ABSTRACT
I arrived at Lighthouse the following week to find a note waiting at reception asking me to phone the Middlesex Hospital in London. The attending nurse told me that Francis had been admitted the previous evening for observation and that his condition was critical yet stable. He had left a message saying that he would like to see me later that day if at all possible. When I arrived that evening after my sessions were over at Lighthouse, he was sitting up in bed, his penetrating eyes conveying urgency and life. He explained that he had suddenly lost the use of his legs and had been informed by the consultant that morning that it was unlikely he would regain their use. Francis spoke with a sense of detachment, as if his symptoms belonged to someone else. After my initial response of sympathy, which I knew he would not want to be drawn out, we sat in silence with our respective thoughts. We both knew the hidden question behind our conversation was: ‘What is going to happen to our music therapy relationship?’ He immediately broached the subject, saying clearly and dispassionately that it would now be impossible for him to attend Lighthouse for sessions and to continue our music therapy relationship in the form it had taken until now.
