The Tangential Author.

I go off on tangents.

A lot. 

Having the kind of mind that just won't quit is both a blessing and a curse. This past week, it has been a blessing. 

I think.

I began the week strong, in a writing sense, and I found myself advancing the tendrils of my current work in progress forward. It was really satisfying. I tend to work in a linear fashion but often I'll get bursts of inspiration that will have me going back in the time line of a given story in order to add nuance to earlier scenes or help me to clarify things that I was struggling with in those earlier parts of the story. Or, I'll go off on tangents. 

Big tangents.

So, I arrived at a scene in which my protagonist, Hayden Luschcombe, had identified a problem with a motor vehicle owned by my other protagonist, Isabelle Sampi - simply by hearing the sound of the engine. Let's just say that Hayden has savant qualities. He declares that the problem with Isabelle's van (she's a Baker/small business owner by the way) is a blocked fuel line and he offers to help her fix the problem until she can get it properly appraised by a qualified mechanic. They live in the mountains of Victoria, Australia in a town that is far from a mechanic.

(I'm shipping these two.)

This presented two problems for me. One - I am not a mechanic. I know a little bit about cars that will help me out of a jam but that's about it. Two - what homespun, ridiculous-but-effective method could I come up with to unblock a fuel line of a 2011 Holden Combo commercial van.

Here's where the tangents kick off. I started by researching the basics of modern motor vehicle fuel systems. What they comprise of, how they pass fuel from the tank to the engine, what the ingredient of modern fuels contain and what scenarios contribute to the blocking of a fuel system. I learned quite a bit from this exploration although a lot of it went quite over my head.

Once I had the anatomy and physiology of a modern motor vehicle fuel system worked out, I progressed to coming up with a homemade method for unblocking a fuel line. Now, as I write this, I'm still trying to nut this one out. See, a fuel line is essentially, a metal reinforced rubber hose which is capable of getting clogged up with a number of impurities from motor fuel. And there are any number of solvents out there that are capable of unblocking said hose. But, for the purpose of my story, it has to be home made and it has to sound - on the surface at least - totally ridiculous. At the moment, I have three ingredients that could be employed, either singularly or perhaps in combination - bicarb soda, citric acid and vinegar. 

I probably need to sound out an actual mechanic as well but, given I still have major problems with my voice, I'm reluctant to introduce myself to people I've not met before. 

I'll work it out I'm sure but if you have any suggestions or know a motor mechanic who can offer up a suggestion, please do point them in this direction. 

#

On the subject of my voice - I know it's been a while since I've spoken about it here but things aren't really progressing in that regard. It's painful to attempt vocalization and when I do, I have this over sensitive gag reflex that kicks in. On a full stomach, it is not pretty. I've lost a few meals because of it, so I avoid it as much as possible. 

It's depressing. 

As someone who enjoys conversation, to not be able to engage in it is isolating. I recently attended a family party and it was a stark experience. I found myself sitting quietly in a corner, observing others rather than being in amongst them. I mean, contributing a handful of nods here and there isn't really very engaging. And the totally acceptable noise level at a party make broken speech impossible so...yeah...

It's still a work in progress but I fear, at this point, there isn't much work left that I can do.

Here's a lovely piece of irony for you though. 

I returned to work a while back and it has been good, even though I've been essentially mute.

One of the first patients I nursed on my return was a young woman who had a large, malignant brain tumor removed. In the immediate aftermath of her surgery, she was doing okay but she unexpectedly had a bleed that rendered her unconscious and she was in a coma for a long time. Gradually she recovered her consciousness but she was mute - really only able to communicate with her eyes and broken hand gestures. 

I was allocated to her and it became a great partnership because we both developed a method of communication with each other that transcended speech. She made it possible for me to nurse despite my impediment and that gave me a much appreciated boost in confidence.

She can speak now. She's actually doing very well and we now have a kind of running joke that she got her speech back faster than I did. 

It's heart warming you know. 

I can take *something* from this situation. 

DFA.

State Of Play.

So it's been six weeks.

Six weeks since the surgery that turned my life sideways. I was going to say upside down, but that sorta seems overly dramatic and not altogether justified. 

Or maybe it's just me being uncomfortable with the significance of all of this. 

So where am I at?

I still can't talk with any decent quality. I'm good for a few rasping sentences but I'm stuffed after about an hour a day and then I just can't make it work. Which presents a problem because, before all of this surgery, I committed to an author talk at a suburban library here in Adelaide later this month. I still want to do it so I've been resting my voice as much as is humanly possible and I've been working on my exercises three and four times a day in order to stretch the muscles in my throat because I really want to do it. I feel as though I need to do it. 

(Week 3. Would you wanna kiss this??)

My throat hurts like a mother f***er - all the time. 

I saw my surgeon earlier this week and he passed his camera down into the area where he operated. While it's healing, it's become inflamed and hyper sensitive due to some reflux I've developed. I'm now popping Somac daily (a protein pump inhibitor) to address the reflux and I'm swallowing Gaviscon four times a day. The Gaviscon is a thick cement like liquid - that tastes awful - which coats my throat and protects it against acids my natural desire to actually fucking speak.

It's ironic that the exercises I'm supposed to be doing are actually contributing to all of this. 

Oh - and I think I'm addicted to coedine.

I'm popping Panadiene like a junkie - well it feels that way - even though I'm actually sticking to the requisite recommended dosing of 6 hourly. The pain has localized itself to my throat, in the vicinity of my voice box - what's left of it and it feels like razor blades everytime I so much as swallow my own saliva. You would be amazed just how active the tissues and muscles of the throat are, even when you aren't doing anything. It's nigh on impossible to get any respite from it. And, of course, as all knowledgeable persons would know, Panadiene plays havoc with one's bowels. I am so constipated that I've added several classifications to the Bristol Stool Scale. Our toilet has become the equivalent of a missile testing range when I'm in there. It's hazardous.

I hate eating. 

I don't enjoy food at all right now. Between the pain from my still healing palate and my throat, meals are just a chore. It all tastes like metal and flesh. I approach the act of swallowing solid food with dread so much so that I'm starting to avoid them altogether. 

But it has done wonders for my waist line. I've dropped 5kgs in the past month and I'm still shedding.

Suck on that Michelle Bridges!!

I'm back at work. 

Because I do night duty, I can avoid talking for the most part outside of handover and introductions to my patients. They have been very understanding and have kinda dug having a largely mute ICU Nurse caring for them. My colleagues have been hugely supportive and somehow make it work so that I can work. 

(Walhalla - where I want to set my new novel.)

But I'm sinking into a state of functioning depression. 

I want my life back. Beyond waking and doing what I have to do to make it through each day, I'm not motivated. I am trying to write. I've largely mapped out a new novel but it all feels like a chore right now and I don't enjoy it and that's dangerous for a writer. I don't get out much. I clock watch a lot, waiting for the next time where I can pop some pills or drink some cement to ease my dysfunctional throat. It all weighs heavily on my mental well being. At the moment, life consists of just getting through and I want to do more than just fucking get through...

You know...?

DFA.

The Snore Of Destiny Part Trois.

As I write this, I'm at a rather low ebb. 

A few weeks ago, as regular readers may recall, I underwent surgery on my throat to address an issue I was having with swallowing and choking - as well as an annoying snore. Throughout the course of investigation, it actually turned out to be a more serious issue than I had anticipated, involving the paralysis of one side of my vocal cords. You can recap on the short history here and here. 

The objective of the surgery was to create an area of scar tissue that would have the effect splinting my airway open so that it wouldn't flop inwards, particularly when I sleep and thus cause the snore. It was also going to address the problems I've been having with my swallowing which has, in a word, become scarily dysfunctional.

To cut a long story short, that surgery did not have the outcome we were hoping for. 

It didn't work. 

My swallowing remains dysfunctional and the snore wasn't neutralized. In fact, if anything, it's worse. 

I have tried to cajole myself along in the hope that it would all settle down, and once the healing process had run its course, all would be well. But it didn't turn out that way. 

So last week, after visiting my surgeon, I had to make a decision. 

I was presented with the option of returning to hospital and having a dual procedure that involves removing some of the tissue around my palate. This includes the uvula - that dangling, tear drop shaped piece of flesh that hangs down from the roof of the mouth and swings back and forth. The effect of this palatal flap surgery will be that it will open that section of the airway up and reduce amount of negative pressure that can be exerted on it when I sleep. Simply put, it won't vibrate and therefore I won't snore. 

The second part of the procedure is the trickier proposition. It involves going back to the area of my vocal cords that has been affected by the paralysed nerve supplying that region of my throat and removing the bone that anchors my right vocal cord. This is called the arytenoid bone. By removing it and applying the laser to that area of the throat, it will widen the airway as well as strengthen it by deliberately forming scar tissue. It will prevent food and fluid from entering that area of my airway that was sneaking in underneath the epiglottis. That's the flap of tissue that closes over my airway during swallowing and prevents food and fluid from falling into my airway. 

This is happening this week - this Friday.

The trade off?

My voice. 

I have to face the fact that this surgery will have a profound and permanent effect on my voice and my ability to speak. 

It has come to that because of the dysfunctional nerve that supplies my voice box. It won't recover from the viral neuritis that has affected it and so, what is being done now amounts to damage control. And I've chosen this route because - basically - I don't want to choke to death in my sleep because of some small fragments of food and fluid that has snuck into my airway.

I will require therapy afterwards to kinda retrain my throat and the muscles in it to adapt to this more extensive surgery. So I expect my recovery to be a lot more complicated.

But to sacrifice my speech...

Our voice is everything. It is a key part of who we are and without it, how are we to express ourselves?

I've been thinking a lot about this over the past week. Of course, expression and communication in this written or text form is so much a part of who I am & so I don't doubt that I will continue to express myself in this fashion. 

But, expression and communication is much more than simply words on a page. 

It's conversation. It's interaction with others. It's expressing ideas. It's singing shitty pop songs in a moment of abandon - either alone or in the presence of others. It's talking on the phone to loved ones far away.

It's reading stories to my children. 

I've been thinking about that one a lot. I remember a promise I may to my daughter recently that I would re-read to her The Guernsey Literary & Potato Peel Pie Society. I used to read it to her when she was first born as a way of getting her used to my voice. She always loved hearing me recount that.

What am I going to be without my voice?

I'm scared. 

...Friday.

DFA.