearing the newly issued T-shirt, – a florid kind of fluorescent pink, which I’ll call fuchsia. The older T-shirts are a dusty pink colour which Lucy was wearing but I’d forgotten mine but was allowed to continue wearing my bright salmon pink Ted Baker T-shirt! The three of us would not have been out a place in a strawberry and custard trifle!
Off we went to the main hospital building, 16 floors in all and 6 high-speed lifts. As most of the patients I see are elderly, hard of hearing or LIVING with dementia, it is vital to arrest their attention quickly. I have been trained to say, “living with dementia” instead of saying “suffering from dementia”. I gave loads of tips to the young Indian, e.g., always use the patients first name to arrest their attention. I ask patients about their previous jobs and their hobbies which urges them to talk about something they have enjoyed, and which uplifts them – increasing general positivity in the ward. I have seen new volunteers eager to get a “connection” with elderly patients, looking to impress, but I always advocate a slow approach – there is no need to rush at all. It’s often sufficient for a patient to see that you are simply with them, and for them; you don’t always need words to show your support. Gestures and good eye to eye contact are often sufficient to show support.
Since we are often within two metres of a patient, we must wear a mask AND a visor. The first time I wore the visor, was when visiting recommenced in July of last year, my vision was a little misty and it was only a week later that the receptionist told me to remove a thin film cover on each side of the visor!
Whenever I meet a patient with the name of Richard, I always recall a conversation with the first Richard I ever met on the ward. It went like this: “Hi Richard, how you doing?” He replied, “People that call me Richard disapprove of me”. I answered, “Is that right Dick?”
Yesterday was a great visit. Many of the staff know me and see the results of my playing music to patients. Pre Covid, I was allowed to carry a portable keyboard into the ward and set up at the bedside to play song tunes to a patient. That worked well, though my repertoire was not that great. However, I had a trump card, and that was a Bluetooth speaker and the Spotify app, enabling me to play almost any musical request back to a patient. I can remember playing sea-shore music to an elderly man until he told me didn’t like seagulls so that I had to dim the volume ha ha. Another time I deliberately chose to play “You’re a Pink Toothbrush, I’m a Blue Toothbrush” to a male patient who looked like Max Bygraves, the entertainer who recorded that song. I remember the patient was greatly amused and joined in with the whistling part following the lyric “every time I hear you whistle” (whistle) it makes my nylon bristle”!
Yes, Monday’s visit was good. It is very helpful when staff and patients can see and say your name from the badge being worn. It makes for a friendly environment and a strong sense of teamwork. The Indian lad was very observant but a little shy. He told me his brother was already in the country and had been studying medicine for some years, and this was the route he wanted to take. At one point on our rounds, I could see my colleague Lisa (not her real name) bend down so that she could talk to a seated patient at eye level. I remarked on this to Mahesh, (the Indian lad, and not his real name) that Lisa’s response here was perfect, maintaining eye contact at the patient’s level. But it was a few minutes later that I noticed Mahesh was wearing a black long-sleeved woollen shirt underneath his T-shirt, and hospital protocol demands that arms should be bare from the elbow down. I gestured to him that I’d like a private word. I pointed this out to him, but he said he found it cold, and that he’d only been in the country a matter of weeks. I was firm and said we all need to follow hospital rules and that I could ask him to return to the office. But I compromised, asking him if he would roll his sleeves up a little to reveal his wrists. Thankfully he did so.
There were some real moments of joy yesterday. The first was with a patient who I’ll call Dennis. He was seated in a chair beside his bed, looking rather pensive and solitary, slightly hunched up and peering into space. Spontaneously I switched into an entertainment mode, pointed to him, and began singing “It’s a Lovely Day Today”, an Irving Berlin song from the musical Call Me Madam. It’s a sprightly, happy little number. Perry Como among others has recorded it. Dennis looked at me and smiled and asked, “Have I met you before?” I answered, “Brixton Prison”. But I couldn’t stop laughing at how outrageous this comment was! Thankfully Dennis laughed too. Then Lucy, who was with me, along with Mahesh, asked him if he liked music. “Very much”, he answered. Lucy said, “What would you like?” He answered, “It’s a Lovely Day Today”. We all laughed. I chose the Perry Como recording and played it through the Bluetooth speaker, having first located it on Spotify. Dennis looked straight into my eyes as I mimed the song in front of him, making little impromptu dance moves. Another patient, dressed ready to go home, came and joined in with the singing. Anyone could see that Dennis was having a great time, occasionally prompted by me to sing a line or two, because I could see his lips remembering certain lyrics. These are clearly the best times when music unlocks memories, and a spark comes back into the patients’ eyes.
The final four patients we met were all ladies, all situated in one bay. It was good to see Mahesh squat down to talk to one of the four who was sitting on her bed, and I noticed too that he had rolled up his sleeves, right up to his elbows. Now that’s what I call fast learning! I was very pleased with him. The same four ladies I’d the previous Wednesday, though one of them had been asleep. Yesterday she was awake, bright-eyed and alert at 90 years of age. I guessed she was from Ireland, but she said she was Glaswegian, so I slapped myself on the wrist in mock punishment. She was fascinated by my Pop-Art design bag, almost graffiti-like. She told me she had worked in the same Glasgow pub for 40 years. I was thinking of playing a Scottish reel or two, but she said she liked classical music. Now that did surprise me, but we often make bad assumptions about people. I chose to play Dolly Op 56:1 by Faure and then Liebestraum No. 3 by Frank Liszt. She was close to tears, telling me how lovely it sounded. My eyes were wet too.
One of the remaining three patients on that bay said she would like anything from a musical. I chose My Fair Lady and picked “Wouldn’t it be Lovely”. So, the song began, “All I want is a room somewhere”, and guess what, two of the three ladies, one lying in bed and the other sitting opposite her, began singing with the music, bang in tune except on the higher notes. And to top it all, the male patient who had earlier joined Dennis to sing “It’s a lovely day today” came by and stopped to join in the singing. It was simply lovely. There was spontaneous clapping all around, from the patient and a cluster of nurses who had been drawn to the singing. It was just magical and heart-warming and an authentic experience of musical theatre! I said to Lucy and Mahesh, “let’s go out on a high”. And so we did. Our presence and the introduction of music had transformed the bay, and we too had been transformed by the patients’ reactions. The world was suddenly a better place!
