…… I’d forgotten what you sound like…..  this is very emotional – you’ve made my day”.

My friend Grace is a bit taken aback when she hears me speak for the first time since the voice procedure.  I’m much cheered by her response – it’s hard for me to judge sometimes.  I can hear a difference, but I can’t easily judge how much of one.

I’m also surprised by Grace’s response because I am not hearing what she hears.  I don’t think I sound like I used to.  I wish now that I’d recorded my voice before and after each procedure; that would have been the scientific way.

This I do know; I can speak without running out of breath.  And I can – dare I say it – sing.  Well – a bit.  This is not a voice that you would pay good money to hear.  I discover this ability in the shower one morning.  Although I’ve managed to ‘sing’ a few times before, it’s different this time.  No running out of breath after each word.  I call Annie to come and hear; she runs from the kitchen and listens with tears in her eyes, the onion peeler still in her hands.

It’s still a bit croaky or raspy – I find I have to clear my throat a lot.  And it’s not loud or strong.  It fades if I increase the volume.  Or speak at length.  So while conversation has become easier, something more demanding, like a long detailed explanation, has not.  A new career as an orator is clearly out of the question.

My friend Neil (from Fat Freddy’s Cat) phones to check on progress; he too is pleased to hear me.  Rehearsals beckon.  I explain that it’s early days as far as singing is concerned.  He’s very encouraging; “But you always sing in tune – that shouldn’t be affected”.  Hmm – I’m not so sure.  My current attempts are sometimes flat – notes miss their target.  It feels out of my control – I know the note I want to hit, but the one I hear is not it.  I don’t know if this is something that can be re-learned or just comes back naturally.  And then today, as if to remind me just who is in charge, my singing voice disappears.  Nothing – not a peep.  I’m not unduly worried.  I assume it’s just having a bad day and that it will return.  It just reinforces the feeling that life has become totally unpredictable.

I’m due to see Mr ENT in two weeks for a post-procedure review.  This has added importance since I was out of it for most of the time and so I’ve no real idea of what he actually did.  I will tell him about my vocal dexterity in the shower.  What he’ll make of it, I’m not sure.  The first time we met he was confident about speech – “I can give you a speaking voice” – but as far as singing is concerned, he was much like me – silent.  I don’t expect him to offer another injection or thyroplasty¹ (which was something we did discuss at one stage).  But I do want advice and guidance on how best to preserve or even improve upon what I currently have.

From time to time I look back at some of the earlier entries in this Blog.  It’s a handy reminder of times when I thought my world had ended – but clearly hadn’t.  Things go bad – and then they get better.  But good and bad can be relative.  It’s a bit like living in a lift, where the ground floor is never in the same place.  You can go up and down just fine – but you never end up back where you started.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to sing in public again – and perhaps, in the end, that’s not important.  But singing with friends is.  I’ll be happy if the lift stops at that floor.