After the blade

I surprised myself being philosophical about cancer. But the related surgery – round my neck – was another matter.

Would it threaten my singing? If so, was this swallowing the camel while straining at the gnat? Just a hobby, eh? No! Singing had opened an inner door I hardly knew existed. Allowing me to articulate a form of beauty rather than merely appreciate it. Create that which had not existed. Fuse physical exertion with secret hope. Singing is as muscular as marathon running however ludicrous that sounds.

Christmas intervened. I emailed V, my teacher, suggesting something shorter than the normal 90-minute lesson. An extended, simpler warm-up rather than the demanding exercise this had now become. Allowing her to assess the present quality of my singing voice and to measure improvement – if any – from this point.

Before the Skype screen became active I chose six of the easier songs from my repertoire and sang them to myself. It’s difficult to judge one’s own voice but I seemed hoarser. Also less confident. That latter quality is more than a state of mind, it can be go, no-go.

So, I suppose, we would fence. V setting out to encourage me but never generally, only in a technical musical way. I seeking to penetrate any hidden faults V had noticed but had not announced. The classic teacher/student relationship.

I wasn’t breathing from below. I modified my method. High notes were out but mid-high notes were easier than I had expected. V introduced a familiar eight-note sequence from a song I knew but couldn’t label. Clever!

V’s enthusiasm was real at the end. I saw this; we’ve listened to each other for six years. But these were early days. Don’t force it, she said. Another half hour next Friday.