God’s way of telling me to shut up.

I had a warning a few days ago that a malady of some sort would be arriving to visit me. It moved in yesterday and has unpacked for the long haul. It has robbed me of sleep and, more important, my voice. Oh, it’s still there and does work to a point but I sound like an angry goat or a happy frog, depending on my mood at the time.

There could not be a worse time for my voice to stage a work stoppage. My day job requires that I be able to talk and be understandable. Furthermore, the timing of this work cessation on my voice’s part is made worse because I have two talks to give next week.  I can well imagine the reception I will receive as I “bleat” my way through these two presentations.

So, in an effort to convince my voice to get back to work, I sought out the advice of my speech coach, Ellen. She knows about stuff like this. First, according to her, I am to go into complete silence. I am not allowed to utter a word. Easier said than done. I told my wife about this idea. She did not give an opinion on this particular course of action though she reflected a disguised grin. Hmmm.

Second, I am to wrestle with my neck twenty minutes of every hour. The idea behind this, I guess, is to dislodge the old voice box and force it back to work. My first attempt gave me a headache. Until now, I had never once wrestled with my neck. I hope I don’t put a sleeper hold on myself. I have tried this treatment a couple of times now. Hard to tell whether my voice is cooperating or not being as how I remain under a talking ban.

The final assault on my voice box involves gargling with salt water six times a day. I have yet to inflict this cure considering that I have not wrestled the thing into submission yet and am using the salt water as a threat. I will institute this final application at evening unless my voice begins to cooperate and gets back to work.

Course, how am I going to know any of this until I can start talking again?