Prescribing art 

We talk often in medical school about caring for patients as whole people, but when clerkships began, I felt stuck. Where—among EHR orders, speed rounding, and endless clicking—was this notion of holistic care?

There are, it seems, two types of caretaking. The first includes medications, imaging, and procedures, which dominate our time both in school and on the wards. Then we have the second that includes emotional, physical, and functional support for patients during and after our “type one” interventions.  

For me, “type two” caretaking feels like the right context for integrating art and medicine. I grew up doing ballet and during high school was introduced to teaching dance for people with Parkinson’s. In these dance classes, I watched participants with significant tremors, stooped posture, and shuffling gait move with fluidity and grace. Over a few months, I saw other changes, too. People smiled more, were excited to greet friends, and improvised with confidence. Sometimes we sang while we danced, and soft voices slowly got louder and more joyful.  

Dance, I realized, takes on special meaning in the context of illness. When you get sick, your body may change. With some injuries and diagnoses, it may feel like your body has turned against you. Dance offers a way to hopefully reclaim a body that may no longer feel like your own. Through movement, we can rediscover a sense of physical empowerment, using the very parts that might have caused pain or shame to convey strength and emotion.  

We know that these effects aren’t just anecdotal—a growing body of literature shows that creative arts-based therapies elevate mood, boost social engagement, and provide stability of self-esteem. In the setting of Parkinson’s, attending regular dance classes also reduces motor symptoms. There are similar positive impacts on quality of life in patients with cancer and dementia, among other diagnoses.  

When I started medical school a few years ago, I wanted to bring dance to patients across Boston hospitals. I started a weekly dance class for cancer patients through Dana Farber Cancer Institute’s Zakim Center for Integrative Therapies during my first year. Based on the model used for dance for Parkinson’s, I’ve adapted the class structure over time, including more stretching of the chest wall and axilla for breast cancer patients and opportunities for narrative improvisation in the context of cancer recovery. Participants shared how they felt after taking class, one reporting “feeling much more connected to [her] body” and “relaxed and rejuvenated.” One of the most impactful comments for me was “I really appreciate this class. It always helps.”  

In my second year, I partnered with Urbanity Dance, a Boston-based nonprofit where I teach for people with Parkinson’s, to expand class offerings through an initiative called Movement Meets (MM). The goal of MM is to empower community members with illness, disability, and/or housing and food insecurity to find their physical and emotional voices through dance. In collaboration with MM, I spearheaded programs at Spaulding Rehabilitation Hospital, where we teach both in- and outpatients recovering from injuries and illnesses, and McLean Psychiatric Hospital, teaching inpatients with psychotic disorders and outpatients with anxiety and depression. MM continues to grow, too, with upcoming classes at shelters, other hospitals, and community centers around Boston. Each class is wonderfully different in the physical and emotional challenges that participants face and wonderfully similar in the creativity and joy we see across locations.  

My experience with these classes has affirmed that dance can meaningfully contribute to that idea of holistic, “type two” care we hope to give our patients. Hopefully, as arts-based interventions become more accessible, we can start thinking seriously about recommending—or even prescribing—participation in the creative arts following a diagnosis or early in a treatment course. By actively integrating the arts into both hospital-based and outpatient practices, we can better support our patients as they navigate uncertainty, pain, fear, and—hopefully—joy, helping them feel at home and strong in their bodies once again. 

This piece expresses the views solely of the author. It does not necessarily represent the views of any organization, including Johns Hopkins Medicine.