Six years ago on Christmas Eve morning, my wife, Betty, got out of the shower and almost immediately passed out on the bathroom floor. It wasn’t the first time she had inexplicably lost consciousness for a few seconds. Extensive testing over a period of months however – up to and including wearing a portable cardiac monitor for two weeks – had failed to undercover a cause. This time, though, the fall resulted in a serious scalp wound and Betty was transported to Newton Wellesley Hospital.
There, she
lost consciousness again – this time in front of medical professionals. Over
the course of three hours, her heart would stop beating for up to thirteen
seconds. Against her wishes (“I’ll come back after Christmas! I promise!”), she
was admitted. A few hours later surgeons would thread the wiring for a
temporary external pacemaker through her arteries. However, no surgical team was
available for Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. On Boxing Day (December 26 for those
not familiar with the UK custom) a permanent pacemaker was installed. After one
more night, this time in recovery, she was released. The pacemaker has been doing its job ever
since.
I spent
most of those three days at Betty’s side and, because a good part of it was
while she slept or was under medication sedation, I had the opportunity to interact
with the hospital staff. I learned something that, in hindsight, ought to be
obvious: hospitals do everything possible to discharge patients for major
holidays. They do so both to allow for minimal staffing and to avoid undue
stress on both patients and patient families. My ‘thank you’ to the on-duty
staff on December 26 was a tray of full-size chocolate croissants from a
wonderful bakery in Wellesley.
But I also
tucked away an IOU. Unless you are under sedation, stays in a cardiac intensive
care unit are ones of unrelieved boredom for the patient which, in turn, raises
anxiety levels. Someday, I would like to do something to brighten the spirits
of those ICU patients who were too ill to be even temporarily discharged… or who
had no one to go home to.
17 of the Cardiotonics. That's Dr. Michel
in the white coat. (The accordion is also
a giveaway)
I got that opportunity this Christmas afternoon. Jill Schiff, a member of the Wednesday Walkers of which I am a part has, for more than a decade, been a part of the Cardiotonics, which come together once a year on Christmas Day to sing carols and holiday songs to patients and staff in the cardiac care building at MassGeneralBrigham’s Longwood campus.
The instigator of the group – which has been in existence for fifteen years, is Dr. Thomas Michel, a cardiovascular medicine specialist at the hospital. In addition, Michel is a professor of medicine (Biochemistry) at Harvard Medical School and the associate director of the Harvard/MIT MD-PhD Program. He is also an accomplished accordion player; his instrument’s name is Rosie.
Roughly 20 of us – the size of the group would change as members were called away to medical duties – assembled at 2 p.m. As near as I can tell, I was one of only two participants who were not active or retired medical professionals; and one of only six who were there for the first time. In addition to the accordion, we were joined by a violinist who was not only competent on his chosen instrument, but able to play Christmas carols by ear, including making key changes on the fly when dictated by Dr. Michel.
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| In a patient's room. It's well-nigh impossible to capture twenty carolers in one photo. That's Dr. Michel with the accordion. |
Most of the group being old hands, we practiced for about two minutes, using Dona Nobis Pacem as a guide to which of us were sopranos, altos, tenors, basses… and who should just hum along. There was also distributed a 20-page book of traditional and modern holiday songs.
From there, we went in search of an audience. Dr, Michel had seen most of the patients on the floors we visited as part of his rounds within the last 24 hours. He knew which patients were receptive, but always asked if they would like to hear a song and, if so, what would be their choice. We would immediately launch into the one preferred by the patient. Surprising few of the patients had visitors when we were there.
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| One of patients requested 'Jingle Bell Rock'. His wife, apparently moved by the rendition, got up and did some impromptu dancing. |
We did
this for three hours. The patient rooms – all singles – in the Shapiro Building
are spacious, and they needed to be to accommodate all the singers and
instruments. We were not especially rough the beginning but, after the first
half-dozen rooms, we had cohered into a first-class group of carolers, reeling
off multiple verses of ‘Joy to the World’, ‘Hark the Herald Angels Sing’
and ‘Frosty the Snowman’. I wisely hummed along to Ma’oz Tzur
(Rock of Ages), a traditional Hanukkah song (the Cardiotonics membership included
Christians, Jews, and Muslims).
If there were
two moments that will remain in memory for a very long time, they came toward
the end of our tour. One occurred when the spouse of a patient teared up as we finished
‘O Little Town of Bethlehem’. “You can’t imagine what this means to both
of us,” she said to the group. “Your being here gives me hope.” Those tears
told me hers were not idle words.
The second
came at the very end, after we had sung our last carol. Dr, Michel recognized a
staff member on duty, sitting at the nurse’s station. “I remember you,” he said
to her. “You sang ‘Oh, Holy Night’ in French. Would you be willing to do
it again?”
She would,
and she did, to a violin and accordion accompaniment. It was hauntingly beautiful.
At 5 p.m.,
we prepared to go out separate ways, Dr. Michel asked us to say our names one
more time and opine as to whether we would be back next year. I think my exact
words were, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
