Phoebe was four and was slowly gaining her strength back after a bone marrow transplant several months earlier. I’d gotten to know her before her transplant as an occasional resident of the pediatric cancer floor when I made my rounds for music therapy. I arrived at her door at the same time as the occupational therapist.
We spoke briefly in the hall and decided we would work together today to accomplish the OT’s goal: getting Phoebe to walk unassisted.
The OT asked me to encourage Phoebe to walk to the playroom to the left of Phoebe’s room while the PT walked behind in order to catch any falls. When I entered, Phoebe was resisting taking liquid medicine. I started strumming the guitar and singing. “If all of the raindrops were lemon drops and gum drops, oh what a world it would be. I’d walk around with my mouth open wide…” On cue, Phoebe opened her mouth wide and sang “Ah-ah-ah-ah…” The nurse took full advantage of the opening and dispersed the medication with no more fussing on Phoebe’s part.
I asked Phoebe if she’d like to lead a parade and offered her the drum mallet. I held the colorful lollipop drum just out of her reach to encourage her to take a step.
To my surprise, she stood right up, grabbed the drum and marched towards the door, beating the drum.
I scrambled to catch up, pulling my guitar strap over my head. “Phoebe’s going on parade today,” I sang. “Phoebe’s going on parade today, Phoebe’s going on parade, look at Phoebe go!” It was a simple song with a simple melody in march time. Phoebe turned to the right outside of her door – not towards the playroom- but on down the hall towards the nurses’ station. Behind her followed her parade: the OT doing a strange squatting walk behind Phoebe with her arms ready to steady any wavering, me with my guitar, singing a silly made-up song about Phoebe’s parade, Phoebe’s mom with her iPhone camera, Phoebe’s nurse waving to the other patients in their rooms. Phoebe rounded the corner in front of the nurses’ station. They looked up, surprised to see such energy coming down the hall. They waved and called out to Phoebe as she banged her drum proudly.
Phoebe’s parade made two rounds of the floor before it wound to a stop.
Only once did it pause so that Phoebe could sit on the OT’s leg and catch her breath.
After the session, the OT shared her excitement with me. She had hoped Phoebe would walk only to the room next door – Phoebe had lapped the floor twice. The OT hoped that Phoebe would walk unassisted – Phoebe not only walked unassisted, but held and hit a drum using her upper body the entire time – that was next week’s goal, the OT told me.
Music therapy made a few friends in the hospital that day – providing motivation for a little girl who was needing something special to help her recover. The other kids enjoyed watching the parade from their rooms (one child asked me later if he could lead a parade, too); Phoebe had her moment in the spotlight, the OT was able to focus on Phoebe and help her balance as needed, and the entire staff of that floor had another reason to cheer Phoebe on. Who doesn’t love a parade?
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