The Ethical Accordion
I know it’s going to be a good day when I wake up to Mozart’s “Marriage of Figaro” in my head.
Growing up, I played classical works on the accordion, the instrument my father suggested, because, as he said, “We want you to be popular.”
That’s how it was in my father’s WWII platoon, he told me: the guy with the accordion was always the most beloved. As a little girl, I was innocent of the nerdy social connotations that came with being an accordionist; I was simply happy to take lessons.
Over the next 11 years, my life centered around the accordion. I entered state-, regional-, and national-level solo and duet competitions. I played in all-accordion classical orchestras and Broadway-style show bands. To raise money for our travel, my bandmates and I played in front of supermarkets, laundromats, and at ethnic festivals. After winning a high school state championship, I declared music for my college major. Despite their initial enthusiasm for the instrument, my parents didn’t share my vision. “We don’t want you to struggle like we did,” they told me. “You should be a nurse.” Being an only child, I acquiesced and started nursing school, tucking my accordion away in a closet where it sat for the next 30 years.
Even though physically separated from the instrument, everything about playing it followed me to nursing school, and made me a better nurse. The accordion instilled discipline, creativity, listening, sacrifice, autonomy, confidence. My childhood musical repertoire made me culturally sensitive as I cared for my patients. Being part of an orchestra taught me teamwork, and that you don’t get a trophy just for showing up. Attending physicians often tell me I have a memory like an elephant, a talent I credit to years of memorizing up to 40 pages of music for a competition.
But most importantly, the accordion taught me ethics. For a brief time in my adult life, I took piano lessons, but found the distance between the keyboard and my body made me feel detached. On the piano, I never captured the same expression and emotion that I could with my accordion, which requires the strength of your whole body to operate its bellows and play notes with both hands. Holding an accordion is akin to cradling a child. You feel the vibration throughout your body. The center of the instrument is at the level of the heart, making it the most ethical instrument. It’s how I practice nursing: from my heart center.
Over the past few years, chance made me take the accordion out of the closet. My late mother had dementia and lived near me in assisted living. During the Christmas holidays, mother unexpectedly told the activities director, “Have Janice play Christmas carols for us on her accordion. Just make sure the nuns will let her out of school for a couple of hours!” (By this point, mother thought I was 14 again). Worried I’d be rusty, I agonized about picking up my accordion again. But when I did, to my surprise, I still played well. I also found a missing piece of myself had returned. My vibrating heart was back! Although in retrospect, I realize the accordion was with me all along: through my nursing.
DNP student Janice K. Lavoie, MSN, AGPCNP-BC, AGACNP-BC (CERTI-ACNP ’23) is a nurse practitioner with Sentara Northern Virginia Medical Center in Woodbridge, Va.
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