There are a lot of things going on, some that I'm simply not okay talking about at the moment, but here's what I can tell you. I have been sick for going on two weeks now. Every time I think I'm doing better, I discover I was wrong. Last week I came down with a nasty sore throat for maybe the sixth or so time this year. Whatever. I popped a throat lozenge and sucked it up like I usually do. I cancelled one private lesson and expected to be back to work the next day. Except that some way that I can't explain, I managed to throw out my back. Again, I can't be sure exactly what happened, but there was a muscle in my back that simply decided that it wasn't getting enough attention, so it did what any mature, reasonable person would do. It threw a temper tantrum. Again, I tried to brush it off. I have, on occasion, dealt with some muscle pain from work before, for which I used a heating pack, maybe popped a pain killer, and went to bed, tender but otherwise fine the next day. So I delicately went to bed that night convincing myself that it would be fine in the morning. It had to be fine in the morning. I had to go to work.
Alas, Horatio, not so. I woke up in even more pain than the day before, now barely able to turn my head from side to side. I called my boss, trying not to cry. Between the pain and the sore throat making me hoarse, I couldn't have sounded more pathetic than if I'd just fallen out of a Charles Dickens novel. Bless him, he was completely understanding, and even more fortunate was that someone got back to my request for an emergency sub almost immediately.
But now what? I was working on a Frankenstein's monster audition that would give Boris Karloff a run for his money. I started dialing numbers, looking for someone to take me to the urgent care clinic, because of course I don't have a personal physician here in Chicago. Fortunately, I eventually found a kind soul, old family friend Anna, to drive me. At the doctor's I dismissed my sore throat, far more concerned about my ability to, y'know, move. I needed to get back in the water, after all! I had lessons booked every day for about two weeks.
The doc set me up with some pills that could keep even Lewis Carroll interested, and I returned home to sleep for nearly 14 hours. A blessing indeed. I was elated the next morning to find that my back was nearly back to normal. A few stretches, I thought, maybe one more night on the happy pills, and I would be good as new. Minus my sore throat.
Well, I went back to work and taught one lesson on Thursday, eager to get home and crawl in bed afterwards. Friday, though. Oh, Friday.
I could feel it happening at the beginning of the day already. My hoarseness from teaching even the short shift on Thursday hadn't gone away, and all the Halls cough drops in the world couldn't have saved me from Friday at the YMCA. As Monica likes to point out, by the end of the day on Friday, you can see the vein popping in my neck because I have to shout so loud to be heard. I was straining my voice and in serious pain every second as my ability to actually speak waned.
But this was not the first time I had lost my voice this season. It's actually happened a number of times now, much to my dismay (as an actor, I normally try to take very good care of my voice), but was always better with plenty of water and a good night's sleep. So I stopped by the clinic again and had the doc poke and prod me a few more times. Instead of the happy pills for my back like last time, this time I was rewarded with a nose spray.
Saturday. Day 2. I awaken. I expect my voice to have returned like always. At some point over the course of breakfast, I remark something aloud. No sound. I freeze. I open my mouth and try again. I can manage a harsh squeaking sound. My eyes proceed to pop out of my head.
I spent the entire day resting, drinking tea, gulping down chicken broth. I went to the holiday staff party because like hell was a going to miss it, and proceeded to make jokes at my own expense about how I sounded like a Disney cartoon. Officially concerned, however, I skipped out on the various invitations I received for "pre-gaming" and "after-partying." Alcohol, I knew, was a no-no for a damaged voice. Besides. I clearly needed sleep.
Day 2 with no voice. I am beginning to panic. In spite of my best attempts—tea, cider, chicken soup, throat lozenges, steamy showers—my throat is showing no signs of getting better. I have never had actual laryngitis before, but I know that it can last for weeks, even a month or more sometimes, and I have an audition in a week that I now cannot rehearse for.
Day 3 with no voice. I call in friend Johnny to sub for me and sit at home trying not to weep because when I can't teach I start questioning the validity of my existence. I promptly remind myself that I am not allowed the luxury of crying because crying will hurt my voice.
Day 4. I cry anyway. I also line up Johnny to teach for me for the rest of the week because there has been absolutely no change. I buy a humidifier because life sucks.
Day 5. I gain about half an octave of speech ability and nearly have a heart attack from genuine relief. I go to the clinic for a TB test for a new job and discover I still have a fever.
Day 6. Another half an octave returns. I sound almost normal to the untrained ear. I attend orientation for the new job as a substitute teacher and alienate various germaphobes when I mention having "recently" been sick. I also accept an invitation to go out in the evening because I have been living like a monk all week. "I'm feeling better, though!" I insist as I order mulled grape juice instead of wine. I had a good time in spite of the fact that mulled grape juice is exactly as good as it does not sound.
Day 7. Today. My voice is completely returned. Now, with that trauma out of the way, I am free to be alert to other things. Like the fact that my throat is still sore and I'm still coughing. I am still sick. Still. Sick. I return to the clinic to have my TB test read and carefully avoid all thermometers, no longer wanting to know. I prefer denial.
I'll be honest. I don't really handle being sick all that well. Most of the time, I try to power through it, i.e. pretend it's not happening and accidentally make myself worse. When I'm actually sick enough to admit it, I generally go into hiding because I don't want people to see me like this. It's not about looking unattractive or something silly like that. It's that I'm genuinely depressing and unpleasant to be around because I get whiny. Especially when I've been sick and couped up this long. Until going out last night, I was going (pardon my language) batshit crazy not being able to work or go anywhere or, most of all, TALK! Do you know what it is like for someone like me to lose her voice? I'm well aware that it's not pleasant for anyone, but when you use your voice for your job, it is seriously incapacitating. And then on top of that, being pent up in my apartment, I started panicking about how it would affect my life and my future as an actor if I never get my voice back or if I have permanently damaged my vocal cords. Melodrama and high blood pressure ensued! If I hadn't caved in and gotten that humidifier after some well-placed advice from friend Hope, I might still be squeaking out my words and typerventelating on facebook. Hell, I got my voice back and I'm still typerventelating on facebook because I have now been sick for two weeks and that's just unreasonable! I am literally coughing as I write this. I am also only writing this entry because I was waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in on my sore throat so I could actually go to sleep. It has now, so I will.
But see? Do you see what I am talking about? Listen to how whiny and self-pitying I sound! This is unacceptable and stupid! I need to be healthy again or I am going to have a genuine meltdown! AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!
Hang in there, Rachel!
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