Page 15 - 2020 Classical Singer Magazine January Summer Program Issue

Heidi Moss at the height of paralysis that lasted for two years in 2007.
For the first
two years, I
had zero facial
nerve function.
The nerves do
regrow, albeit slowly. However, they have no path to follow as they grow, resulting in a mess of a web of nerve fibers called synkinesis.
This means that muscles that ordinarily are not linked become linked, electrical signals are constant, muscle contractions are stronger, and muscles can be antagonistic. In a way, this is harder than the initial zero function injury since the contractions lead to frustration, pain, and hypertrophy.
An example of this is with my smile and eye. I cannot smile on my right side, and those muscles connect to my eye. When I try to smile, I do not get a natural lift but, rather, my eye squints. As you can imagine, photo ops are not fun.
How did it affect your singing?
I was told by my neurologist and by leading professionals in the field that I would never perform again. One obvious issue was vanity. Our art is a visual one, and facial expression was so much a part of my singing.
We are expressive beings, even at the most subtle levels: a look, a small smile, sad eyes.
We need these cues. Without them, I appeared awkward. And as a lyric soprano whose professional roles thus far had been Oscar, Susanna, Gilda, Norina, and Adina, looks did matter.
Another impact, one that I discovered later, was the loss of about a major third of my top singing range. Since this is such a rare disorder, with little research on how it would affect a singer, I had to figure it out for myself. It strengthened my passion
for voice science, which was born under the tutelage of Richard Miller at Oberlin long before my injury happened. He was very generous fielding all of my questions in the early stages of my rehabilitation shortly before he died.
How did it affect other aspects of your life?
There are no words to describe the loss of a face. It is your identity. Your vanity. The way you communicate.
I found a community of people who were also affected, and the devastation was overwhelming. Some didn’t want to leave their house. Others didn’t want to date. Several didn’t want to apply for jobs.
When I would first go out in public, I had a speech impediment in addition to my facial droop. People would assume I was mentally disabled. Talking
was challenging. My articulators didn’t obey my commands. I would drool when I ate.
And this happens in an instant. One day, I was an effervescent performer—the next, a recluse. I didn’t even think about singing for almost a year. I cancelled all of my contracts. I thought it was over.
I channeled my energy toward motherhood since I had two young children. It gave me a raison d’être. But even that could be heartbreaking. My two-year- old daughter would always ask, “Why do you look so angry?” She couldn’t read my face.
But there was a part of me that said, “I must sing again. I must figure this out.” Sometimes when you lose something, you realize even more how much you need it. Singing and performing was a part of my life, and I couldn’t imagine life without it.
Moss as Blanche DuBois in Opera San Jose’s production of A Streetcar Named Desire, 2016
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