Tuesday, October 27, 2015

That time the speech therapist made me cry

As I am trying to lower my shoulders and relax my neck and breathe from my diaphragm for the speech therapist, a ghostly stricture crushes my trachea. "Oh, that was weird!" I immediately said (while probably not using the proper breath support) and tears filled my eyes.

"What is it? What's going on?" she asked. I tried to explain the whole thyroid cancer thing, which she already knew about. It's not like it hurt, it just threw me back in the middle of that whole medical drama, which I thought I had transcended.

But no. A high school Facebook friend is having similar problems and had posted pictures of her fresh incision recently. That may have been on my mind. I've been kind of annoyed with her dramatic postings, wanted to simultaneously reassure her and smack her down. It's not even a real cancer! They should call it something else. Really, get a grip.

As usual, the one I want to smack down and reassure is myself.

Why do you have to be such a Puritan hardass? Why does everything need to perfect? Why don't you just chill? Why don't you speak up? (Because I'm in speech therapy because I lost half my vocal volume, you inner jerk!)

And the reassurance? Ugh.

I will try to reassure myself, too. But I am not sure that works. I have notebook after notebook of morning pages at this point, and I'm going to estimate it's 50% rumination, 30% self-reassurance, 20% lists. Yeah, I guess I haven't hit 110% on self-reassurance yet. Try harder.

I will declare this a victory in realizing that I'm not "over" it yet, and that I need to be kinder. To myself, for not being kinder. To my poor ex-classmate, for having provoked none of this. To my speech therapist, who had to deal with a crazy body memory of what it feels like to have your neck sliced open, no matter how expertly.

No comments:

Post a Comment