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Health
Silent Night
Right after Thanksgiving, along with a lot of other Humans I know, I came down with a cold. Not COVID. Not the flu. Just a couple of days of sniffles and a sore throat. I got over that pretty easily, however, the virus managed to exacerbate my asthma. Within a few more days, I was taking steroids in earnest, sucking on breathing treatments, swallowing Mucinex, and losing my voice.
It hasn’t happened in quite some time, but my voice box also takes a hit whenever asthma rears its ugly head. For the last two weeks, I squeaked and rasped my way through life until on Thursday, I decided to concede this round to The Universe.
I canceled all weekend plans. As of Thursday afternoon around 3 PM, I stopped speaking above a whisper. As of today, I restarted the steroids I had been hoping to wean.
The quiet has been very therapeutic. My voice is slowly recovering although I only test it now and again. I am still whispering or texting to communicate. My asthma seems no better at this point, but I’ve done this dance enough times to know that eventually, the meds will kick in. But until then — I rest. I rest All. The. Things.
My voice. My lungs. My body. My psyche.
For you see, each time this happens — a little voice inside my head tries to convince me that…
