Voice and Vaccine

Like so many others, I was awed and inspired by poet Amanda Gorman and the beautiful work she shared at President Biden’s inauguration, “The Hill We Climb.” What a gift for words she has, her performance all the more impressive for her having lived with a speech impediment. Her voice positively soared, and it was a thing of beauty to listen to and watch.

I’ve been thinking about voices a lot lately, as I keep losing mine. The persistent hoarseness I’ve developed is likely a symptom of the hypothyroidism I was recently diagnosed with, that being a common side effect (or, more accurately, after effect) of the immuno-therapy regimen I was on from January through March 2020. For most of the past month I’ve sounded a bit like a Muppet when I speak, my voice high-pitched and low-powered, raspy and squeaky in turns.

The voice loss is disconcerting, eerie even, given the way that fear and anxiety have centered around my throat for much of my life. For as long as I can remember I’ve had a thing about my throat, hating any sort of touch there, barely able to sit still for a doctor’s exam, jerking away from a sweetheart’s gentlest kiss. What’s more, the key recurring feature in any nightmare I’ve ever had is my inability to speak–something bad is happening but I can’t stop it, because when I try to call out for help, I can never muster more than a weak whisper.

When I was younger, a writer friend of mine postulated that my voice was the seat of my power, and that my dreams and discomfort arose from twin fears of either never finding my voice and/or the changes that might come with realizing its full potential. I myself have occasionally mused on the possibility of past lives, whether I might have lived one that made future me’s protective of my throat (French Revolution, anyone?). Now, between my voice loss and the esophageal narrowing and swallowing challenges I’ve experienced, I find myself wondering about cellular memory, what the body knows at its most basic levels, what it might predict.

I know, I know. It’s a little out there. But perhaps I can be forgiven the occasional fanciful turn. If you wish, ascribe my wild theories to the happy delirium resulting from this week’s combination of a newly installed president and my having gotten my first COVID vaccine today! I’ve never been so happy to visit the hospital, or be stuck with a needle. We’ve a long way to go, but it feels like we’re finally moving in the right direction. As Amanda Gorman so eloquently said, “For there is always light, / if only we are brave enough to see it. / If only we are brave enough to be it.”

When I was 22, Gorman’s age, I was still struggling to find my voice, trying to understand how I was meant to respond–as a writer and a human–to feedback on my poems such as “This shows what you can do when you get out of your own way.” It’s difficult to imagine having had Gorman’s confidence and self-possession back then. Thankfully, all I’ve lost at present is my physical voice, and with luck, the thyroid medicine I’m taking will bring it back to full power sooner rather than later. I do miss being able to project (“Herry! Get your paws off the table!”), and as a teacher and performer, I require a strong voice to function effectively. Not to mention, it took me many years to find and embrace my voice, and I still have more to say!

Thanks, friends, as always, for listening.