Column: opera doctor

I have been struggling with voice problems for over a month and a half. Probably something of a cold in combination with some more emotion and stress. December is generally a month that I can tolerate a little less well, but it has never had such an effect on my vocal cords before. When at the turn of the year I could only perform 'Buon anno' with my hands, because my voice was completely gone, the measure was full. On to the doctor.

my regular medicine di casa (of general practitioner) is a roguish man in his late fifties. The type 'take a few days rest and an aspirin' and 'you'll be fine, as long as you sleep, you'll get better'. This time, my GP was a little more dedicated than the standard phrases and looked unsettling down my throat. After a few 'ai' and 'oh' he walks out of the room and comes back with… a box of aspirin. "Take this one and you'll see that the swelling can relax."

I look at him wide-eyed: 'Swelling? Of what? You know I sing, is there something wrong with my vocal cords?' "Yeah, those tires are a little swollen," he replies calmly. Take an aspirin three times a day and you'll be reborn again.' With little confidence I shake his hand and walk out of the treatment room. “That's not going to work. I have to start singing again, otherwise the preseason will be nothing.'

My savior Angelo

I decide my Master Angelo call and talk to him. He has me come right away to listen to my voice for half an hour. When I start to sing, he looks at me for a long time: 'This requires the real thing, colleague, aspirin won't get you there.' He decides to call his regular opera doctor who has helped him throughout his career. 'You'll see,' Angelo says, 'if Pietro has looked at your throat, you'll be cured in no time. That man works miracles.'

It almost gives me a Lourdes feeling, but I'm still very curious about the magic touch from Pietro. An hour later the bell rings and an extremely well-groomed man walks into the living room, holding an old doctor's bag. He greets Angelo warmly and then looks at me. "The season isn't really cooperating, but this kid suffers from other things when I see it that way. Come on, let me take a look at your throat.'

He takes some instruments out of his bag, cheerfully saying that before coming here he had looked at the vocal cords of a stunning soprano singer. "Her bands were as beautiful as her looks," he tells me with a small lump in his throat. "Of absolute beauty." Unfortunately he couldn't say that about my throat. 'It is not easy, you have a considerable inflammation that you especially feel in the high register. I suggest we do a specific measurement of your vocal cords in the hospital and then look at the medication.'

Santa Maria Nuova

The Santa Maria Nuova is the old monastery hospital in the city. In itself a beautiful building, only I can't see its beauty for a while. Nervous, I walk inside. Firstly because I have never been to an Italian hospital and secondly because I have a small voice in the back of my mind that says that my career plans could just change.

When I enter the waiting room I see three nuns, a father and two ladies. Carefully I ask if they come for the ENT doctor. When the first nun answers, I can hear from the sound that this is indeed the case. Well, I think to myself, at least there is protection from above with this delegation.

Strangely enough, it's my turn first: 'Doctor Bossman! Welcome, good to see you, let's see if another Traviata can come out of your mouth!' Pietro cheerfully shakes my hand again. We walk into his room where his real equipment is ready. 'So,' he says with a laugh, 'I turned on Rigoletto for the atmosphere. Can you have it?' When I nod he softly starts the Donna e mobile whistling along while he conducts the investigations.

After half an hour we are done and I can wait for the results. When I'm called in, I notice that my hands are shaking. "I'll be able to sing again, won't I?" I ask softly, looking tensely at Pietro. He looks at me with a serious look. “Yeah, like I told you at Angelo… your tires are having a hard time these days. But, it's just inflammation. I prescribe you anti-inflammatories and add a drop of cortisone, then you should be back on your feet within a week. Oh, and absolute peace, so little talking and no singing!'

The Opera Doctor

Relieved, I shake his hand and before I walk out of his treatment room, my curiosity wins over my diplomacy: 'why are you called the opera doctor?' I ask him. Pietro laughs. 'Because I work a lot with vocal cords, but I especially love opera. I was in the audience at a performance of Angelo when his colleague was bothered by her voice. During the intermission I treated her and then she could finish the piece. Angelo has been calling me that ever since. Do not worry. Take your meds, know that you are going to feel tired and allow it. You will see that in a few days the artist in you will be alive again and your voice stronger than before. Good luck and say hi to Angelo!'

I go outside relieved. And now the most important thing is: a lot of silence.