Blog

If you’ve sustained an injury, you can relate to how much your day-to-day functioning can be impaired. Whether it be loss of ambulation or an inability to hold or lift things, or just needing assistance to do everyday tasks, it’s so easy to take for granted how we get along because everything is working. This past month I drew the lucky straw and managed to get Covid followed by a wicked sinus infection, and the thing that became injured was my voice. My first visit to the ENT ended with instructions to not speak for 2 weeks. Radio silence. Wanting my voice to recover in time for all of the things I use it for, I heeded the instructions and began using notes on my phone to communicate with everyone. With my family we got into a rhythm of snaps and claps and other gestures, and I used my phone to display notes to participate in conversation.

Communicating in public required more forethought. I created a note that said on top “I cannot speak,” and then underneath I typed my question or the thing I needed to notify the other person about. I was met with great compassion and whether I was at the pharmacy or the dog groomer, each person was very helpful and we were able to communicate just fine. I leaned into being quiet and introspective and realized that I really didn’t need to talk as much as I thought. It was a great opportunity to do more listening and be thoughtful about what I really needed to communicate instead of just blabbing whatever came to mind.

One interaction, however, really struck me. I needed to drop off some things at Goodwill. The box was very heavy. Our son had put it in the car but I would need someone to help me take it out on the other end.

I held up my phone with the note that said, “I cannot speak” and then asked for help with the box beneath it. The gentleman looked at the phone and then the car and figured out I needed help and he lifted the box out and asked, “Is that it?” to which I wrote, “Yes, thank you very much, may I have a receipt?”

He looked at me quizzically. And then I realized. He couldn’t read. Another gentlemen came over and read my phone and began speaking to me in sign language. I had to write another note letting him know I didn’t know ASL, that I could hear but not speak. He got me a receipt. With the very little ASL that I knew, I signed, “thank you.” He smiled and said (as he also signed) he knows a little ASL to deal with clientele.

The whole exchange was extremely humbling and gave me insight into what non-verbal people have to contend with every day. I have since been given the ok to speak and am thankful that my vocal cords are not damaged in any way and am in therapy to regain my speaking and singing voice. The inability to easily communicate was so much more difficult than having a sprained knee or arthritic thumb. I felt closed off, even at my own dinner table. I could not be a consoling voice or my quippy, humorous self. While I thought I was pretty damn creative getting around it, I experienced something truly profound. The ability to communicate is so essential for human connection. There are many ways to do it other than using one’s voice, but I most certainly will never take the ability to speak for granted. In the morning, the Asher Yatzar prayer asks us to give thanks that all of our bodily are functioning, because if one of them were not, how well we are aware. I am grateful for this pause in my ability to speak and now have a greater appreciation for those who can’t and have to navigate a speaking world. My prayer is for a world of compassion where all are seen and heard regardless of how they make their voices known.

Shabbat shalom,

Beth