I have nodes

Okay so my last post was titled “Starting 2026 Right.”Well. That didn’t last long.

For years, my voice and I had a very casual, mutually toxic relationship. After a big night out, I’d get a little raspy, but one glass of water and boom, cured. Like a miracle. I was more than happy living this way. Screaming? Singing? Living my best life? Zero consequences.

Or so I thought.

About a year ago, my voice started holding grudges. The raspiness wouldn’t disappear overnight anymore. It would hang around for days. And not in a fun, “smoky jazz singer” way. My actual vocal cords would feel sore. Not my throat. The cords. Very rude.

Then July hit, and that’s when I knew something was seriously off. I had a hoarse voice without doing literally anything. No yelling. No aggressive car concerts. Just existing… poorly. Talking normally sounded like I’d been screaming into the void.

Singing? Absolutely not. I didn’t think it was possible for me to become a worse singer than I already am, but life loves to humble you. I physically couldn’t sing. It was just air. Air and some wildly off-key notes. No sliding, no control, just constant little voice cracks like a teenage boy in health class.

But the real heartbreak? I couldn’t keep up with Ruby belting out a Glee banger in the car. I’d make it through maybe a quarter of the song before tapping out. Devastating.

Despite ALL of this… I still didn’t learn my lesson.

I kept going to karaoke. Playing games that required shouting. Hanging out in loud pubs and clubs. And don’t even get me started on trivia. Sometimes knowledge needs to be delivered at volume.

Eventually, enough was enough. I started sounding like I smoked three packs a day and was perpetually fighting off a cold. I had to push so much air out just to say a single sentence. By the end of an easy five-hour shift at work, my vocal cords felt like they’d run a marathon.

So I finally went to see an ENT (aka an otolaryngologist).

He was brilliant. Also immediately concerned. Within minutes, I was in a chair with a camera shoved up my nose, taking a little sightseeing tour of my own throat. And there they were...two vocal nodules, just chilling, living rent-free on my vocal cords.

Honestly? Huge relief. At least there was something wrong. I was terrified he’d tell me I just have a weak voice and there’s nothing they can do, and I’d be sent back to square one with nothing but vibes.

But then came the treatment plan:

Six months of speech therapy. And if that doesn’t work? Microsurgery.

Six. Months.

SIX??

Like yes, that’s a reasonable amount of time to fix my voice… if it works. But still. SIX.

So that’s where we’re at. Wish me luck!

And please tell me someone caught the Pitch Perfect reference in this post.

Sez