Paul was in his mid-40’s- living in a rehabilitation center after a motorcycle accident five years ago rendered him partially paralyzed and unable to live alone.
The nurses that first day cautioned my co-music therapist and me that he was “in a mood,” and very combative.
We entered, and Paul immediately complained about not being allowed to leave the premises when he wanted to. He was frustrated at his loss of control; having to ask for assistance in almost every aspect of his life often wore thin, and this was evident on that day.
We started by discussing the role music plays in his life. He told us how he used to be in a band and play the drums. Performing as a young man had been a big part of his identity and relaxation, but playing drums was no longer an option due to his residual paralysis. He mentioned his favorite songs, so for the next hour, I played guitar and sang, with Paul singing along. He appeared to have difficulty following the flow of the music, sometimes starting again at the beginning or repeating the same words several times in a row. His mood seemed to even out after a couple of songs, and evidence of frustration at his situation all but disappeared as he choose and discussed each song during that session.
In the following weeks, Paul mentioned regularly his sadness in losing his identity as a performing musician. Along with my co-music therapist, Paul and I decided to plan a concert at Paul’s rehabilitation facility. One of Paul’s nursing aids played drums, and Paul was pleased that the aid agreed to play in Paul’s place while Paul would take up a new role as lead singer.
Over the next six weeks, we worked on learning the songs Paul selected for his concert- for it was always “Paul’s Concert.” During rehearsals, crowded into Paul’s tiny room, the four of us would jam while Paul’s roommate listened and applauded after each song. Paul would sometimes get mixed up in the set list, so I made up a booklet for the entire band to keep everyone on the same track without singling Paul out. As the time grew near, we ran through all of the songs each time we visited.
Paul’s excitement grew until the day of the performance when he seemed to be walking on air.
My co-therapist and I arrived about 90 minutes before the performance to set up the gear. Paul joined us, directing from his wheelchair where everyone should stand, and assisting with the sound check. The audience began to arrive; among the residents were some of Paul’s old friends and band mates coming to support him.
The concert went off well- Paul only got mixed up once, but was easily re-directed by the music volunteer who was singing back up to Paul’s lead. The audience joined in singing and clapping, obviously enjoying the show. After the concert, one of Paul’s old friends drew me aside and said,
“This is the Paul I used to know. I haven’t seen him this alive in years! Working toward this concert has been all he’s talked about for the last few months.”
Paul experienced some depression in the days following the big concert. It’s easy to feel down in the dumps after the completion of a long anticipated event. This was alleviated by a video release party that we scheduled for two weeks later. We brought cupcakes and soda for that visit, and we watched the video of the concert , complete with a behind-the scenes-segment featuring interviews with Paul’s friends, family, and facility caretakers. Paul told us he wanted to plan another performance, and even began coming up with ideas for a set list.
Through this concert planning, and performance, Paul had found new meaning and a way to take back control over his life.
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