Introduction

I am a woman, but I don’t always sound it. At times my voice has a very deep-throated quality, a bit like Marlon Brando as the Godfather, or someone you would like to call and scare your worst enemy. My raspy, breathless-sounding voice is not a desire to sound sexy, but it is due to a treatment I'm lucky enough to get which enables me to speak –– painlessly and audibly. Without it, I can easily revert back to the frog-like croakings I uttered for most of my life.

It all started when I was around twelve years old. One night, in an instant, the fluent speech I had known all my young life was gone. Finally, at the age of fifty-one, I was diagnosed and told that I am severely speech disabled.

Over the decades that I remained undiagnosed I saw a myriad of doctors, specialists, and therapists. I practiced every kind of relaxation technique I could grasp. Miraculously, I was gifted with a beautiful singing voice and became a professional singer, but I still couldn't control my speech or understand why I spoke the way I did. I prayed, I cried, I tried everything I could, but nothing helped. Friends, family, and even doctors were constantly asking, "What's wrong with your speech?"

My life without a useable voice was mostly during the telephone age –– before email, texting, and the like. School, jobs, and relationships posed a big challenge, so I usually felt alone, anxious, and frustrated. However, I realized one very important thing: I could control how I viewed my predicament. I could feel and act like a victim, or not. I could view life with a sense of humor, or not. I could try to make my life as full as possible, and I did.

When I was diagnosed, my doctors offered treatments that, if they worked, could help me learn to speak normally again. It is now over ten years since my diagnosis and I speak well most of the time. However, the treatments sometimes fail and, as I age, they may not work as well as they have so far. Also, with time, my voice may weaken and lose the strength and fluency I now enjoy. I can tell when I need a treatment because my voice loses volume, starts to crack, the register lowers, and the froglike staccato quality returns. Modern technology and my ability to use American Sign Language offers me greater communication options than ever but, in the end, I am left with myself –– sometimes voiceless, sometimes not.

I often think that my disability might be my greatest gift. It has taught me that I can find strength when I feel weak, that I can accept myself, and not only can I cope with life’s challenges, but I know how to savor every precious moment along the way. I am writing this blog to share everything I have learned and continue to learn from my unique journey. I invite you to join me. I hope you’ll come along for the ride.