I woke to the feeling of my mother’s hand gently stroking my forehead. She was smoothing over my matted bangs. I was still disoriented and not sure where I was. I had changed rooms so many times during my hospital stay. I still felt foggy and confused. I was also becoming increasingly frustrated because I was not able to follow conversation well. The ringing in my ears was loud and my head was buzzing from medications.
(Ch. 23 of my story of how I became deaf…)
I would eventually learn that there had been significant damage my vocal chords from all the trauma that went on inside my throat from the intubation, tubes from the respirator, and the many throat cultures that were performed during my two and a half week hospital stay during the summer of 1981. I would soon discover that I could no longer sing with the pure tone sounds or range I used to project as a vocal musician. It was a bitter blow. I would become a noteless flute; a mute bird with no voice to sing of my loss and throw this tremendous sorrow from my soul.
