I can’t remember if I mentioned that I’ve been battling the flu for the last few weeks.
I’ve had COVID and suffered with symptoms for three days. This thing has lingered like an unwelcome house guest, and has made me realise that I’m a lousy patient.
It was the loss of my voice that really killed me, as it would anyone else completely addicted to talking. I know it. I admit it. I suffer from a permanent case of Galloping Runaway Gobitis.
Best friend Lynne has boggled at my phone calls to some hapless hotel front desk agent halfway across the world, as I regale them with all the reasons why I have to cancel my upcoming reservation.
“They don’t need to hear about your unexpected car costs and the new roof for the house – just tell them you need to cancel and leave it,” she advised, exasperated, as I ran up a $100 overseas phone bill through overlong explanations.
She doesn’t understand that people are dying to hear about strangers’ personal dramas, and have nothing better to do anyway. So, when I lost my voice, I wasn’t just thinking of myself – I was worried for all those people being deprived of my conversation. It was unthinkable.
Unable to bear the croakiness and my lack of volume, I got onto my doctor before Christmas. The pharmacists subsequently handed me a bag of antibiotics, steroids, acid reflux meds and nasal spray. While others ingested large heapings of turkey with all the fixings, I was swallowing down a handful of pills, including one the size of a small finger. What’s the point of medication if it chokes you to death? But I digress…
The fever subsided, as did the lethargy, but the cough stuck around long after the party had finished, which led to the sore throat and laryngitis. I quickly learned that everybody and their brother has a home remedy for these ailments if you share that you are suffering from them.
Not wishing to dismiss anything, short of eating a live frog, that might help my situation, I started making my way through the suggestions. Gargling warm, salt water was top of many lists, so I dutifully filled a coffee cup from the kitchen tap, and added a heaping tablespoon of Morton’s, stirring as I went. What I didn’t know, right up until that point, was that I was not a fan of gargling. In fact, my body would reject it with every fibre of its being. I sucked in a mouthful, threw my head back, and tried to get the formula as close to my inflamed throat as I could without swallowing. My gag reflex immediately kicked in, sensing danger heading towards the larynx, and I violently expelled the liquid into the sink, which was nearly followed by the day’s lunch.
That was one solution crossed off, so on to the next one. In the course of a few days, I tried hot water with lemon; a variety of teas; ginger galore; rum; and a beehive’s-worth of honey. Nothing did the trick. It would soothe for a while, but there was no permanent improvement.
Someone suggested putting onions in my socks and, honestly, I was desperate enough to try anything, but we didn’t have onions in the house and I had no idea where even one pair of my socks was residing at that time. You can substitute certain ingredients in recipes, but I figured putting avocado slices in my underwear might be a useless (and messy) alternative. I’d be genuinely interested to know if a sockful of shallots has benefited anyone out there, as research through Google offers mixed results. Some experts say it’s a load of old hooey, while others laud the benefits of a bit of onion between the toes.
After two weeks of hoarseness, no doubt exacerbated by the fact that I could not give my voice a rest – I had no willpower – I dragged my sorry self back to the doctor.
“This has been going on a while now,” she said. “I think you may need to see an ear-nose-throat specialist. They can look at your voice box and see if there is something else going on.”
I knew what that probably meant – some sort of tube or line or flexible camera thing going down my throat either by mouth or by nose, and for some bizarre reason, that did not appeal at all.
“Ummm… can we wait a little longer?” I asked.
“Well, you need to not talk at all and see if things improve, but if you don’t sound better by next week, you must see an ENT.”
That’s really all it took for me to take the shutting-up route seriously. Okay, when I got home I yelled at my (genuinely) deaf cat to stop licking my meal that I’d put on the counter, but apart from that, I’ve tried very hard to be good.
If you see me buying onions and socks on Saturday, you’ll know how it’s going.
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