divinewrites

” Before we decide anterior or posterior incision, I have to ask, do you sing or speak for a professional living?”

Just as I was about to answer, my emergency significant contact answered for me, “Yes, Both.”

Yes, yes I do sing- and it has taken me DECADES to admit that- you see I was told at a very young age that I was terrible- my mother, who has close to perfect pitch often told me that to be a vocalist, I should be able to imagine middle C and hit the note- perfectly in tune every time I imagined it. I so clammed up every time with abject fear, that I could never hit it and my mother would shake her head in disgust and turn on her heel and mutter about how bad I was. As I aged and my voice finetuned into the 1st soprano that I have always been, I was then told that no one wanted to listen to some dumb soprano (hey wait, my older brother was the male equivalent to those dumb sopranos as a high high tenor-what’s the difference?) In school, I was told that I was worse than terrible and my classmates ridiculed my voice, threw spit wads at me and bribed me to drop out of choir- I even had a vocal teacher my senior year tell me that I would never be a vocalist and it would be best if I stopped trying all together-I went on to score a 1+ on my solo my senior year- “Sento nel Core”, but I held on to those words my whole life–now they come home to reverberate in my mind along with the reason for the original question.

Do I sing or speak professionally for a living—well as much as many people would like me to be quiet- ( and I am positive there are more than a few!~~) I do actually do both- my voice is quite important to the work that I do. Not only do I run a non profit, I also fill pulpit ( and am on the cusp of being Commissioned as a DEACON in the UMC)–(more on that later) and try to use my voice to impact the status quo and change the narratives out there- my words, my voice, are my calling card and I would be lost without either of them. ( I’d be lost without google maps too, but that is a different blog for a different day!) So why would a random question disquiet my soul so much?

Ah, it is anything but random. This question came from a real, live, living and breathing McDreamy– (Grey’s Anatomy fangirl motion here!) My neurosurgeon, a youngish, talented, and wicked smart Dr is planning to make an incision in my neck and move aside my vocal chords (and some other stuff too) and get to the (at least 2) discs that are badly enough damaged that they need replacing. I am actually a candidate for spinal fusion surgery, but I would lose so much movement, that they opted for a double disc replacement at C5-6 & C6-7. They would do more, but those have not been approved by the FDA yet (oh goodie! ). Not only will he replace those discs, and do some shaving and fitting them into my vertebrae, he will then wrap them in a titanium cage! Just exactly what my significant other wanted to hear– “Let’s wrap the titanium girl in ACTUAL titanium!” I am not so silently celebrating this because I take GREAT pride in my titanium ways- I have fostered that bravado & perfected it over decades of experience- I am a MASTER at titanium- and now- now I feel it figuratively crumbling and I don’t know what to do.

My own counselor, who I have been sitting opposite for over 10 years is clapping her hands in a GLEEful joy at what I will be facing in little over a week. (see my GLEE reference there, GLEEKS?) I am not clapping or jumping up and down in glee- I don’t want to do this. I want no part of that which I will embark on in about 10 days from now. You see, the upper cervical area is not the only area of damage- it seems I have the spine of a nearly 80some year old in the body of a 48 year old. Say what? How did this happen?

That is the question that I have been asked at each Xray- CT scan, MRI and nerve block and injection bout. “what happened to you?”

Yeah. What happened……

I could write pages on answering that- but I choose not to at this time. Suffice it to say, lots of damage at really formative times in a child’s life-including birth trauma–and all the way through childhood and adolescence will do a number on a tiny framed girl. It seems that no person should bounce off of a wall, across a room, or down a flight of stairs for any reason. I also discovered that 5 gallon buckets DO NOT in fact weigh only 5 lbs. (who knew?) They actually weigh close to 40 lbs when full and carrying 2 of them at the same time meant a 50lb girl was carrying more than she actually weighed (but damn those saplings got watered multiple times a week for 2 years while they grew.) Those trees- I am totally claiming ownership! Come to find out that being so proud of strength physically and emotionally has sent my body into a state of constant revolt (and I find it rather revolting actually–see what I did there?) I am hella strong and was that way from birth- I withstood a lot- prolly too much and I have been beyond proud of that my whole life. I have forwarded a narrative of “hit me with all ya got, I can take it!” And life often did.

What I rarely told anyone was that it hurt- more than I wanted or had permission to express. Now at 48, my body is in fight mode all the time- there is no rest. It is prepared to fight any person and sees almost every situation as an attack- whether there is one or not. While I was so proud that I could lift, carry, climb, and work harder than many other little girls my age, my body was storing up all that I was experiencing, readying the fight mode that preserved my life at the time, but is doing me no favors in the present. My spirit, which steeled itself against the names, the accusations, moments or ridicule, and feelings of shame, proved that I had only me to count on for survival. I learned later that there was a Savior looking out for me- but it was years before I discovered what being a beloved child of God looks and feels like (oh, who am I kidding, I am still working on that!)

I was proud to survive on my own- and I didn’t need anyone- or so I told myself. I still do actually and it’s wrong. See, I could write this stuff up, rush to the end of the story, and tie it up with a pretty ribbon and tell you all that it’s perfect and life rights itself and we move on- and….it’s bullshit. It’s all crap. Life sometimes hands us stuff that hurts and sometimes we react to life’s stuff and we hurt ourselves or others….it is human nature to mess up. It’s human nature to be scared- (even when we claim that we are titanium).

One of the lines from the above song, first sung by Brandi Carlile

You see the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding the words that don’t come out
And all of our friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess.

No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what I’ve been through like you do https://genius.com/Brandi-carlile-the-story-lyrics

The smile, – the snark, the professionally polished words that I utter hide all the thoughts that never tumble out of my mouth. They are hidden by a desire to be perfectly put together, to never misstep, to achieve more & push harder than I did yesterday- to never have an off day- to NEVER, above all, show what I deem as weakness. That means, I don’t mention that sitting, standing, laying down, walking, riding a bike, doing dishes, putting away clothes, driving puts such a strain on my back and shoulders that I cannot adequately gauge a pain threshold. I operate out of a 8-9-10 every day from the top of my head to the base of my spine and it sucks! It means that I don’t let the tears fall when I feel scared thinking about 10 days from now as they wheel me to the OR. (McDreamy or not, that shit is scary) It means that I don’t admit that for all my bravado, all the instances that I shake my head and say that I am fine- what I really want to say is…..NO, I am not fine- I don’t want to be alone and for just awhile I’d like to be a little girl who’s scooped up into a strong and gentle embrace and carried to a place that is safe- safe enough to recoup for a bit and for somehow some message gets to the rest of my body saying…..(“sshhhh shhhh, it’s ok, you can rest now. you can let go. we’ve got her.”) Ahhh to let go and release the decades of damage, what would that look like? I have no idea….and it is terrifying to consider that.

Now, what I am facing is rather small peanuts compared to some of the roads that I know others are traveling. I do not want my stuff to downplay some of those situations of which I am aware. The tie that this surgery has to my emotions is one of the heaviest lifts I’ve ever had ahead of me. My radiologist told me after my last MRI this spring, “bones don’t lie- we can see damage that never healed here. there are fractures and bruises in these bones that are decades old- we can see what happened to you- these bones tell their own story” OUCH. That statement hurts in a place I can’t articulate- it means that all the moments of not saying a word did not keep my secret. My body betrayed my silence- it told its own story–a story that I intellectually was aware of, but did not integrate into my being. I swept the damage under the rug and suffered for years in actual pain before the pain got to the point where I could no longer ignore its impact. It is as though my body itself said, “ok enough is enough- we either deal with this and get some relief- or we’re just gonna quit.” I have never been a quitter- so here we are.

in 10 days I will undergo a double disc replacement, with other work to be done close by on the backburner after we see how I recoup from this. I have a spine Dr., a neurologist, a PA, 2 counselors, and other medical professionals cheering me on and pleased for this moment in my journey. My Board of Directors, my staff, and loved ones are telling me to take the time needed to heal “if you don’t take the time to heal the first time, your body will make sure you take it the second time–isn’t it easier to take it now when you can make the time?” ARG!!! I am battling the feelings of guilt, shame (oh the shame), narratives of weakness that tell me I shouldn’t be doing this in the first place- that I need to be healed as quickly as possible. Then the words of my chiro come into play, “And just remember how long it took your body to get to this point.” CRAP—why do they have to speak with such incredible logic that I can’t argue back at them?

My counselor and I talked about this juncture as a closing of the chapters on the first part of my story- I can see that. I mean I have had other surgeries before and fought through them and pushed myself harder than I prolly should have. ( I AM titanium after all) This one feels different somehow- the stakes feel higher-or more is at stake- almost like more of me is at stake-I am not sure I am unpacking that the way I want- This one feels heavier- like a much bigger lift. But I can see where my counselor is saying this is the closure to part 1 and “wow, now you get to write part 2!!!! I am so excited to see how you write this- YOU get to CHOOSE this time.” I think that is what is at the core- the damage that has been caused -(by numerous sources) I did not have a choice–I had to accept and put up with other people’s actions-actions that equates so much damage that it makes a radiologist raise their eyebrows. I heard another counselor the other day talk about dependency (that’s one of my swear words- you know, like moist)- they said that allowing ourselves to be dependent on others actually honors their love for us. WHAT!?!?!?! Then they had to correlate that dependency to being a child of God– that we are to come to the throne as little children, expecting to be picked up and held close- cuddled, safe in the embrace that provides warmth and love unconditional. Crap!!! They weren’t supposed to see through my caged emotions and speak the words I crave- I thought I had hid my desire to be all wrapped up in a blanket, wheeled to the OR and to hear, ” I love you my sweet girl– let them do their work-all you need to do is close your eyes and let them take care of you- I’ll be here when you wake- and I, along with many others, can’t wait to take care of you when the surgeons are done with their work.”

How I yearn to lean into those arms-and yet, I am not there yet. I have been so conditioned to fight and to fear anyone coming too close, that I can’t even entertain a moment like that. I can’t understand people wanting to come alongside and making room in their basement- or giving me a comfy bed to sleep in right after surgery. I can’t conceive that being treated like that actually happens-it feels like a dream too good to be true and I am terrified to accept it. So I am fighting- clawing to remain stubborn, independent, strong and capable so I don’t wake up disappointed- Then again, I know in my heart that the curtain is about to close on Act 1 and I get to choose the narrative for Act 2. I get to choose???? wow. What do I do with that?

So, the song I chose to share is a massive risk- I did not pretty sing- I sang from the heart, there are few missed notes- a moment where a voice shakes and I am not perfect- but the lyrics sing to me. I figured that while I was risking emotionally- I would risk a little more and for all those in my class who thought and told me I sucked- yeah that may have been true then- but then again, maybe I didn’t. Maybe if the narrative had been re-written then I would not have battled decades of demons each time I take the mic. You see, both my boys have loved hearing my voice since they were babies and my oldest looks at me often and marvels- “mom, how come you don’t let anyone hear how good you actually are?” cause I don’t believe I am….. “Then my sig other will gently chastise me. ” hmmmmm why don’t you use your big girl voice- why are you hiding behind this little girl voice that carries no power? USE your BIG GIRL VOICE!” OOOKKKKAY, I used my big girl voice- and incidentally, that voice carries the chance of going hoarse permanently…..that’s another area of terror that my friend, Amy, a phenom vocal teacher is well aquainted and understands-sooooo yeah.

What does part 2 look like? Who knows, we got McDreamy first~ scalpel!