Hanging out with my good pal Murphy

Let me cut it to you straight, I'm thinking of changing my name. To Murphy.

Perhaps Murph E. Slaw?

Has a nice ring to it, and is considerably easier to spell than my current surname.

Worth pondering.

If you haven't already picked up on this, I have a certain, well... proclivity shall we say, towards murphy's law situations. As I mentioned in my last post (yes, the one where I bored you all to tears with my musical resume), I've lost some function in my throat and vocal chords. Over the last week or so, I've gone through extensive testing to try and pinpoint where specifically the problem is located.

Last week, I started with vocal testing. In a nutshell, the doctor stuck a giant black tube with a camera down my nose and throat and then watched me make a fool out of myself...er...watched me read and sing. I thought it was bad enough when the doctor handed me a laminated passage and asked me to read it- first normally and then while attempting to project my voice. But then my doctor asked me to sing...and she wanted me to sing as loudly as possible, so she could record it. So, not only did I give the world's worst rendition of "Amazing Grace," but it is now recorded for all of time. After my studio recording session, I felt it necessary to explain to the doctor and technician that I normally can actually carry a tune. They both smiled politely...and then glanced at each other with that "Suuuuure" look. Stupendous. I'm just waiting for my youtube debut.

Fast forward a few days to my esophagram. The point of an esophagram is to see if there are any abnormal masses in your esophagus, to locate any unusual narrowing and to watch your muscles and nerves fire as you swallow. So you hang out in an xray machine, in hospital gown fashion of course, and swallow a ridiculous amount of barium while the radiologist snaps pictures. Just to spice it up, it took 2 full 8-ounce glasses of barium, 2 barium tablets, 3 barium dipped marshmallows and a half a cup of barium dipped rice chex before the radiologist was satisfied with the pictures. 

My stomach was thrilled, let me assure you.

So the verdict is that I have neuro-muscular damage of the upper esophagus. In non-doctor speak...I have nerve damage. There was literally a 1% chance of this happening from my thyroid surgery. Just call me Murphy.

The nerve damage prevents me from speaking for a long amount of time, projecting my voice, singing and swallowing solid food without difficulty. Next week I will start voice therapy, on the off chance it helps...my doctors aren't optimistic, but it is certainly worth a try. In a few months, I will have more invasive testing to be able to pinpoint the exact nerves that are damaged and in August (a year from surgery) I will have the option of looking into microlaryngeal surgery...which clearly also comes with its own set of risks and scars.

To be honest, it is way too much for me to process right now. So I'm coping the way I cope best.

I'm laughing. A lot.

I mean, COME ON!

I can see the headlines now: 

"Woman tries to start eating again and loses the ability to swallow"

"Teacher works hard to return from disability and loses the ability to talk"

"Former singer chosen for the role of Strangled Cat in upcoming Halloween Film"

Could it be? Finally my chance for an Oscar??

To further my absolutely stellar track record for the week, today I paid a visit to an allergist that my GI has been begging me to see. According to his website, he specializes in the "unique and bizarre."

Ha.

The poor nurse practitioner was sent in to meet with me first. She asked for my medical records, I handed her my 3-inch binder, and she decided to take a seat. After I spoke with her for awhile, she left to go speak with the doctor. We've all been in doctors' offices...the walls are rarely very thick and you can hear a lot...especially when the doctor has a deep, baritone voice. For the next ten minutes, I heard a muffled female voice, followed by...

-"Really?"

-"But what about...Oh"

-"She has already been tested for that? Are you sure"

-"No! That can't be right!"

You get the idea.

At one point, someone came bursting into the room, looked at me for 10 seconds, and then closed the door and walked out. No words spoken.

Yep. I'm real. I promise.

In fact, the doctor and nurse practitioner liked me so much that I get to go back tomorrow! Today I gave them 7 vials of my blood and tomorrow, they would like a chunk of my skin.

Yes. A chunk of my skin.

Since I'm still breaking out in a daily rash, despite the complete removal of all things yellow dye, the doctor would like to biopsy one of my hives. But, ya know, since this is pretty unusual, they don't have the equipment to get results in the office...so I will need to transfer my sample to the lab after my appointment.

Roughly translated, I will drive across Fairfax with a chunk of my skin in a lunchbox. Normal.

In other news, the doctor suggested that I try and get a hive in an unusual spot tonight, because the biopsy will leave a scar.

Now if only I could locate my copy of "Getting Hives for Dummies"...