Blessed Silence

McMama and I are in the habit of talking to each other every day. I'm the one who usually makes the phone calls. When Turtle wakes up in the morning, and goes potty and then deposits himself on the couch to watch the Doodlebops, I grab the phone and get down to the business of catching up with my mother-in-law. Oscar often asks me what we have to talk to each other about for an hour every day. Most of the time, I don't really have an answer for him. We talk about everything and we talk about nothing. That's pretty much the nature of our relationship and it works for us.

But this morning I woke up with full-blown laryngitis. I knew it was heading in that direction yesterday. When Snark's Mistress called and I answered with a low, throaty, "Hello?" and she came back with "You sound like shit!" I resigned myself to the fact that my voice was going to get worse before it got better. Sometimes I hate being right. In any event, being that I couldn't make myself heard today, I knew that a phone call to McMama was out of the question. But how to make her aware of that fact? Well, considering that we had spoken yesterday, I kind of figured that when she didn't hear from me, she'd assume I was probably not feeling up to our usual conversation.

I'm sure that would have worked, too, if McMama hadn't decided to cook chicken for dinner tonight. She called me to report on her intended menu because she knew it would make me laugh. Honestly, the thought of McMama cooking any kind of meat gets me laughing these days. She can be trusted to bake and boil water and that's about it. Anything else and you are asking for trouble. Unfortunately, I missed her call by a few seconds and had to call her back. "Hello?" she answered. "Hello," I semi-whispered. "Hello?" she said again. "Hel-LO!" I tried in a somewhat louder whisper. And so it began....our daily phone call, but with a twist.

It didn't take long for her to assess the situation. "You have laryngitis," she pointed out, helpfully. And so I do. We discussed the fact that my colds always seem to lead inexorably to that state. It took McMama pointing it out for me to realize that. Huh....my colds always lead to laryngitis. I wonder why that is....? A small portion of the back of my mind started churning on that question while the rest of my mind occupied itself with finishing up my conversation. McMama and I said our goodbyes, and I bundled up Turtle so we could head out the door. But that question still haunted me.

The answer came on the freeway as I was on my way to pick up Oscar from work. Most people, at the first sign of a cold or flu, will start taking medication, sucking on throat lozenges, and generally avoiding behavior that will further inflame whatever bacteria or virus is causing their discomfort. But at the first sign of a sore throat what do I do? Continue talking at a rapid-fire pace, loudly and without regard for my poor vocal cords. Why do I do this? Because I? Have Things. To Say. Most of them to McMama, but whatever. I. Have Things. To Say. And thus, my poor inflamed throat is left to cope with the swelling and irritation with no help from me, and when it can't take any more, I find myself with laryngitis.

Not that knowing all of that helps me very much. Because the fact that I end up getting laryngitis several times during the year is not enough to slow me down. I am opinionated and I am loquacious. That isn't going to change. So I will continue to talk, despite the warning a sore throat provides, and I will not rest my larynx, despite the inevitable outcome, and in the end, my vocal cords will turn their backs on me, and I will fall silent for a few days. And I suppose that is only fair. After all, Oscar looks forward to these little silences throughout our relationship as his only opportunity to get a word in edgewise. Who am I to deny him?