Musings of a mute

It's funny the simple things we can take for granted, and don't realise how important they are to us until we have to go without them.

For me, this time around, I lost my voice. Well actually, it was kind of taken from me in an operation which I have been needing for a while...not only did they take out the pseudo cyst which was preventing my singing from improving and making my voice weary (highly undesirable for someone who wants to sing and speak for a living) but a large quantity of my savings and the ability to communicate was also taken.

I had mentally prepared myself for the 3 days silence I had to endure as part of the recovery, my friends and family were in the know. I was going to build a fort of silence in my apartment but had Christmas shopping to do. I did not prepare myself for how much it would affect my livelihood. Talking and making noise is one of the things I'm best at. I'm that person who has banter with the barista, talks to old ladies on the tram, and always apologises if I bump someone on the street. My usual witty comments don't have as much effect when written down and read 2 mins after they should have been made!

I now know how babies feel when they want so many things but can't communicate it. But unlike the babies, I couldn't cry as loud as I could to get it. Being powerless and fragile is so much harder when you can't even cry about it properly. 

I tried though. In my usual form, in public. (I have this habit of having colossal dramatic meltdowns worse than any American Idol finalist in public)

Yes, Southbank and Southern Cross station got to witness yours truly almost having an annuerism trying to silent cry. There was snotty, mascara and saliva streaked me with a constipation face and the inability to sigh shaking fists and going as red as the lipstick halfway down my chin trying to get home after throwing myself in the deep end and going to an event that wasn't really mute-friendly.

I can laugh about it now (silently) and I hope you can too, but at the time the idea of a polar bear dying was funnier than what I was going through.

I have been fortunate enough to encounter many kind souls who were really patient with my notepad and whiteboard scribbles, some were caught really off guard and wouldn't speak or whispered. Some spoke in broken English as if I couldn't understand. They looked as ridiculous as I did pointing and flapping and giving thumbs up. Several of my friends recieved blunt txt messages when they absent mindedly called me to see how I was going....

One lady got really grumpy at me in the pool changing room for putting my bags near hers. I just looked at her. When she came back from changing I handed her a solem note "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too" Boy she felt bad. 

I haven't spoken yet. I tried to do a sneaky hum before but my chords don't know what to do. I was going to ask them to put in extra robo-chords so I can communicate on the frequencies only dogs can hear. Who knows..My first words are going to be to one of my best friends when I get back to New Zealand in a few hours.

I haven't seen her for a year, so I guess I'll be speechless.

Jj