A simple conversation

I approached the elevator at the Fraser Street parking garage after indulging in a gluten free muffin and coffee at my favorite spot in the plaza. Another person was getting on the elevator just as I got there. He nodded and said, "Hello" and I smiled and replied, "Hi."

We chatted about how busy town was, wondering why that was so, since there wasn't a home game that weekend.  Then I commented that I usually don't take the elevator--I'd rather do the stairs, but I had been forced to park on the roof because the garage was so full.  He said he was on his way to the roof to stop at each floor on the way down to make sure the elevator was working on every floor. I observed how beautiful the weather was and what a great view you got from the roof.  The elevator stopped, I got off and called out, "Have a great day!"

It was so exciting!  I got to connect with a perfect stranger who I would probably not see again (although in our sometimes large, sometimes small town, I might...) and it was all because I could talk! Without talking, the ride up to the roof would have been silent.  Worse yet, when he had said his pleasant, "Hello" as I stepped onto the elevator, my attempt at a friendly nod and big smile would not have made up for the spoken word.  That little conversation took me from an isolated space to one of connection with another human being.  How exciting!

You can talk!

I have had laryngitis so many times in my life that I am accustomed to the odd phenomenon of people whispering back to me when I whisper a phrase, even though they are perfectly able to talk. This time was different because I was totally silent.  I would mouth words and try to make myself understood with gestures and motions, and they would mouth words back to me.  Or I would point to what I needed, and the person would point to the object and nod back at me to acknowledge understanding my gesture.  But the funniest reaction came in the grocery store when I ran into one of my friends.  I had my trusty clipboard with "NO VOICE" written on the top.  I turned it around so she could see it and then wrote something on the clipboard that I wanted to say to her.  She reached for my pen and clipboard to write back to me!  I quickly wrote,  "You can talk!" underlining it for additional emphasis.  We both laughed as she realized she wasn't consigned to writing on the clipboard to have a conversation with me.

I told one of my friends about the way people seemed to mimic my alternatives to talking, and she sent me the following story:

One of my very favourite passages from Chateaubriand (Mémoires d'outre-tombe) is when he is walking across France, back from exile in England where he has had to hang out for a number of years to escape the French revolution. Most of his family have been guillotined. So he's hungry, shabby, dressed like a hobo (he's broke), when he is taken in for dinner by a noble family who have somehow come through the period with their property and lives intact. They receive him in the chateau dining room. They're all dressed in their gardening clothes. That's so he won't feel conspicuous in his rags !! He remembers this small act of kindness years later after serving as ambassador and minister and counselor to heads of state. 

My friend thinks people mimic me to make me feel comfortable with my inability to talk by giving up that ability as well. It's an interesting perspective.  It's almost universal, and it happens so quickly, and so naturally, that I'm not sure there is a thought process leading to the copied interaction. Being voiceless for so long allowed me to experience this phenomenon enough times to believe it is a very strong, unconscious manifestation of our need to connect with each other.  

Where's the Zen?

When I first lost my voice, I sent an email to my office colleagues and to my church choir.  The email was from Jacki's voice:

Just a quick email to let you all know that Jacki Hunt is not being snobby or “stuck up.” I, her voice, have decided that I am no longer going to be available to her until I decide I’ve had a big enough rest. Every year or two, I take a nap for 2-4 days and put her in her place, but about 10 years ago, I took off for 3 weeks.  Boy, did that scare Jacki!  Anyway, she now knows that when I am in this mood, she has to keep her mouth shut or I will continue to take time off. I took off last Thursday (BTW, she doesn’t “lose” her voice, as she likes to write—I just take off…) and Jacki was pretty good about staying silent until Saturday morning when she met with clients and talked ever so quietly for 2 hours!  She thought she was on the mend, but I took off again an hour after that little escapade.

Anyway, Jacki will talk again when I am good and ready to come back.  In the meantime, she will have her ever present clipboard and pen to communicate. 

Jacki’s voice

Little did I know when "the voice" wrote that email on September 30, that I would really be without my voice for 3 long weeks. As word started to get around to friends and colleagues, reactions were the usual ones I have come to expect over the years.
       "Bob must be in heaven!"  (This #1 comment will be the subject of a blog for sure!)
       "Aren't you lucky--you can take some time off!"  
       "Wow--that's really strange.  I've never lost my voice.  When will it come back?"
       "Oh, I'm so sorry for you..."   always said with a smile, and often with a chuckle.

I heard from a good friend about her experience of a week at a silent retreat.  She wrote that she didn't feel the need to talk after awhile, and she and her husband continued to eat in silence when they returned home.  She did admit that it didn't last for very long!

Another friend asked me, "Are you having moments of Zen with only listening?"

I only wish.  I'm not wired for quiet reflection.  Perhaps more time in the quiet world I had entered would have led me to a quieter, more introspective existence.  Quite honestly, I hope I never have to go there in this way.  But if I do, I know there are friends who will help me through that journey.  Some new friends, some old friends, but all real friends.  

I guess that's where the Zen is -- for me.

May I have 3/4# of scallops, please?

Such a simple question, asked of the man behind the counter, allows me to take home our favorite seafood to cook for a special evening meal.  But I know I have to come prepared in a different way to ask the question because after several days of "vocal rest", I have some experience with this type of challenge.  I have come to the grocery store equipped with my new best friend, my clipboard with the big heading on the top, "NO VOICE."  Without that, the man behind the counter doesn't understand why I am not speaking to him, and I can't get what I want.  Of course, the clipboard is further equipped with a pen for me to write down my request under the big "NO VOICE" heading .

3/4# scallops

So now what?  The man who is choosing my scallops doesn't quite know how to handle the transaction.  He has a little more than 3/4# on the scale.  He looks at me and asks if that is OK.  I want to say, "Make it an even number of scallops," but that seems silly.  Do I really want to write that on my clipboard and make a joke about my husband and I fighting over the odd numbered scallop?  The time it takes to write that all down is more than this simple transaction should take.  So I just nod my head "yes" and he finishes.

I take my scallops, nod my head and smile while mouthing "Thank you" to him.  He nods back. Funny, he thinks he can't talk either...

I've never written a blog before, nor have I read any. I decided I wanted to write about being "voiceless in State College" as a way of dealing with the situation.  Just as my friend set up the blog for me, I got the great news that I could talk again!  However, I thought I would write the blog anyway.  I've learned a lot about being "different" and would like to share those thoughts.  So, if I am doing this correctly, and it goes out to wherever, I'll continue to write now and then about my time "voiceless in State College."