Giggles and Tears

By doing the vocal drills I think my humming is getting stronger, but my talking is as bad as ever, both volume and pronunciation. On my way out the door to see the speech therapist this morning Kara said, “Tell her it isn’t working.”

At the visit I was discouraged that even the humming seemed very weak. Part of the problem is that I try too hard because I know she’s listening, which undermines the whole process. I KNOW this, but seem to be unable to do anything about it.

Little aside: One of the “minor symptoms” from my MS (that doesn’t get much press) is that my emotions seem to be very loosely tethered. When something strikes me as funny, even remotely, I start giggling and it is nearly impossible to stop at once, even if snickering is inappropriate. It can be a real problem, especially during speech therapy. I cannot speak AT ALL when I have the giggles. My therapist, Allison, knows about this problem, there is even a word for it. At least once per session, a drill or something sets me off. It is terrible. I have explained that my snickering is not correlated to internal joviality; she seems to understand. Today I had a run in with the other end of the emotional spectrum. Here’s what happened:

When I did so poorly on the drills, Allison went to get the other therapist for a second opinion/new ideas. This other woman had me talk as she fingered my throat, a lot. It was at least a minute, and although she wasn’t rough, I winced a few times. It kind of hurt. It is a very singular experience, but I kept focused on my job and held off the giggles. She said that the muscles in my larynx were so tight they were almost bound, especially on the right side. She said that it was reversible, but there is no pill, shot, or surgery. I just need to manually, slowly pull them down and keep on practicing. I asked how often. She said a little austerely “At least five times a day.” I told her I would do it every ten minutes if it would help. Blisters on my throat would be a small price to pay to get my voice back. It is quickly becoming my biggest medical problem, and it isn’t even MS! (It is related, but not a direct symptom.) She counseled against overdoing it.

After the 2^nd lady left, Allison handed me a little story to read as she worked my throat. I was to read it with a gentle tone but with as much vocal strength as I could muster. Simple, right? The immediate problem was that it is hard for me to read from paper. Dang. She had forgotten that I have vision problems too and apologized but I told her I could do it slowly. And so I began. Her hand was working my throat as I slowly read a children’s tale about rainbows and leprechauns. It was hard to make out the letters and harder yet to speak but it was audible. A few sentences in and I was struck at how pitiful the scene was. I’m not one for feeling sorry for myself, but at that moment I felt so pathetic: 90% mute AND half blind. I couldn’t go on. I choked out a hasty apology, buried my face in my hands and cried. Giggling isn’t the only free-roaming emotion. It only lasted a few seconds, and she understands that just as giggling doesn’t connote levity; tears are a tremendous exaggeration of sadness.

When it passed I tried again. It was hard to make out the words. Then it dawned on me that the story wasn’t important; it was just to give me words to say. Not only am I naturally gabby, I have lots of things committed to memory. I asked her if I could just recite something rather than read. She thought it was a great idea. I asked if I could do it in Spanish. She didn’t care what I was saying, as long as I was talking. I began to recite, in Spanish, D&C 121:33-46. My pronunciation was horrid but she didn’t know it. I did about six verses. Now that was a funny scene, but I didn’t think about it. I stayed giggle-free. (With hindsight I realize that I probably should have done The Articles of Faith, in English.)