Losing My Voice but Not My Humor: Living With Sarcoidosis, Symbicort, and a Stubborn Set of Lungs

Sarcoidosis has a way of making you feel like you’re stuck in a rerun—today was one of those episodes. I saw my pulmonologist for a routine check-up and the latest pulmonary function test. The verdict? No change. My breathing still sucks—reliably, predictably, and with all the commitment of a bad sitcom that won’t get canceled. There’s something to be said for consistency, I guess.

The last few weeks, though, my lungs have been extra dramatic. Breathing has felt heavier, like someone’s sitting on my chest while I try to talk through a straw. My doctor heard the familiar wheeze (we’ve both stopped pretending it’s a surprise) and prescribed Symbicort—again. My old frenemy. “Great,” I said. “The reunion tour.”

Now, here’s the thing: I already have a raspy voice, courtesy of sarcoidosis, which has turned my vocal cords into something resembling sandpaper. Add Symbicort, and you get a voice somewhere between “late-night radio whisper” and “polite ghost haunting a drive-thru.” With a mask on, it’s even better—I sound like a muffled secret no one asked for.

So I’ll do what I always do: take it for a couple of weeks, lose my voice, get irritated, and stop. Then, of course, it starts to work—just after I’ve given up. Lather, rinse, repeat. It’s practically a wellness routine.

Sarcoidosis loves to keep things interesting. It primarily targets the lungs, but every now and then it decides to dabble in other organs—like the vocal cords. When the larynx gets involved, it can cause hoarseness, weak voice, or even partial vocal cord paralysis. So when I sound like I swallowed gravel, that’s not melodrama—it’s biology. Apparently, my larynx wanted a cameo in this chronic illness sitcom.

Medically, it all tracks. Sarcoid inflammation can narrow the airways and irritate the delicate tissues around the voice box. It’s why people like me sometimes find themselves caught between two frustrations—breathing enough to live and speaking enough to be heard.

And while I’m not the anxious type, there’s something psychologically exhausting about constantly negotiating with your own lungs. You start every day wondering which version of your body showed up to work: the one that cooperates or the one that calls in wheezy. Losing your voice, even temporarily, isn’t just inconvenient—it’s isolating. Communication is connection, and when you can’t get the words out, you feel like the world’s worst mime.

But humor helps. It always does. When you’ve lived long enough with a chronic illness, you learn to find the funny—or drown in the absurd. So I laugh. Loudly, when the air cooperates. I make jokes about the symphony of wheezes, the chorus of coughs, and the irony of being a chef who can’t yell “behind!” without it coming out as “bee-hhh…nd.”

Meanwhile, life keeps moving. I still cook, still write, still show up. The kitchen remains my therapy space, where sizzling garlic replaces the hum of medical equipment. Even on rough days, there’s something grounding about chopping vegetables while the lungs do their best impression of a malfunctioning accordion.

Living with sarcoidosis isn’t about constant improvement—it’s about persistence. Some days, progress is simply showing up to breathe. Other days, it’s getting through a full sentence before the wheeze kicks in. Either way, I count it as a win.

So yes, my inhaler and I are back together. It’s not a healthy relationship, but it’s functional. I’ll keep going until my voice fades to a whisper, then rest, recover, and start again. Because stubbornness, it turns out, is the best medicine I’ve ever had.

If you use Symbicort—or deal with sarcoidosis-related voice or breathing issues—drop a comment below. Let’s compare notes on what actually helps. And if you’re living with chronic illness while trying to keep your creative spark alive, I see you. Keep cooking, keep writing, keep breathing, and keep laughing.

Subscribe or leave a comment—I’d love to hear your story. Because life with sarcoidosis may take your breath away, but it doesn’t have to take your voice.