6 years ago I sang “I was made for loving you” with Gene Simmons at one of Melbourne’s most iconic music venues, Festival Hall. It was a surreal and exciting opportunity, but I was quietly terrified. It was my first time singing in front of an audience after having had vocal surgery just 29 days before.
I’ve never spoken about the surgery publicly. I felt ashamed that I’d done this to myself, and I was scared of what it would mean for my career and my reputation. I placed my value as a performer on the fact that above all else, I was reliable and consistent. This vocal injury shattered that idea of myself, and erased my confidence.
On top of that, the injury happened in the months between landing a role in a show and the rehearsals beginning. Ordinarily I would be using that time to get my voice fit for an 8 show week, and instead I was in vocal rehabilitation, seemingly starting from scratch, and struggling. What if I couldn’t replicate the performances that got me cast in the role? What if I lost my stamina? My range?
From the outside (ie Instagram) things were never ever better. I’d just won a Helpmann Award. I’d just been announced as the female lead in a big show. I was even trying my hand at being an assistant director. Everything was amazing. Except it absolutely was not.
Part of the reason I haven’t spoken about my injury is that I don’t know exactly when or how the damage happened, and as someone that prides themselves on being a good singer with good technique, I’ve felt embarrassed and ashamed about that. At that time I was gigging a lot and flying a lot, and getting over a big heartbreak, and I began to notice my voice was not bouncing back after big nights of singing. I’d check in with my voice every few days and hope it was all in my head, because, well, it often is. But after a few weeks of these check-ins going south, I knew I had to get my cords checked out by the professionals.
I got to my car the morning of the appointment to see it was parked behind a car with the vanity plates “Larynx”. Was this a good omen? Well, I’ve already told you that bit. No, it was not. Just a healthy dose of irony (the Alanis Morissette kind).
That was a Friday, and I was booked to have surgery the following Wednesday, with my 33rd birthday falling in between. I was extremely lucky to be able to be seen and admitted so quickly. And I still celebrated my birthday. I also cried a lot (a lot a lot).
The surgery went well. My headspace, however, was far from well. I’d be reasonably “ok” and stoic in speech therapy appointments and singing lessons, but as soon as I practiced on my own, I would panic and lose my ability to intake breath calmly, which meant any vocal exercise I tried inevitably failed.
There were some funny moments, though they weren’t funny at the time, at all. In fact I think most of these “moments” ended with me in tears. But now, wow, I’ve got some anecdotes! The first one, and arguably most memorable, was while I waiting for the anaesthetist outside my least favourite kind of theatre (operating). I had my eyes closed and was trying to meditate through my fear of the impending surgery when a voice made itself known, coming from the curtained-off gurney beside mine. “Are you Amy Lehpamer? You do musical theatre, yeah?”, it asked. So I was 10 years into my musical theatre career at this stage and I reckon I’d been recognised in the wider world precisely 5 times, total. But here I was, doing my best to not panic about the future of my career, being asked about said career, and if I had any advice to give about breaking in to the industry. I can’t remember what I muttered in response, but I can’t imagine it was very inspirational.
Here’s another one. I’d booked a TV guest spot prior to the voice stuff stuffing everything up, and I didn’t want to withdraw from filming it because the creators were total heroes of mine. On the day of the shoot, the hair and makeup artist gave my character a full on 80s aerobics look, unbeknownst to the writers, who subsequently looked upon my purple eye shadow and very voluminous hair with horror. The brief was actually “earthy wellness instructor”, but I assumed there’d been a change of creative direction and let it happen: I literally had myself on mute to save my voice for my time on set. After a few hushed conversations the stylist defended herself and named me as her accomplice “we thought it would be fun!”, despite me not weighing in at all. I felt weird for the rest of the day, certain they’d never want to hire me again for having such bad taste. I’ve never watched the episode.
You want more? Oh I’ve got more. How about how my ex partner came by to collect some belongings when I was on complete vocal rest, and ended our meet-up by stating how relieved he was that he “didn’t need to help get [me] through this” Lolz!
And then there’s how I spied my (very) new boyfriend googling “How to help someone who has had Voice Surgery”. I’m not sure if ‘Booking A Holiday To Bali’ was on the list, but it was what we did, and it was not a good idea. Only a couple of weeks later we were off and in holiday mode. Except I was about to start work again and needed to get my voice in shape. It turns out that it’s hard to practice singing while in paradise*
Surrounded by monkeys, in a straw walled villa where every guest can hear your every sound, and that sound is compromised because you’ve just had voice surgery and you don’t feel confident or even comfortable singing, so the sound ends up being very very bad and you end up in a crying heap because you’re only weeks away from starting rehearsals for a fancy new show and everyone expects you to be in full health especially your boyfriend - who you’re discovering likes to get a lot of advice online - who’s googled vocal surgery recovery times and expected you’d be ok by now and just wants to have cocktails by the beach but you don’t want to drink and why did you even come here this was a huge mistake.
we broke up 4 days after we got back
**he was genuinely very nice but it was never gonna work
And somewhere in the middle of all of that came this call to sing with Gene Simmons. It was going to be promotion for the new show. The producers didn’t know about my surgery (my reliability complex, remember?), and I didn’t want them to know if they didn’t have to, so I checked in with my speech pathologist, and was given the green light to sing to an audience.
August 30 rolled up. I focussed on everything except the performance. I lined up at the newly opened Lune for aaaages to get a box of croissants. I spent 2 hours at Zara Highpoint trying to find an outfit, and ended up wearing clothes I already owned that unintentionally resembled Britney’s Baby One More Time ensemble. My hair was giving young Bieber. I was far from rock, but on I rolled.
I didn’t get to pick the key. There was no soundcheck, and certainly no rehearsal. Gene was incredibly standoffish. I tried to tell myself “this is a once in a lifetime thing, Amy, be a rockstar”. But I was scared. Despite my vocal all clear, I could only think of what had been and what was ahead. And rockstars don’t need both a classical and pop/rock facility, 8 shows a week. So I played it safe. I backed off the mic. I didn’t have all my flexibility, so some bits are pitchy.
But it was… fine.
It took me almost a year to feel like myself again, though vocally I was absolutely fine and performing well. My anxiety peaked to all time highs through the course of the run. I cried all the time. On the way to and from work, during the show. I over-exercised. I dated the wrong guy. I walked loops of my hotel rooms.
But then, it got much, much, much better. And if I think of why, I realise that it was the confluence of a few things: time, letting people in, and giving myself some grace.
Many wonderful people helped me recover. Generous, patient and knowledgeable practitioners and teachers, and beautiful and supportive friends and family. I didn’t feel comfortable telling everyone everything at the time, and I think that was the best way of making it through, for me. I was not ready to be that vulnerable; I may have felt that I had to prove myself to others beyond the mountain of simply proving myself to myself. Still, the shame and embarrassment did not serve me, and I hope anyone else going through a vocal injury can avoid those feelings and just focus on the important stuff: getting good help and recovering well.
So happy 6 years to my almost rock star moment. To the photo of Gene Simmons and I that I will forever show people at parties. To my surgery-fresh cords.
It was nice to meet you, Gene. You were a bit weird, but so was I.
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