Laryngitis = loss of voice

As I noted the other day, I have been ill for the past week and a half. Since Monday, I have been rendered unable to speak. And, yes, that is as terrible as it sounds. Yesterday, I had enough of this no-talking bullshit and went to the doctor where I was promptly diagnosed with a sinus infection and sent on my way to collect my antibiotics.

This was not quite as easy as it sounds though.

See, by yesterday afternoon, my voice had completely left me. On Monday and Tuesday, I was very, very raspy but I could still communicate if absolutely necessary. My only form of communication yesterday was Charades.

Or mime. Whichever sounds cooler.

I managed to make it past the receptionist by merely handing over my insurance card and pointing to my name when she asked who I was. I made it past the physician's assistant by holding my neck and making pathetic raspy noises. The doctor, however, was not as easily conquered. Instead of just asking yes or no questions, she insisted on asking things like "How long has this been going on?"  I think she noticed how miserable this whole talking thing was making me. Within 10 minutes, she electronically sent my prescription to my pharmacy and sent me on my way.

This was my expression when I got in the car.

But my day was not over. I promised my mother that I would stop by to teach her how to make a Facebook page. (Point and click has a new meaning.) While I was there, the bowling pro shop called to tell me that my new bowling shoes were in. Of course, new bowling shoes trumps talking.

This is my crew.

Somehow, I managed to pay for my shoes without much difficulty. Mime must be the international language. As I waited for my mother to order her new ball, I noticed a few other patrons also picking up new shoes. One of the women happened to order the exact same shoes I did. Here is where I made my fatal mistake. I smiled and pointed to her shoes then my box while whispering "I got the same shoes!" When the women started talking to me about bowling shoes, I forced out an "I'm sorry but I have laryngitis." Apparently, this means "Please strike up a conversation with me" in bowlanese because then they proceeded to ask me about my bowling life, which is really quite boring. Thankfully, my mother finished her stuff and we could leave.

This still left the pharmacy though.

Once again, I kindly handed over my insurance card when asked for my name. I nodded vigorously when asked if that was my only prescription. But then I had to ask for the not-so-over-the-counter decongestant that the doctor also wanted me to take. Of course, this meant a conversation. "How many tablets?" "12 hour or 24 hour?" "D or DM or ABSGGLKN?" The pharmacist took pity on me and tried to stand as close as he could so I didn't have to try to speak loudly. Once again:

Damn skippy.

The final bout was with a stylist. Since I had stayed home from work, it was up to me to take my daughter to tap class. Her tap teacher is a nurse so I easily got by with the hand/neck gesture and a mouthed "laryngitis." But then I decided to get my bushy eyebrows waxed.

This is the Before picture.

I apologized to the stylist and told her of my predicament. She politely responded with a "That's OK" before starting to talk to me about her own eyebrow waxing and how my hair was super curly and blah blah blah. I forced a smile and hoped she didn't really want me to answer her babbling. Thankfully, it seemed that she was just fine on her own and I made it out of the salon looking much better.

I just don't understand it though. Everyone that I had to interact with tried to start up an actual conversation with me, despite that every single time I told them I couldn't speak. Do people not understand what laryngitis is? Do they think that I purposely sound like an old woman that smokes five packs of cigarettes a day?

According to the doctor, I should be better by tomorrow. I'm betting it'll be more like Monday, from the sounds of it. Unfortunately, my husband and I have to go to a wedding on Saturday night. I have the feeling that my Saturday will be an awful lot like my Wednesday.