"Survivor"
We were discouraged. We'd lost our physical therapist to a family emergency, and our patients appeared unmotivated without his constant encouraging presence. Moods were low. Apathy was setting in. Oppressive heat overwhelmed our tarp covered courtyard hospital. Little six year old Dina, now in a walking cast from her open tib-fib fracture, refused to throw down her crutches and bear weight on it. Afraid. Lillian, 10 year old with an externally fixated femur fracture...crying with each episode of physical therapy, more and more fearful of the pain. 59 year old Leeann, lying stoically in bed 23 hours a day, not exercising her healing leg -- going backwards in progress. Our 76 year old below the knee amputee Genine, needing to learn how to walk again, having a difficult time even standing. 20 year old Amanda, with her paralyzed left arm and shattered left leg, lying sadly and disinterested in her cot, staring blankly into the distance.
We'd hit a stumbling block.
"We just need to get them MOVING..." one nurse said.
"Maybe we could get them to do PT together..." someone else said.
"It needs to be fun," someone else said.
And the idea spiraled. It started from the knowledge of the perhaps little known fact, outside of our hospital, that our Haitian patients have innate and amazing rhythm. And soul. Every night, they sing and clap and stomp together in song in impromptu mass that goes on sometimes for hours. Rocking the house. Rocking the neighborhood over the cinderblock walls, beyond the plastic tarp that is our roof.
And then there was the film "Madagascar," which has been shown here at night projected on a white cotton sheet against the wall. A Disney film in French, about shipwrecked zoo animals landing in the wilds of Madagascar with a bunch of lemmings who break out into fabulous song, singing a hip deep base beat, "You got to move it, move it. You've got to move it, move it. You've got to move it, move it...MOVE IT!!" Nothing more fabulous than to watch heads start to bob and hands start to sway to the rhythm as all of the patients start to sing along to the beat.
It became obvious that our patients have rhythm.
"Let's make them exercise to "Move it!"" recommended someone else. We all laughed. Then someone said, "No, really!"
No. Really.
Fantastic.
So, somehow it happened that we pulled out the electric sound system used to project movies on the wall at night. And plugged it into Dr. Jen's computer. A quick search of her ITunes files revealed a great assortment of deep beat, hip, rhythmic dance tunes. Including the song, "You all ready for this???!!" -- normally danced to at NFL halftime shows by cheerleaders in skimpy tops and pompoms.
We walked around to each patient and said, "In a minute, we're going to turn on the music, and you will do your PT."
Some patients were assigned a helper. Amputees were given the task -- stand and balance on your strong leg, and try to squat up and down. Bilateral casted patients -- stand up with your walker and balance, then sit back down. Young Dina, who refused to walk without her crutches...when the music starts, you will walk on your cast...with one crutch, not two. Young Lilian, who starts to cry at the idea of physical therapy -- you will stand with your crutches and walk around. Each patient assigned a task. They all looked at us curiously, a little dubiously. A little apathetically. A generalized look that shouted, disinterestedly, "Ok, whatever..."
But then, the magic happened.
This was no circus music. No elevator music. No polka or grandma's parlor music. This was raging urban hip hop, rhythm, with wicked base and deep musical soul. Yes, this music required apologies to the neighbors over the cinderblock walls for its volume. Yes, it perhaps shook a bit of dust off the walls. Yes, it was played like your car stereo when you drive speeding down the highway with the volume cranked, bass turned all the way up. Because on the count of three, when Renauld our interpretor turned DJ hit "PLAY", at two in the boring afternoon at our Haitian Field Hospital, he literally rocked the house.
"YOU ALL READY FOR THIS????" the song called, followed by the deep rhythmic beat of sound. Sound which suddenly forced patient's eyes open, pulled giant smiles from their mouths. Heads began to bob. Feet began to tap. Eyes afire with life as the sound system blared its rhythm across the courtyard. I helped our 76 year old amputee onto her one leg. Her shoulders started to sway in rhythm. A smile crinkled her aged, wrinkled cheeks. 10 year old Lillian, afraid to stand, threw down her crutches and danced with her hips swaying and arms undulating rhythmically, balancing crutchless for the first time. Dina marched to the beat on her casted foot. Amanda lay in her cot, brilliant smile, rhythmically rolling her shoulder to the beat. Song after song, shining smile after smile. Little Emmanuel, 3 year old boy with the crushed face, stood in the center of the courtyard and danced. Smiles and rhythm of joy. Old and the young. Nurses and patients and translators and visitors. Rocked the house.
Then the last song, I'm a Survivor, by Destiny's Child, began to play. I paused as I stood in the middle of the courtyard, slowly turning around to see the patients dancing and swaying and squatting and bending and smiling -- incidental physical therapy amidst the endorphin releasing joy of blaring song. Dancing like they were 16 again...perfect...whole...young...strong...in their bedroom secretly in front of their mirror. In a club. At a rock concert. A better day. A freer, more innocent day. Rebelliously blaring the music.... The deep, strong African American female voice pounded forcefully from the speaker in front of me. With each lyric, my eyes glanced off of each patient...their stories of survival...of pain...of endurance...of recovery...of spiritual resilience...flashed into my mind. Fabulous...
I'm a survivor...
I'm not gonna give up...
I'm not gon' stop...
I'm gonna work harder...
I'm a survivor...
I'm gonna make it..
I will survive...
Keep on survivin'....
I'm a survivor...
I'm not gonna give up...
I'm not gon' stop...
I'm gonna work harder...
I'm a survivor...
I'm gonna make it...
I will survive....
Keep on survivin'...
