I woke up this morning and couldn’t talk. To me, this is almost a fate worse than death.
I’ve never lost my voice before. Being a bit stubborn, I kept trying to talk this morning. But no matter how I tried, the only thing that came out was a horrible rasping sound like someone who’s smoked way too many cigarettes. I tried whispering. This was extremely difficult and even worse for my grandmother who has a hearing aid. I tried to mime to her. Little Willie just laughed at me as usual while he woofed down his raisin toast.
"This is going to be the quietest day of your life," my husband told him.
Then one of my editors called. "Oh my God, the girl who talks more than anyone I know can’t talk??"
But I can channel all that frustration of not being able to talk into writing. It reminds me of the story of how I ended up in journalism in a way. I was in my junior year of college, majoring in, yes, it’s true, horses. I had gotten to the point where I was riding some of the more dangerous horses. I was falling off a lot. I started to think that perhaps long term stability was not a part of a career with horses. I wondered what I could do if I fell off one of these horses and landed in a body cast.
I can write, I thought. Yes, I could even be one of those people who writes by using a pen in my mouth if it was a bad fall.
And so here I am. Writing.
After looking up some self care tips for what to do when losing your voice, it appears this is all I’m going to be doing. One of the myriad of online health forums advised that I: moisten my throat, use a humidifier, avoid talking, give your voice a break, and avoid whispering.
My husband, upon hearing this, said, "Lara, I mean this with all due respect, shut the blankety blank blank up."
Apparently it’s going to be me and my computer for a while.....