Deep Cleanse

I had a list of things to accomplish while I recover from my vocal cord surgery on 3/3.  I have been unable to work, preserving my voice for exercises given by my therapist, and brief conversation.  But, aside from the inconvenience of not speaking, I have felt pretty well.

That left me with a little time to get a few things done.

I could not push it physically, but I sorted papers, shredded, sent Emails that were overdue, and generally handled things that had fallen by the wayside during the busy nature of life.

I discovered, much to my disappointment, that my attention span for reading has decreased exponentially since spending so much time at a computer screen these last few years.  I vowed to get to work on that.

I also discovered that I have an account on the family’s “Netflix”  and I learned how to sit still long enough to binge watch some “Law and Order.”

There was time over these three weeks for some honest self-reflection as well.

Sometimes it’s painful to put truth right in front of our own faces, but I had the time to do the work, so I went for it.  I already wrote about isolation,  and I had some time to think more deeply about what role my own actions play in that.  I was able to reconcile that some of it is unavoidable, and some can be mended by me.  Balance.  I’m on it.

I also took a hard look at my own emotions and how they affect my house.

It is so easy to get “stuck” in the role of caregiver.  It is so easy to live a task oriented existence, making sure things get done, and arranging the logistics of life.  We may only have one child, but you add into the equation, two of us with a genetic disorder that involves countless appointments, surgeries, therapy and follow-ups things get dicey quickly. Add in that every appointment in NYC is a MINIMUM of 4 hours, and sometimes 6 or more, and the billing that comes with these appointments is at least a part-time job on its own, well, your head can spin.  Then, you think about the issues that surround friends and family, illness, disease, financial hardship, emotional distress, and your heart can hurt.  When you join that with “regular” stuff, like 2 working parents, a scholar, athlete, theater buff kid, food sensitivities, prescription medication, and anxiety all around – well, it can easily become all-consuming.  And it did.

I sat in my office one day, looked around and realized I was unhappy.  That was a tough realization.

I am not unhappy with my husband, or my daughter, or the countless blessings in our life.  I just became so consumed with getting things done that I forgot myself.  Literally.

Sometimes its good to reflect.  It’s the only way to get things done.

Last week my sister sent me a box of essential oils.  I was skeptical.  I bought a diffuser.  I feel like peppermint in the air while I work is good for my soul.  So is trying something new.

Tuesday I went to Kohl’s. A quiet activity easily done alone.  I felt the tension start to release.  I picked up a few things for me and for the house.  I went out because I WANTED to.

Something amazing happened Tuesday.  My husband and my daughter both remarked that I looked happy.  I had a story to relay at dinner that was about me.  The mood in the house was lighter.

Wednesday I took a nap in the middle of the day.  Because I could.  Again, I found myself with a little less pressure in my shoulders.

That night I promised myself and my family, no matter how busy things got I would find a way to spend 15-30 minutes every day on SOMETHING I could say truly made ME happy.

I’m a work in progress.

I chose to do a deep cleanse on Thursday and Friday.  I was working on my mind, but I had to bring my body along.  It had been too long.  I had gotten a little lazy in my habits and in my routines.  I have this incredible nutritional system at my fingertips and in my home, and sometimes I forget to use it to its full potential.

I woke up this morning having released 5.1 pounds of junk.  I started the day with a protein shake full of strawberries.  I shopped with my girl this morning.  Then, I got to listen to her singing lesson.  Now, they watch a movie while I get to write.  Then, my little family is off to dinner together.

This week the spring plants that sprouted on 3/3 started to really grow.

The caterpillars that came in on 3/2 have all become butterflies today.

Maybe we all used the same period to try to transform a little.  Nothing like a few new butterflies to remind you about new beginnings.

I am focused on this journey now.  I may falter along the way, but I will hold true.  This feels right.  This feels good.  And when I feel right and good, it is much easier to remain

#beatingcowdens

The Struggle (for Silence) is Real!

Irony is spending 20 years wondering why your students sometimes struggle to be quiet, and suddenly, in one week, realizing how insanely difficult it is to be silent, AND, that it’s likely your need to talk constantly is part of the reason WHY you went into teaching in the first place!

Last Friday, March 3rd, this ugly thing was taken off my vocal cords.

Before – 3/3/17

And they, like so many other parts of my body, now boast scars.

After 3/3/17

So, I set up for a few weeks out of work, and a week of required silence.  I never actually thought I was ready, which is a good thing.   Because I wasn’t.

I do poorly on twitter,  Rarely could I get out what I need in 140 characters or less.  Absolute silence involved my cell phone in hand at all times.  A few times the thing almost learned to fly, as the fingers, and auto-correct could not keep up with my brain.  But, life lesson number, oh, I don’t know, 4 or 5, teaches us that life goes on around us.  Ready or not.  Even when you have to watch and not participate.

There have been many times since March 3rd I’ve been grateful that thought bubbles do not appear above my head.

On the 9th I headed to the city for my follow-up.  After learning the pathology was benign, and read only “polyp,” I was relieved.  The doctor was pleased with the initial healing and told me I could begin to use my voice.  Slowly.  He said 5 minutes an hour.  That sounded high, based on what the voice therapist had told me in the fall, but I was grateful.  I used the first 5 minutes up asking him questions.

I wanted to know whether this was connected to Cowden’s Syndrome.  I wanted to know if it was likely to recur, if I needed vocal therapy, and when my follow-up would be.

Apparently, kind as he is, he could communicate on Twitter much more efficiently than I.

Cowden’s Syndrome?  I don’t know.  There’s not a lot of literature.  This type of polyp is usually a traumatic event, something you’d remember.  But, you don’t.  And it grew really fast.  I’m not sure.

Recurrence? Maybe.  Depends how it came to be.  Be careful with your voice.

Vocal Therapy?  Suggested.  Start on the 13th.  (Whew… THAT I now KNEW I needed.)

Follow up – April 13th, a few days before I am scheduled to teach my first class post-operatively.

He was an outstanding surgeon.  Matter-of-fact.  Thorough.  Efficient.  But, I’ve known enough surgeons now to know, they don’t play with why.  They just fix it and move on.  He will “doctor” me, to the point that he will follow-up, and hopefully watch NOTHING ever grow there again.  But, in reality this is now just another vulnerable spot on this PTEN mutated body.  Because, I would stake certainty that it’s connected.  There just aren’t that many coincidences in life.

So I left Thursday feeling good.  I got 5 minutes an hour!  I tried out my voice in the car.  I tried it out at home.  And then, I picked up my daughter at school, and I was so excited to talk to her, I easily let the conversation surpass 15 minutes.  oops.

Later when I spoke to my husband I was well past 10 before I stopped.

This 5 minutes and hour thing was not for the faint of heart!

Sometime Friday I decided that stopping at 5 minutes was, nearly impossible for me to regulate.  It was quite possible I could lose my mind.

And then I texted the voice therapist to set up my appointments for this week.  And I mentioned the 5 minutes.  And that I randomly out of nowhere had vomited for 20 minutes that morning.  And her words were crystal clear. “DO NOT SPEAK AGAIN UNTIL I SEE YOU”

Sucker Punch

I went from a poorly managed 5 minutes back to a feeble attempt at silence.

I failed.

I spent 2 full days at a swim meet at with my girl.  7 hours each day away from home.  I got to rest my voice, except when I felt compelled to tell her how proud I was.  Or to wish her luck.  Or to just chat… a little.

Some people really love chocolate.  Me, I don’t mind chocolate, but I LOVE to talk.

We sat in therapy today and I got exercises for volume and pitch… all ironic because I struggle to tell the difference, but I’m an overachiever, so I try to do well.  I sound like a complete loser, but I imagine it’s the same as me attempting something that requires coordination, like kick-boxing, or yoga. My poor vocal cords may not stand a chance.

6 exercises, 5 times each.  Repeat 4x a day.  And during those 4 hours DON’T SPEAK at all.

The revised schedule she gave me had 3 minutes an hour till Friday.  Then, we’ll entertain 5 minutes again.

Tonight I pulled back into my office.  To be silent I must be alone.  I put some “breathe” into my diffuser, and tried to get my thoughts together.

Then I realized they ARE together.  I just have no place to put them.

Tomorrow the house will be full for the snow day.  Normally this would make me very happy.  Tomorrow it is likely to make me a hermit.

Grateful the voice works.  Grateful I tend to heal well….  But, some days

#beatingcowdens

is a real trip!

Speechless

speechless-2

Resting your voice is not like resting your knee, or your shoulder.  Resting your voice is more like resting your heart, or your lungs.

Something is kicking my butt.  And I’m not sure what it is, but I am so not in the mood anymore.

This has been one chaotic stretch.

FInally recovered, mostly from my way too soon implant exchange in August, and my broken toe 2 weeks after, I am battling with trouble in a place I least expected to find it.

This summer I heard, “vocal cord nodules” for the first time, after feeling somewhat hoarse since April.  I was quickly reassured by tons of people that these are “normal” and would resolve if I was careful.  The doctor didn’t say too much, besides directing me to begin vocal therapy and return in three months.

I knew enough to listen when I was told to start therapy, and I did.  Begrudgingly, and convinced it was bogus, I made my way to the recommended therapist.  We got in a few visits before school, and then had to switch to weekly as my schedule just wouldn’t allow more.

For about four sessions I felt utterly ridiculous.  Then I started to “get it.”

I struggled when I started work, and was told to purchase a “tour guide” microphone.  I did, and the small 20 amp speaker with its wireless microphone have been an incredible help.  Despite looking like a frustrated pop singer, I am able to talk longer, and with less strain.  I am learning to speak differently, and in ways that are often unnatural to me, all with the desired end result being to reduce the stress, impact, and inflammation on my vocal cords.

download

I saw the doctor for a follow-up on October 11, and I got a very “Cowden’s-like” mixed report.  I was told that the vocal therapy had decreased the inflammation.  (YAY!)  However, the reduction of inflammation makes me a better surgical candidate. (I had really hoped I could just make it go away.)  AND, there was now a new, or newly visible “striking zone lesion” on the other side.  Both of the lesions were not “typical,” and would not resolve alone.  Both lesions appeared to have vascularity to them.  And, the “striking zone lesion” was irregular in shape.

unusual word write on paper

Despite his 99% comfort that the lesions were benign, I left with instructions to continue therapy, and to plan on having surgery close to the summer to remove the lesions.  I was told for the first time ever, that I would need to practice COMPLETE VOCAL REST for 7 days post operatively, AND for the next 7 days, I would speak approximately 1 minute for every hour.  The next several weeks would entail a slow progression back to my full voice use.  The thought of it completely freaked me out.

At voice therapy, there were conversations about Cowden’s Syndrome, and our tendency towards over-scarring.  The very real possibilities of what excessive scarring would do were discussed in a casual conversation.  By this time I am comfortable, and confident in the therapist.  She is smart, witty, and honest.  She’s real without being painful.  She also cares – about me, as a human, a teacher, a mom and a wife.

So, I had really hard conversations with my husband about the future, and I strengthened my resolve.  I charged my microphone, and I found the voice that exists out of my throat.  I have started to shorten my sentences.  I’m learning.

About 3 weeks ago it started to get worse.  Slowly and steadily worse.  Every day I would do my exercises, and I just couldn’t get the sounds.  My air was becoming a battle.  The inhaler became a part of many days.  I slept as much as I could.  I stayed hydrated and took extra vitamin C.  I ran no fever, but my chest felt full.  My head was pounding.

I stopped using the phone for anything but texting.  That was NOT the turn of events I needed, as I was struggling to keep up with people anyway.

Finally, I went to the urgi-center.  I was told I had “a lot of fluid” in my head.  I changed the allergy medicine.  I took a nasal spray.  I got a short course of antibiotics because it was lingering, even though I had no fever.  I upped the saline, and the steam.

I barely, and I do mean barely, got through the day Friday.

no-talk-md

Saturday I sat at therapy, so frustrated.  She was so patient.  So wonderful.  She told me she had been researching Cowden’s Syndrome, and there wasn’t a lot out there on its connection to the vocal cords.  We had kind of established that even if the Cowden’s didn’t cause the lesions, we still have to proceed knowing my body has Cowden’s and it affects everything.  We can NOT scar the vocal cords.

She had looked at my exams from July and October.  Side by side.  Frame by frame.  And very clearly stating, “I’m not a doctor, but…” I hung on every word.  I processed them with respect.  Some of our best help through the years has come with the premise of “I’m not a doctor, but…”

Vocal rest.  That’s where we’re at right now.  I am supposed to rest my voice when I am not teaching.

This is NOT an easy task.  I’ve been at it for 4 hours now and I may lose my mind.

This is isolation at its worst.

isolation

The lesions won’t heal themselves.  I can just get ready for when I need to heal.  I can prepare for a lifetime of speaking in a way that babies my voice.  I can practice being silent when it is so much the antithesis of my nature.

This time beating cowdens will require patience, strength of mind, and stamina.

It’s messing with me.  But I’ve got this.  I’ve got this.

If you don’t hear from me… try my email.  Or texting.  My typing skills will be improving greatly….

#beatingcowdens

fear1

Type A, and Then Some…

Calm down.  Relax.  It’ll get done.  Take a breath.  Why do you get so worked up?

These words could be spoken in several alternate languages for all the good they do for me.  They make no sense.  I mean, on a cognitive level I understand the words.  And even the context.  But, they hold little practical application for my life.

I am Type A.  Yep.  For it’s highs and lows, positives and negatives, I am a Type A personality.  Although like everything in life, the transition between Type A and Type B is a spectrum, I’m still honest with myself.

16 Signs You’re a Little Type A

Go with the flow.

I have a dear friend who has promised to make a t-shirt that says,”I am Flo,” to guide me.  She has 4 boys.  (She used to be full on Type A.  Now she shoves that in a drawer for most of the year, but the chaos sometimes still makes her cringe.)

high-strung

I am high-strung.  I am focused.  I am task oriented.  I am all about getting it done and getting it done well.  I get pissed when other people fall behind on their jobs.  I want order, structure, and routine.  I make lists on top of my lists, while putting alerts in my phone to avoid missing anything.  I have a hard time forgiving myself when I do.

typeapersonality

I am a work in progress.

But to some extent, regardless of your personality type, I guess that’s true of all of us.

September is chaos.  True, unequivocable chaos.  Here, in this house.  Here, in my mind.  September is the toughest month of the year.

And apparently I’m not alone, because this article really cracked me up.  September Is The Worst

If I could jump from August to October, it would be smoother.  And I’m not a big fan of wishing my life away.  But, transitions are especially tough on the Type A among us.

37309-hello-october

And, when you’re a teacher – well.  That’s just a whole other story.  But, for the sake of brevity simply organizing class lists for 25 classes and 500+ students while they are going through new admits, discharges, and interclass transfers is a feat not to be taken lightly.  With the knowledge that 9/11 took place just a few days into the school year, I am always filled with a super sense of urgency to try to know who I have, and what their needs are as quickly as I can.  Figuring out who has allergies, and who has an IEP is another struggle.  Establishing rituals and routines for the classroom of a Type A teacher in one period a week is a bit taxing.  Not as tough for the bigger kids, but those tiny kindergarten faces are still in shock.  There’s no way they even remember my name, let alone where they should sit in my room.  Substitute plans must be prepared, because emergencies don’t have the courtesy of always waiting till October.  Copies of the schedule, printed, Emailed, and hung everywhere.  Supplies, traffic patterns, expectations, all need establishing and reminding.  That’s after the room is set up, and the bulletin boards are complete, and evening back to school night is squeezed into the agenda.

The agenda that is busting at the seams.  Because, I know all you moms of multiple children may laugh at me, and whisper about how easy I have it, but that’s ok.  Setting up the school and after school schedule for the child(ren) is a full-time job on its own.  August looks so nice.  The calendar lulls you into a false sense of security, as one by one the activities start-up again.  And then all of a sudden you are trying to figure out when you will shower, or fill up the car with gas, or eat, or grocery shop.  Never mind hair cuts!  There’s the one time deals, like back to school night, and “returning parents swim meeting,”  Every minute of every day seems to hold something.  I know I have only one kid, but that doesn’t mean she can take herself to swim practice.  Or pick herself up.  Or that most of the time I can even leave her there, as lingering fears about her health are always present.  And on the days she stays late at school for Drama, that’s a little easier, except when it crashes into a meeting at school.  And there’s morning study, set up for the intense schedule for the 8th graders, as well as Friday night Youth Group for stress release.  I think there’s a few minutes on Wednesday between 3 and 4 for sunshine.  Oh, wait… groceries…

is-this-real-life

And to the left of me sits the Open House Schedule for High School.  Still shaking my head as to how THAT happened, I am trying to figure out their days of the week.  Because, I think we can make the Staten Island Borough Fair AFTER the swim meet that morning in October.  There is the TACHS test, and the Specialized High School Test.  Although I’m not really sure when there would be time to prepare.  Unless, maybe there’s and app for that?

I haven’t even mentioned our health.  Isn’t that just funny?  It hasn’t rested one bit.  And the most ironic thing, is people don’t realize you shouldn’t mess with a chronically ill Type A.  Chances are good they like to excel at EVERYTHING.  And in my case, I am willing to throw it at them.  Hard.

Some time towards the end of August I had surgery to replace my implants.  Far earlier than the 10-15 year life expectancy they had been given, one had moved, and it was time.  That night as I lay recovering I picked up an Email from Meghan’s endocrinologist that we should raise her thyroid meds.  Her levels were off again.  Now raising the meds in and of itself every once in a while is not a huge deal I guess, but Meghan struggles with synthetic ANYTHING, and the fact that we were now 2.5 years post op from her thyroidectomy and she has had more dose changes than I have had in over 20 years can be unsettling.  More unsettling was when I read to the bottom of the letter that he would be on vacation for over 2 weeks.  So, here I was left to make a dose adjustment without clearing my list of “Type A mother of a chronically ill kid” questions, which, in case you wondered, are far more intense than the typical questions I ask.  I scraped together the new dose from the closet, because I think we have Synthroid in EVERY dose known to man, and started her on it the next morning.  My local pharmacy informed me that the insurance wouldn’t cover the new script even though it was a dose adjustment and we would have to mail order it.  But mail order takes 2 weeks.  And there was no telling whether she’d be on the dose for more than 6 weeks.  But, whatever.  I set my sights on getting a copy of the lab report to learn the magic thyroid numbers.

arm-wrestle

And then the real battle ensued.  I tried to get it from one doctor.  They couldn’t release it because they weren’t the “ordering” doctor, even though she had added labs to the order.  I called the office of the endocrinologist.  Twice that Monday.  And again on Tuesday.  I got a call back late Tuesday while I was on the phone complaining that I couldn’t see her labs through the “MyChart” system set up at the facility.  The ‘ office said they’d send them.  The MyChart people said they’d look into it.  I waited.

Exactly a week.  There were no labs in my mailbox.  I called the endocrinology office again.  I got someone who promised to send them and did.  I called the MyChart people again.  No answers, except that some one told me it was hospital policy not to allow parents access to records of their children ages 12-17.

REALLY???????????????????

Listen, while I may not like it, or even agree with it, I can almost understand that there are SOME situations where teens have the right to keep their records.  But, this, this is THYROID blood work.  She doesn’t want it.  TRUST ME.  She just wants me to give her what she needs to feel well.  That’s it.

I processed all I could about this at the same time that I got ANOTHER bill from this hospital.  The date of service looked familiar.  I keep copious records.  (Type A… :-)) And I was able to see that a bill for the DOCTOR, the PHYSICIAN Group, and the HOSPITAL FACILITY all billed, and were ALL paid to the tune of over $1000 for a 15 minute visit.  And NOW, they were asking me for 2 additional Co-Pays.  Notwithstanding the fact that we have 2 insurances, so our secondary picks up the co-pay at many of our visits.  I called the primary carrier.  They reversed the charges, but told me the billing practice was not illegal.  Ok, then its immoral.  And it preys on people who are sick, or who have sick kids.  The insurance company also told me it was ON ME to call them when this happens.  ONLY when I call them will they reverse the charges because as per my plan I am to pay one co-pay per visit.

bills-to-pay

Good, cause I needed something else to do.

By the first Friday in September I had had it.  I found the CEO and Head of Patient Relations.  I fired off a 14 page Email, 7 page letter, and 7 attachments about everything wrong at their facility.

I have since received 4 copies of the blood work by mail, and 2 phone calls asking it I needed it.  One mail even came second day express.  Of course it was addressed to my minor child, whose signature means nothing, and who is not legal to vote, or to drive, but who apparently in some alternate universe should be making health care decisions.

I received a letter from Patient Relations that they were reviewing my concerns.  I’m not holding my breath.

That same Friday I tripped and fell and did some number on the pinkie toe of my right foot.  A clear fracture, although there is some debate as to whether it is displaced, and it will warrant another opinion.  The 3 hours I spent visiting the last podiatrist was a waste of my time.  So, I am in a post op shoe for some infinite amount of time going forward.  Because there is little chance in heck the right foot is getting into a sneaker any time soon.  Good thing it’s the perfect month to “take it easy on the foot.”  (Insert sarcastic grin here.)

Last Saturday the vocal therapist told me that I have one irregular shaped nodule on my left vocal fold.  It still gets to be called “benign appearing.”  I was also told I have “significant vocal fold atrophy secondary to premature aging.”  Well, that sucks.  Because I thought atrophy took place when you didn’t use something.  And oh, I use my voice.  And the premature aging, well, that’s likely thanks to the 2012 hysterectomy that was a necessary preventative move.  It all comes back to Cowden’s somehow.

Over the weekend I noticed that the knots from the implant exchange were getting irritated.  This doctor like all the others had been warned, I don’t dissolve stitches.  But, as wonderful as he was, he also needed to be shown.  I clipped one of the knots myself and there was immediate relief.  Then I second guessed myself.  By Monday the site I hadn’t touched was red and warm, while the other was healed.  I took a photo and sent it to the PA.  Come in tomorrow she said.  So Tuesday afternoon, my surgical shoe and I trekked into Manhattan.  She pulled the stitches, read a low-grade fever, and marked the redness.  She scripted me with 5 days of antibiotics but told me to wait 12 hours.  Wednesday morning I sent her a photo.  “Looks better, right?”  I said.  “Start the antibiotics,” was the reply.  So, I did.

Friday, Meghan made it to morning swim practice.  5:15-6:30AM.  I dropped her off, and headed home to shower.  I met her with breakfast.  We stopped off to drop her bag, and were at her school by 7:22.  I picked her up at 2:20 and she made afternoon practice.  I was tired.  She made it to youth group too.  I was in bed by 10.

Friday I spoke to the endocrinologist – finally.  I really do like him, but I think we’ve established now that I can’t wait 4 weeks for communication.  I don’t think it will happen again.  We talked it through.  Wednesday the 28th we’ll head to the hospital lab to repeat.  We are going there because then there is no chance for anyone to blame a variation on a different lab.  But, that’s ok cause there is that free hour on Wednesday…  He will call me on the 30th with the results.  I believe him.

I also believe that when I take his call on the 30th I will have a tall glass of wine celebrating the END of September.

white_wine_glas

This morning Meghan woke up with a sore throat.  She had to skip practice.  That’s always a tough call for her, but the right one.  She’s beating Cowdens like a champ, but part of winning is knowing when to slow it down.

Slow it down.

Hmmm.

I am so wrapped up in the have-tos, and the just getting by, that so much life is just on hold.  We have to gather enough spoons to save for something fun.  Anything.  But there are no spares.  Especially not in September.  (If that last paragraph confuses you – you can Google The Spoon Theory)

spoon

Sometimes, when I have a minute, I  think about calling some of the friends I miss a lot.  But, I don’t.  They have crazy wild lives of their own.  My fears and anxieties and worries exist, and so do theirs.  But for some reason right now, they largely exist separately.  I miss them.  And I am forever grateful for Social Media and the few minutes I can take, at swim practice or the doctor to catch up, at least on the surface.

I am super-blessed with a husband who not only tolerates my Type A, but works with me.  He cleans, and cooks, and remembers to make me laugh.  A lot.  Often at myself.

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I am three years deep into nutritional cleansing that I have no doubt is keeping me fueled for this crazy life.  One day soon I intend to find a way to shout from the rooftops and share this secret arsenal of nutritious fuel with the world.  Because without it, I’m not sure exactly where this Type A, broken toe, infected boob, woman, who needs a tour guide microphone to teach her classes would be hiding.

Instead of hiding, we remain,

#beatingcowdens

forever!

c-12

 

I have nodules WHERE???

It took me over a week to actually wrap my head around this one.

The summer is not just time for Meghan to get checked and cleaned up, it’s time for me too.  And this summer I tracked down a new doctor.

Sometime around the end of April my voice started to bother me.  I was getting hoarse easily.  I explained it away as allergies, season change, dust, “I must be getting sick,” and everything else I could think of.  Except it bothered me.  And that creepy voice that sneaks in sometimes to remind me that my body has already betrayed itself once, started to take hold.

hoarse

After almost 20 years of teaching, and never ever struggling to use my “teacher voice,”  I couldn’t project.  Simultaneously with the pain in my right implant, and the nodule being watched on the remnants of my thyroid, it started to get in my head.

I went to my primary doctor, and wasted several hours to get nothing that resembled an answer.  They suggested a thyroid sonogram.  I never went back.

I started researching ENTs locally.  I found very few who took my insurance, and fewer who seemed to have any voice experience.

I turned to the internet and found a voice specialist at a facility I trust in NYC.

I don’t really know what I expected from the exam.  I filled out the preliminary papers, and gave the basic Cowden’s rundown.  They did a few tests externally with a microphone, and another with a camera in my nose.  Not pleasant, but incredibly informative.

And there on the screen was a “benign appearing” nodule on the side of my vocal cords, causing them to briefly lock together when I make certain sounds.  Fascinating.  But bothersome all the same.

Not mine, but they looked a lot loke this.

Not mine, but they looked a lot like this.

They reassured me several times that the nodules were “benign appearing.”  I appreciated that, but reminded them many of my scars are from “benign, and benign appearing” growths.  I asked about the prevalence, and if it was linked to my Cowden’s Syndrome.  I got a very definitive, “Maybe, or maybe not.”  These nodules occur in the general population, they can be caused by overuse, but what had me perplexed was the problem seemed to start when I did the LEAST amount of teaching for the year.  I was out of my program for quite an extended time between spring testing and other professional obligations.  So, why now?

And, what to do?  September is looming, and my life will be in the classroom many hours a day.  I need my silly voice, my sing-song voice, my stern voice, my loud voice, my quiet voice, and my serious voice.  Elementary school students expect, and deserve nothing less.

I was given a number for a “voice therapist.”  And as of now my voice is getting a workout leaving messages for her.  I asked the doctor what are the chances this “voice therapy” could control the nodules.  He told me it “couldn’t hurt.”  I asked if this was like giving me compression hose for my horrendous veins?  Is it going to be a situation where voice therapy delays an inevitable surgery?  Because any scar tissue on my vocal cords seems scarier than the painful legs I’ve contended with for years.

voice

The answer is, there is none.  I will persist and connect with this voice therapist.  I will hear her out and try my best.  And in 4 months or so I will follow-up with the doctor to evaluate.  That is assuming the fall semester goes off without incident, and all my new students can hear me loudly and clearly.

For now, I’m using mostly the quiet voice.  Often mumbling to myself.  Because whether this is Cowden’s related or not, the whole “growing things” in my body is incredibly old.

Watch.  Wait.  Check.  Recheck. Remove if necessary.  That’s how we roll.

#beatingcowdens