on dealing with the things
It is odd, strange, alien to be always silent. But this is my life, for a little while at least.
I asked my dear niece- a deaf teacher in Anchorage (both a teacher of the deaf, and deaf herself) for tips on apps. The one she recommended was more fully-featured than required: it will take speech and turn it into captions for her, as well as generate speech from her text input. All I need is the latter, and I found a couple to try. Then, I had fun testing out the various accents available. I've settled on a female voice with a mid-Atlantic accent. It's not the most natural sounding, but the app is free, so that's fine for now.
My "larry" friend has developed a fine speaking voice using redirected air, it's amazing- not all laryngeal cancer survivors sound so natural. He blocks his trach opening (hidden under a bandanna) with a finger in order to speak. That means he's forced to be silent when, say, carrying packages or in the middle of washing dishes. Reminds me of an anecdote I heard about a hearing husband who had a deaf wife: she would speak her piece in an argument, then shut her eyes. Ha!
I must remember to ask him if some people "bank" their voices before surgery: record all the phenomes and such. so that they can later have it made into a sort of prosthetic. Or, if their larynxes are generally too beat up by then to make a useful voice. I know there's a company out there that offers prosthetic nipples made from a cast of your own nipples, pre-mastectomy.
That friend was very aware, before his surgery, that his throat was going to be cut open and reconfigured, his natural voice stolen forever by the Great Thief. The night before surgery, he wrote a series of letters to loved one, just in case things went badly. Because like it or not, all surgery carries risks. There's always the chance that you won't wake up. That's wjy last year, lying on the table waiting to be knocked out for an appendectomy, I was looking up at the big lamp overhead that had an edge of dirty rust, and thought I really hope that isn't the last thing I ever see.
Anyway, I'm dealing. With the muteness, at least. Last night I visited Luna across the hall, and we had a conversation with her speaking and me typing out speech and miming a little. It's not insurmountable, just kind of slow.
Today, a late start- then I decided to dress up pink and pretty, with my hair in crown of braids with hot pink ribbons, a pink floral shirt, and even some makeup. Because why not. Lately my mood has ranged from melancholy to blackly depressed; it's not always a happy thing to read entries from two or so years ago, and reflect on how far I haven't come. But I'm doing what I can.
Really, that's all any of us can ever do, right?
I asked my dear niece- a deaf teacher in Anchorage (both a teacher of the deaf, and deaf herself) for tips on apps. The one she recommended was more fully-featured than required: it will take speech and turn it into captions for her, as well as generate speech from her text input. All I need is the latter, and I found a couple to try. Then, I had fun testing out the various accents available. I've settled on a female voice with a mid-Atlantic accent. It's not the most natural sounding, but the app is free, so that's fine for now.
My "larry" friend has developed a fine speaking voice using redirected air, it's amazing- not all laryngeal cancer survivors sound so natural. He blocks his trach opening (hidden under a bandanna) with a finger in order to speak. That means he's forced to be silent when, say, carrying packages or in the middle of washing dishes. Reminds me of an anecdote I heard about a hearing husband who had a deaf wife: she would speak her piece in an argument, then shut her eyes. Ha!
I must remember to ask him if some people "bank" their voices before surgery: record all the phenomes and such. so that they can later have it made into a sort of prosthetic. Or, if their larynxes are generally too beat up by then to make a useful voice. I know there's a company out there that offers prosthetic nipples made from a cast of your own nipples, pre-mastectomy.
That friend was very aware, before his surgery, that his throat was going to be cut open and reconfigured, his natural voice stolen forever by the Great Thief. The night before surgery, he wrote a series of letters to loved one, just in case things went badly. Because like it or not, all surgery carries risks. There's always the chance that you won't wake up. That's wjy last year, lying on the table waiting to be knocked out for an appendectomy, I was looking up at the big lamp overhead that had an edge of dirty rust, and thought I really hope that isn't the last thing I ever see.
Anyway, I'm dealing. With the muteness, at least. Last night I visited Luna across the hall, and we had a conversation with her speaking and me typing out speech and miming a little. It's not insurmountable, just kind of slow.
Today, a late start- then I decided to dress up pink and pretty, with my hair in crown of braids with hot pink ribbons, a pink floral shirt, and even some makeup. Because why not. Lately my mood has ranged from melancholy to blackly depressed; it's not always a happy thing to read entries from two or so years ago, and reflect on how far I haven't come. But I'm doing what I can.
Really, that's all any of us can ever do, right?