Vocal rest

I wanted to get back to my theater stories, but this voice issue is pushing all other thoughts to the side.

I now am to go on total vocal rest for a week. I'll start Friday.

I'm trying to look at this as a game, a challenge, the way Pam Schriefer and I used to set up challenges for each other when we were teens and wanted to be like Kwai Chang Caine. For a week I will not speak. I will not use the phone, I will not sing with my guitar. I am even specifically enjoined from laughing.

Someone said to me today that the news from the ENT was good. What??! When I pointed out that this could mean a permanent change in my voice, he responded, "at least you don't have cancer." True. And my house didn't burn down last night, and I didn't lose both legs in a war. But even the temporary loss of one's voice is not trivial, and a possible permanent change--even a modest one--is quite a blow to one's identity and to a livelihood that depends upon public speaking.

Even without the bigger issues, everyday life is more complicated. Ordering lunch today at Noodles was difficult. The person behind the cash register couldn't hear me, and I couldn't talk more loudly. Last night I had to order something over the phone, and it took three tries before the person on the other end of the line could understand the numbers I was saying. I can't call Callie to get in her kennel when I leave the house. I can't sing.

I can't sing. And yes, I'm not Julie Andrews. The loss of my voice is not a loss to the world, but to sing in the car, to sing with my guitar, to sing to my new nephews and niece....this is not trivial.