By Christina Calloway
For the past few weeks, I’ve questioned how something I love so much could turn around and hurt me.
If you’ve talked to me in-person or have had a phone interview with me, I’m sure you’ve tried to hold your laughter when my voice got squeaky.
For the past four months, I’ve blamed everything from allergies to thyroid issues for why my voice has been hoarse, but only recently I found out I have a nodule on my vocal cord.
The doctor told me nodules are usually caused by over-singing. I don’t even sing for a living but karaoke has become a weekly tradition and when my voice worsened, I was convinced the only way to correct it was to sing more. I’ve overdone it.
Now I have nights where I stay up to nearly 3 a.m., watching YouTube covers of my favorite songs that show the most vocal range, living vicariously through these people.
The only real solution is to have surgery to get the nodule removed; it may not be just not being able to sing that I’ll have to worry about in the long-run.
My singing past is flashing right before my eyes. I remember my first talent show, first solo in church, singing in front of Will Smith and his wife at a gala, and my “The Voice” audition. If I could just have my chops back, I’d be happy. I’d never abuse my poor vocal cords again.
Drinkers worry about their livers. I’m worried about my voice.
Christina Calloway writes for Clovis Media Inc.