Finding My Voice
I made a simple voice memo the other day. I heard a recording of my voice and it stopped me in my tracks. Brought instant tears to my eyes. You see, I forgot. When I hear my voice in my head, I sound like me. I sound like I have always sounded. But that’s not what I sound like now.
I’m a talker. Always have been. I talk a lot and I talk loudly. I’m animated when I speak, gesturing with my hands to enunciate what I’m trying to convey. I was one of those students in school who was always told to stop talking. It didn’t matter who I was seated beside, I found something to talk about. This trait followed me into adulthood. I strike up conversations with strangers, I can small-talk with the best of them. I also love to teach and present. I come alive when I’m talking to people. It feeds me. So when I was slammed with a health crisis that significantly altered my ability to express myself verbally, it was a brand new experience for me.
When I first had a painful “ulcer” on my tongue, I started talking less. It hurt to speak. It hurt to eat. It got to the point of being so painful, I stopped talking altogether. I really upped my texting game during that time and was very thankful for technology. Then that ulcer was biopsied and I was diagnosed with tongue cancer. I was told about the next steps - surgery to remove half of my tongue and rebuild it with skin from my forearm - I silently listened and agreed. Anything to stop the pain! I was actually eager to get it done. The surgery was scheduled for ten weeks from my initial diagnosis. Ten silent weeks.
Following surgery my week in the hospital was another silent week. I communicated with my medical team by writing on a white board, nodding, pointing, and giving “thumbs up.” When I think back on it, I forget that I couldn’t talk then. My mind was so busy with thoughts, and that’s what I remember about being in the hospital. I had so many questions. I needed so much support, and thankfully, I could communicate what I needed. When I was released from the hospital, I gradually built up my speaking ability again. I no longer had pain, but my tongue was this swollen lump that I didn’t know how to control.
Throughout the next steps of my treatment, my speech continued to improve. But the more I recovered and gained my energy, and the closer I moved to re-entering work and social life, the more anxious I became. Up until this point, I was only talking to my immediate family and my medical team. I hadn’t been talking to strangers, friends, work colleagues or clients. My entire professional life has been devoted to building and facilitating interpersonal relationships. I’m a counselor and educator. Teaching, connecting and helping is what I do. I prided myself in my speaking ability and I loved it!
Thankfully I am not the kind of person to sit at home and hide myself away. I needed to get back out there. I needed to feel productive and part of something again. I was able to rely on my tools for resiliency that I’ve built over my life - I can do hard things. Sure, some things were completely out of my control, but I knew I had control of my reaction to them. I didn’t have to curl up in my bed and hide myself from the world. I could choose to wear my battle scars proudly. I could choose to put myself out there again and be an example for others with my positive mindset. I didn’t lose my energy and enthusiasm. I haven’t lost my brain and desire to help and support others. I haven’t lost the drive to communicate. Personal interaction still feeds me - even with my new voice.
