A Mighty Host of Women Sing

I started singing with the Distaff Singers in late February. By spring I knew members of the women’s chorus usually told someone if they would miss a rehearsal. So I let my section--the second sopranos--know I would miss our rehearsal on June 1 while visiting New Orleans. As it turned out, I was back home on June 1, but I was busy having surgery to repair the shoulder I had broken while riding a Segway on a tour of the French Quarter. That was the first of two surgeries required to repair my broken humerus. The surgeon installed four pins the size of knitting needles to hold the bone together while it healed. He cheerfully scheduled a second surgery to remove the pins six weeks later. I had no idea what I was in for.

For the first several days I managed to move around the house and even walked around Lake Merritt six days after surgery, my arm immobilized in a sling and swathe. But, as the days passed, the tissue around my pins started to shrink—first as the swelling subsided and later as my arm muscles atrophied with disuse. By the end of the second week I could see the end of one of the pins pressing up under my skin. Climbing the stairs became a painful challenge as the slightest jarring sent jagged bolts of nerve pain down my arm all the way to my fingers. I became increasingly skilled at timing my pain pills to coincide with any necessary movement. Bathing was the worst. Even with a Percoset taken 20 minutes before my shower, I had to use all my La Maze breathing techniques to get through the daily ordeal.

I stopped sleeping in the matrimonial bed and opted instead for the family room couch. My husband insisted on breathing and had the potential to inadvertently touch me if I tried to sleep beside him. Alone and propped against the upholstered cushions worked much better, especially with two Percoset tablets and a glass of water within reach. I tried to sleep through the night. But once wakened by pain I would check the clock and if I was still awake an hour later I’d take a pill. This went on for what seemed like forever, but it was actually six increasingly miserable weeks.

One thing that kept me going through those long, long days and even longer nights was our weekly Distaff rehearsal. The second sopranos made sure I had a ride to the church were we gathered every Tuesday night to learn our music. All I had to do was get in the car. I quickly learned to bring a pill along in case my pain got out of hand, and I was very tired by the time the rehearsal broke up around 9. But singing with all those other women was worth everything it took to be there because I got to experience at least one thing from my normal life still working.

The pins finally came out and my arm is now, four months later, well on its way to a full recovery. I have put the worst of the whole episode behind me now, as I focus on gaining more strength and range of motion. So I was taken by surprise during the Distaff performance on November 1 when tears started streaming down my cheeks. We were singing “Still I Rise”, our big finale. The recurrent image of being lifted on eagle’s wings took me back to those difficult weeks when my voice—weak and uncertain—melded with the strong and confident sound of forty mighty women singing together. Those voices were the eagle’s wings that helped carry me toward wholeness. I am so grateful for that gift.

Happy Thanksgiving!