A musical remedy that scores high

his may be the only room in the world where a musician hopes to play to no one. But here, in the playroom at Children's Hospital & Regional Medical Center in Seattle, there will always be an audience. One recent morning, two kids sat tethered to intravenous drips. A boy whose shaved head revealed a crescent-shaped cut dug through a bin of Legos.

Matt Messina, 30, passed the shelves of books and videos, took a seat at the piano and creaked open the lid. "We just got it tuned!" playroom coordinator Maria Andrews called across the room. Messina cracked his fingers, then ran them over the keys: "Wow!" Heads turned. A father put down his book and smiled. In a place filled with the sounds of beeping monitors, crackling pages and the monotonous drone of too many televisions, Messina's piano was like fresh water washing away something heavy and sad and tiresome.

"It's absolutely wonderful to have Matt here," Andrews said. "It's such a gift to have music. ... Tensions can be pretty high in a hospital." What Messina tries to tell them all, though, is that he is grateful to be here, providing a soundtrack to life.

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