The terrible, horrible, no good, very bad "thing"

June 30, 2015

Day three. Or... day six? Day 37? Whatever.

Though I have not spoken much today with the exception of walking my dog and asking him to please not poop on the neighbor's garden (which he rejected and did anyway), I believe I feel a bit better. 

For those of you that do not know me, I am kind of a - what you might say - "fake" opera singer. I do love it and whole heartedly appreciate it. It's just really not my calling, no matter how hard I wanted it to be. I stopped pursuing the competitions/auditions/performances lifestyle about a year and a half ago while congruently recovering from my first diagnosis of nodules - October, 2013. I had just started graduate school at USC - in Vocal Arts mind you - and low and behold, was one month later facing the embarrassment of this unfamiliar "disease."

At that time, I did not tell a soul. Okay, maybe a couple of souls. But few and far between. Not even my parents knew, nor my directors, nor my (god-forbid) school colleagues. I was absolutely mortified.

"Over singing," my ENT said. "You need to drop something, Allie."

"But I can't. I just started grad school. And I have to do the opera. And all of these summer program auditions. And I need to make money teaching. And..."

"Drop something." 

So after six months of playing the balancing act game, I finally recovered and was in the best vocal shape of my life. I learned so much from that experience. Simultaneously (and certainly not coincidentally), I decided to pursue MY calling -- popular and contemporary music. I became invested in coordinating vocal techniques within classical and popular genres, realizing that many are one and the same. And low and behold, the pressures of competing, singing that damn high C at the end of Donizetti's arias, and waiting to find out if MY "distinct" soprano voice might be the exception to the sopranos-never-make-summer-programs rule, just slipped away. And with that, my voice returned. 

I spent a lot of my initial recovery time that year pondering the connection between the pressures of a classical singer and vocal health issues. I wanted quantitative results: exactly how much DOES stress affect our larynx? So much that we create a physical attribute that finds its home in our vocal folds?

How common are vocal health issues in singers?

Obviously I cannot exactly get the quantitative results I want. But it does bring up the question of stress, anxiety, and pressure on singers correlating to our vocal health. We all know, as singers, how the emotional and physiological aspects of our body are indefinitely intertwined. If this is so, then I beg the final question...

Why do we taint nodules/nodes/cysts/polyps to be this absolutely AWFUL, DISGRACEFUL thing? I've been so curious.

Athletes have injuries. Constantly. But you never hear people say "wow - what an idiot. He's a horrible baseball pitcher for breaking his arm like that."

Singers are athletes. And injuries happen. I spent so much time hiding behind my fear of expressing "nodule-vulnerability" that I psychologically convinced myself of being a "faulty singer." Well shit - no wonder it took me so long to recover if half the recovery was rebuilding my self-efficacy!

How can we overcome this? Will we learn to nurture and support one another through difficult, emotionally draining, physically frustrating times?

So many questions.

Breakdown? Or Blog it Out?

June 28, 2015

It has been one month and three days since our Memorial Day camping weekend — the weekend that not only positively changed my life but simultaneously drowned me in dust, dirt, and second hand cigarette smoke, making my asthma take over my normal breathing patterns. I brought home a persistent two week dry cough keeping me up in the wee early hours of the night and preventing me from being able to speak a sentence without suddenly being attacked by mere phonation and appearing as one of "those" people.

After two weeks, the cough finally fizzled but my vocal cords were damaged. I suddenly had no stamina and could barely sing through a couple of songs without getting tired.

It has now been four days since I went to an ENT (one I did not necessarily trust, but a certified doctor nonetheless) who could tell me that yes, something was not pristine about my vocal cords. Nodules, she claims, or maybe mucus. She was unsure. Nonetheless, the “thing” is present. 

Again.

Today was very difficult. I had spent the entire last week resting, refraining from speaking, canceling any work related jobs, and drinking gallons of water. I finally treated myself to having company over for dinner accompanied by two glasses of wine last night. Turns out, the “thing” gets very annoyed when any kind of “fun” is to be had. It was like pushing a car bare-handed to be able to sing at church this morning -- painful and unbearable.

There is absolutely nothing like trying so hard to be patient and fully immersing yourself in a healing process only to feel worse. 

So today, I decided to lounge around, watch a sickening amount of Netflix, and feel sorry for myself. That’s all I could think to do. How the F*CK could I possibly get nodules again?! After everything I went through in the last two years — after making a complete recovery and being SO proud to say that I was "vocally sober" (if you will) for exactly 1 year and 3 months. How does it just… come back?

Okay. So, I am still feeling this way. I’m not done being angry at God and the world and those damn cigarette smokers that gave me the cough, but I have decided the only thing to do is embrace the recovery process. 

Rather than empathizing with singers who experience vocal health issues with the “I feel your pain” or “I’ve totally been there,” I’m laying it ALL out — I am there. 

Luckily, I have a very good chance of recovering quickly. My circumstances couldn’t be more perfect: I am out of school, finished teaching, am “off season” for performing, and am literally living a summer retired life. I don’t go back into heavy duty singing until September. The "thing" is very small - so small that a doctor cannot distinguish what it actually is - so, I'll take it.

In retrospect, this will just be another journey. A very frustrating one. A highly unfair one. But one that I am willing to share with other singers. 

This will purely be a detailed analysis of my recovery process — my sleeping habits, water intake, level of noise, singing abilities, practice habits, etc. 

And all I can do during this recovery process is:

• learn how to NEVER have this happen again, and 
• help others recover.

Because, frankly, if you're a singer -- any unfair shit is possible.