Silencio.

Good News! Three weeks after my benign keloid “Fibroma” was removed, I finally felt like a human again.

I can eat normal foods, I could talk, I have my energy back, my “color is good”, according to my dad, who puts great weight on color and apparently likes the blowsy cheeks of a nice Irish/Scottish/English/German girl. My sleep sounds are less “dying seal” and more “injured seal”, and much less frequent. Thanks to the purchase of a wedge pillow, my head is elevated and my airway stays more open. I can breathe a LITTLE BIT better than before the surgery, and A LOT better than after the anasthesia wore off after the surgery.

This morning, I went in to have my vocal cord polyp lasered off in an in-office procedure. I’m not gonna lie to you – I’m took a couple of Ativan before hand. Can you imagine having a scope with a laser on the end shoved up your right nostril and down your throat, while watching on a TV screen as it snakes its way down to your vocal cords?  I watched giddily last time, but had I not been on a mind-altering anti anxiety medication I probably would have simply shut my eyes and meditated. I was not in a position to watch today, but I got a marvelous and funny running commentary from Matt, who watched, wide-eyed and in awe, the entire time!

Then?

SILENCE.

For two weeks.

I am not allowed to speak for two weeks.

It’s a good idea. I don’t want to ruin the fine work that the Laryngologist, Dr. Carroll, at Brigham & Womens, performs, for the sake of ease of communication.  I have this grand idea about wearing a chalk board around my neck like Louis the swan from Trumpet of the Swan.  But in reality, I carry a little notebook, and anything I can’t communicate by facial expression, gestures, and body language is relayed with messy notes. I’ve already had to rewrite a few for the kids who evidently haven’t had enough experience reading grown up scribble not created by an elementary school teacher!

Can-sah has taught me much, but these latest issues carry a certain weight. These latest issues have not only affected my comfort; they’ve affected my lifestyle and my career. The lessons that stick like peanut butter to the roof of a mouth after not being able to breathe well and a stint of painful talking:

SLOW DOWN

SAVOR YOUR TIME

I’m off for two weeks and I’m planning on following these guidelines every day.

And now to appeal to your inquisitive natures: a photo of me wearing my Janet Jackson impersonating device, my personal amplifier. I’m hamming it up for the camera; I don’t think I actually use this gesture while teaching! (But maybe I do! Oops!)

 

 

And here are Matt and I while I had the lidocaine French fries (A Fish Called Wanda reference, they were really cotton strips!) up my nostrils and breathing in a lidocaine nebulizer to numb me up before the procedure. The glasses were to protect us from the “lasers”.

 

Please wish me luck with my silencio! I can’t wait to hear the sound of my new voice.

with gratitude and big love,

em