This is another humorous column from the "Go Figure with Steve Kristof"© series found in various publications. To read more of Steve's selected columns right now, go to [http://www.themorethingschange.weebly.com].

It's true; my family was celebrating, my co-workers were delighted and I think I even heard jubilant cheering in the streets. So, just what do you imagine happened? Did I earn some great accolade from a prestigious governing body of some sort? Did my strange basement invention finally get patented? How about the lottery, did my numbers finally come in?

No, very unfortunately, none of the above scenarios applied to, justified or explained the all around passionate response from the people who I thought were so dear to me. In fact, the real reason for all this merriment had to do with something that I did not do, nor could I do. That's why the reaction around me was so, umm, well, humbling.

It happened some years back, but the feelings it evoked in me were so intense, it still feels like it was yesterday. The thing that I did not and could not do was talk. That's right, I lost my voice. Now, don't get me wrong, this wasn't your garden variety, "His voice is a little scratchy," type of throat ailment. No, no, this was an all out big muscle military tanks and grenades style of assault on one of my best friends, my voice! I've had laryngitis before but this time it was complete and unforgiving.

It started, innocently enough, on Thursday afternoon. People at work started saying, "Your voice sounds a bit scratchy," and so-on, but I was convinced that a little evening relaxation would cure the ill. Not so. Hot tea, lemon and honey, brandy, you name it, I tried it. Nothing worked. By Friday morning, my voice was but a whisper. All I could do was whisper, because the old larynx refused to produce any sound at all. I never had it this bad. Coughing and clearing my throat just made it worse. Strangely enough, it got to the point where even my coughing was silent. It's a bit disconcerting when your cough sounds like a whoosh of air.

I decided to go to work on Friday, not really thinking about how I would do a job that involves talking about seventy per cent of the time. Using the kind of logic that leads countries into war, I reasoned that going to work would be fine. As it turned out, I was not really able to do my job, but what really irked me was that many of my colleagues made a special point of dropping by to ask me all sorts of questions to which they knew I could not give an answer. They appeared to take great pleasure in saying, "What's that, Steve, I can't hear you?" turning around and snickering as they walked away.

Perhaps the most infuriating aspect of this 'experience' was seeing the glee, yes, pure glee that people appeared to have due to my condition. For me, this was a serious handicap and was frustrating to no end. For them, I was their entertainment as well as, I suspect, a source of relief since they didn't have to listen to me for a whole day.

My total loss of voice was also a bit humbling. Several years ago, my friend's father developed throat cancer that led to the removal of his larynx. Although my episode was both temporary and exceedingly short by that measure, it nonetheless gave me a newfound respect for what he must have endured. (Years later, that same friend's mother lost her hearing. She held onto a great sense of humor and would often say to her son, "Too bad your dad's not with us anymore. What a pair we would have made; he couldn't talk and I can't hear!) I really do believe that, although it's not one of our senses, the human voice is so inextricably intertwined with our idea of who we are. It is our primary mode of communication and, like I mentioned, becomes one of our dearest friends. To lose it permanently must be incredibly difficult.

After work on Friday, I began to see certain members of my family in a new light. I don't know if you'd call it sympathetic pain or some sort of conditioning, but my wife began to do something a bit strange (stranger than usual?). I didn't catch on to it right away, but sure enough, she kept on doing it. She was asking me questions in a whisper voice! When I whispered to her, "Why are you whispering?" she said she really didn't realize she had been doing that! This strange phenomenon continued through Saturday and into Sunday.

Next up, my daughter. By Monday, my voice began to return, but I really had to limit the talking. My daughter decided to start calling me "Clifford" instead of the usual "Daddy" I love to hear. When my wife asked why I had been dubbed with this new moniker, she replied, "Because Daddy's voice sounds like a dog, so I'm calling him Clifford, like the big red dog." Cute sentiment, but I'd still rather have my normal voice and my normal name back! Interestingly enough, the laryngitis that started this whole voice thing did make me feel a bit doggish...

So, the next time one of my co-workers or relatives experiences a sudden onset of laryngitis, I'll have to decide whether to be supportive or to mix it up a little and enjoy the entertainment. Hmmm, tough call, but I think you know what I'll do. I can't wait!

Have I learned anything?

Go Figure!


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