Voiceless

It’s been 23 days since I lost my voice.  I’m still not sure what happened, but I am pretty certain that it has to do with Mom’s passing. When dad told me, there was quite a bit of screaming. The next morning, my voice was completely gone. After a week, I went to the doctor, who told me he didn’t see any inflammation, and I did not appear to be sick in anyway. He told me to drink tea and try not to use my voice so much I guess, but that was two weeks ago now. I still sound terrible, and it is starting to effect my life in ways that I do not like- I had to miss a couple of days of work because I had absolutely no voice, and tonight there is a poetry workshop that I really want to go to and don’t know if I’m going because I cannot speak, ergo I cannot read.

On top of that, I am actually dictating part of this blog because my fingers are too numb at the moment to type. So really, I am already using my voice limit for the day. I spoke with my therapist, and she thinks it may be psychosomatic, which would of course not surprise me in the least. I mean, yes, I was screaming the night mom died, but there have been many nights I have screamed and I never ended up losing my voice for over a fortnight. Right now it is low and gravely, which is the only way I can get the words out. If I speak in my normal register, it sounds like a whisper. Frankly, I think I will be calling my doctor today to see if there is anything else they can do. I don’t know if any antibiotic would help, probably not, but I have tried every homeopathic remedy under the sun and I am running out of options. I need my voice back – I work in education and customer service. How am I supposed to help customers or teach children if they can’t hear the words coming out of my mouth?

I feel silenced – which is one of my least favorite feelings, let me tell you. Thank God I can still type, although maybe not at the moment because of the numb fingers, which only makes me feel more voiceless. Today, I have to go to work and struggle through speech to small ones. Then I will probably still go to that poetry workshop, because it is hosted by a performer I like, and worst case scenario is that I can pick up a few performance tips. Even though, and I’m very sad about this, I don’t think I’ll be able to read the poem I wanted to. Or maybe I can, maybe that room full of poets will bear with my gravelly voice. One can dream, can’t one? In the meantime, I will drink my tea and use my throat lozenges, and hope for the best. Laryngitis is no joke.

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