The Last Concert Outstanding Story of Care
James knew instantly what he could do for Wayne and his family.
The three things that were most important to Wayne Pell were his God, his family and music, and that truth was never more evident than in the ebb of his life. He and his brothers picked and sang Southern Gospel classics for decades, forging a pathway that took them all the way to famed Carnegie Hall, but age and illness took their toll in later years, and the Wayne that everyone remembered faded into the shadows. Wayne was very sick and had become confused in the last few months. Without understanding what he was doing, he gave away his entire life savings, leaving his wife, Elaine, with just $6 in the bank when he was hospitalized on Floyd Medical Center’s fourth floor. Wayne had been a Floyd patient last summer, on the sixth floor. It was then that his wife first shared their story with his nurses. When nurse Jamie Gault learned that there was no one and no equipment to mow the family’s grass, Jamie and his son took on the job, a task they continued all last summer, even after Wayne was discharged. The Pells were grateful. This time, his condition had deteriorated. Wayne was critically ill. It was clear to his caregivers that he might not return home again. Nurse James Keeton, Clinical Manager for Medical Pulmonary Nursing, talked with Wayne’s family. They told him about their difficult year, Wayne’s dedication to music and his extensive career. They mourned that in recent days, he had become unresponsive. Moved by their story, James racked his brain for an idea, something special he and the Medical Pulmonary nurses could do for this family. Destiny intervened. Pianist Inspires an Idea On his way to a meeting, James passed through the Floyd Medical Center lobby where Plant Facilities employee David Ingle was playing hymns on the piano. David often goes to the baby grand on his breaks or at lunch, sending soothing strains of hymns across the hallways and waiting rooms on the second floor. If music can be healing, then David’s deft touch on the keyboard certainly earn him the title of healer.
James asked David if he would be available the next day, and, when he learned he would be, asked if he could bring a patient down to hear him play. David, of course, agreed. The next day, James gathered portable privacy screens from the Emergency Care Center and created a temporary private space around the baby grand piano, a tiny concert hall just large enough for a hospital bed, the piano, Wayne, a few family members, his nurses and David. James and nurse Salisa Bell took Wayne in his hospital bed to the second floor, the piano in view. David prepared a 20-minute concert that included Wayne’s favorites, Floyd Kramer’s Last Date and the red backed Baptist hymnal classic, I’ll Fly Away. Music Lifts the Fog With his family stroking his arms, Wayne listened, and gradually, the fog of disease and illness lifted. He moved his toes and attempted to keep the beat by clapping along. He made an effort to sing the old songs he remembered. For a short period of time, Elaine had her husband back. It was, she said, 20 of the most special minutes of her life. This special concert had resonated on a level so deep that it pulled Wayne into consciousness, the melodies reminding him of playdates and memories when he had strummed his guitar and harmonized with his brothers.
Wayne passed away the next morning.
A few weeks after Wayne’s funeral, Elaine took the time to send a card to James, his staff and David, expressing her gratefulness for Wayne’s farewell concert. “For someone like James to show so much compassion for a stranger showed me how great God is.”
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