I was in the old Penn Station in NY (it’s been redone and looks pretty good) where a young white popcorn vendor was trying to sell his wares. An older Black gentleman was strolling by when the popcorn guy shouted at him, “Hot buttered salty popcorn!” The Black gentleman turned slowly, and I swear grew in size much the way Gandalf does when he scolds Frodo, and in a huge voice said, “Don’t you know you don’t offer a Black man salt!” I chuckled, but it also reminded me of the myriad of health issues that men (of all races) face.
According to a recent Cleveland Clinic Study, men do not like going to the doctor. The study reveals that up to 72% of men would rather do house chores than get a check-up. The percentage of those who avoid going to doctor increases among Black men. A 2018 New Jersey Spotlight News article stated that mistrust of medical professionals (look up the Tuskegee experiments) and lack of medical professionals who represent their own communities are two common factors for avoiding a health professional.
I was one of those folks who avoided going to the doctor with any regularity. Sure, I went to the dentist and got my eyes checked, but that was about it. I was someone who was in decent shape, ate relatively well, and took a more alternative medicine approach to my health.
Advertisement
But things changed in the fall of 2021. I was in the midst of rehearsals for Don Giovanni with Indianapolis Opera. We were bouncing back from the pandemic, and I was taking my second stab at the title character. (I had a wonderful chance to try out the role with Oswego Opera in upstate New York pre-pandemic.) But something was… off. I was having trouble getting through the famous serenade, “Deh vieni alla finestra.” I simply thought I need to get into better shape. This was a particularly physical production where I had to jump from tables, sword fight, and navigate a series of steps. But I also noticed that climbing a set of stairs at the hotel was causing me incredible fatigue. Again, I chalked it up to “being out of shape,” even though my weight was in good shape. Things really hit home when, during the second performance, I had to rush down the off-stage stairs to grab the lute for the serenade. I got on stage just in time but could feel that my connection to my breath support was off. I sang what I’m sure was the choppiest “Deh vieni” known to man; my only goal being that I had to get through it.
We did three performances and by the time I flew home, I was exhausted. Not tired, literally, I had no energy. Convinced that something was off, I begrudgingly, scheduled a physical. After my primary care doctor jokingly asked me if I was a new patient, she got down to business. It didn’t take long for her to recognize that there was some sort of problem with my heart. She recommended a visit to a cardiologist where after a series of tests, hers and my fears were confirmed. I needed to have surgery.
It turned out that a valve in my heart was loose which explained my breathlessness, fatigue, and dizziness. If I didn’t get this valve repair surgery sooner rather than later, I was heading for potential heart failure! As I sat there and tried to listen to my cardiologist tell me about which surgeon should do the surgery, where the surgery would take place, how long it would take me to heal, and so on, I couldn’t help but think, “See, all doctors bring are bad news!” But I put on a brave face and began getting things ready for the surgery which meant cancelling future engagements, scheduling the consultation with the surgeon, and trying to stay COVID free so that I wouldn’t have to cancel the surgery.
On the day of the surgery, I was relatively calm. I think my faith and my belief that whatever is “meant to be will be” kept me from completely freaking out. I also knew that I was going to be under for the surgery and that my part was simply to stay under. I awoke… in a great deal of pain and fog. For nearly three days there were nurses and doctors doing tests and giving me meds; hospital staff helping me get to and from the restroom, aiding me in walks up and down the hall, and bringing meals; and many moments being thankful that I had an incredible husband, family, and friends, was insured, and that all the tests showed that I would have a speedy recovery.
Advertisement
Over the course of four weeks in February, I made myself walk, do the breathing exercises that I was given, and attended follow up sessions with both the cardiologist and surgeon. I was well on my way to healing. To add urgency to the matter, my agent had managed to secure a cover assignment that would begin in March. So, not only did I have to rebuild my breath sustainability in general, but I also had to be able to sing and move about the stage. Nothing like a deadline to whip oneself into shape! By the second week, I had gotten my body’s mobility back and was able to sing for about an hour before becoming fatigued. By the end of the third week, I felt about 85% and knew that I would be able to sing the role, albeit with a few extra breaths here and there. I never went on nor did I have to “prove” to anyone that I was ready, but it didn’t matter. I was ready.
That was in the Spring of 2022. Since then, I’ve been much better at going to the doctor and I’m on top of my health game. I’m able to sing and be active in roles ranging from Michele in a site-specific production of Il tabarro to a running all-over the stage Papageno in a reimagined take on The Magic Flute to a swashbuckling Pirate King in The Pirates of Penzance, and I’ve never felt better!
It can be difficult as a singer whose life involves traveling and scheduling and always hearing from your cardiologist that you need to eat less salt, exercise more, and go on a plant-based diet. Okay, Dr. Chopra, I’ll eat more salads! But I encourage you, dear male singers, especially those of color, to get those yearly wellness checks. And more than that, do it with regularity. It just might save your life. It sure saved mine.
