Evan and I met when we were in high school and both of us
were involved in the performing arts – forensics, choir, theater. I still
remember a day when we had Mock Trial practice after school and the two of us
nearly got into trouble because we were focusing more on writing notes back and
forth to one another on the chalkboard than we were on the witness testimonies
and cross-examinations that still needed a whole lot of work.
It was my sophomore year and becoming involved in these
activities was like discovering a hidden corner of my heart that I never knew
existed. The thrill of being on stage was like nothing else. Some struggle with
stage fright, but when the house lights go down, the faces of the audience all
fade away. It’s just you – as that character – shining in the light. It’s
downright intoxicating.
I could sing then. There were never any moments of delusion
where I thought about auditioning for American
Idol or anything, but I could hold my own. I was “painfully shy” Princess
Winnifred and Lucy the therapist, giving advice for a nickel per patient. I
competed in competitions with the Madrigal choir and as a soloist.
Singing was part of something that made me special.
And now it’s gone.
My voice started to deteriorate in my later years of
college. I attributed it to just getting older and my voice dropping, but each
passing year brought more significant vocal failure. After each child was born,
even my speaking voice dropped further and further.
I’m starting to forget what it once felt like to speak and
have it be heard in the back row. I’m losing the memory of throwing my arms out
wide and singing in full voice.
At least twice each month, my voice weakens and then quits.
I will squeak through about a day or two of complete vocal failure before it
returns. My children will ask me to read books to them at night and I usually
can only complete one book before Isaiah takes pity on me and relieves me of
the duty.
If it were just my speaking voice, I would chalk it up to
nothing more than an inconvenience. After all, I’m not under any delusions that
the world wouldn’t be a little better off if I didn’t talk quite so much.
What’s hard is when I’m trying to sing in church and a note
that should be right in the middle of my range comes out as nothing more than a
breathy squeak. Sometimes I can drop down an octave and sing along with the
male baritones of the congregation, but it is much more common for my voice to
just quit entirely.
This week I am seeing an ear, nose and throat specialist to
see if we can figure out what’s going on. I’m pretty certain it won’t end up
being anything too serious, but I would certainly appreciate your prayers. It would
be wonderful if an easy fix could give me back the ability to worship without sounding
like I’ve swallowed a pack of razorblades.
I hope your Thanksgiving was wonderful!
