Sunday, May 30, 2010


Went to roller derby tonight, talked for a little while over the music and the crowd, and promptly lost my voice. I didn't even cheer. Not one exuberant word of encouragement left these lips, and still I find myself struggling to talk tonight.

Granted I know this is trivial. People cope with more debilitating problems than vocal cord cysts, but I can't seem to wrap my brain around it. I eschew most social obligations these days for fear of talking. I don't get to sing in church or along with the radio anymore. When we go out to eat, we have to choose restaurants that don't get too loud. I even hesitate to shout commands at my dogs across the yard. It's more frustrating than I expected, and I'm finding myself saddened by music anymore, feeling envious of those who made it.

There's also this fear that I won't sound the same after the surgery. I know my voice wasn't God's gift to everyone, but I liked to sing, and Lord knows I loved to talk. Still, my voice is mine, and it's surreal to imagine it otherwise. It's the voice I hear in my head even when I read others' publications. But when I was talking to my friend tonight about having lost my voice again, he said, "but isn't your voice always lost?" At first I felt defensive, but then I suppose it has been for the last year or so. So, without sounding too reflective and cheesy, maybe this voice I've gotten used to isn't really the same anyway. I suppose there's some consolation in that.

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