Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: WHISPER (12/08/22)
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TITLE: Always Have a Plan B | Previous Challenge Entry
By LINDA GERMAIN
12/15/22 -
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While staying with my aunt for a few weeks, I woke up one morning with a sore throat. By afternoon, I was croaking like a bullfrog. Before leaving to pick up her kids from school she reminded me to gargle, stay warm, and rest. There was just one other instruction to follow.
“I am expecting an important phone call about some house business. Get his number and say I will return the call shortly.”
“Okay,” I managed to squeak. Hoarseness was galloping in way too fast.
Confident that I could do that one little thing for her, when the phone rang, I grabbed the receiver and tried to say hello. Nothing came out!
The man who dialed kept asking, “Is someone there? Is someone there?”
No matter how many times or how loud he repeated the question, I could not say one word. It occurred to me that if we both knew Morse Code I could whack on the phone with a spoon and send a message. Crazy what-if fantasies do no good in an emergency. Besides, I don’t know a dit from a dat.
The next big Laryngitis episode happened a few years later while I was at work. There was no obvious infection or fever—just couldn’t speak. My bright idea this time was to hang a sign around my neck that read, Out of Order—Can’t Talk. That worked pretty well at the job, but the real fun was when I stopped for a few groceries.
The confused checker couldn’t seem to grasp the problem. She gazed at my silly reminder note and asked in a serious voice, “What does that mean?”
It did no good to point to my over-strained throat and shrug.
“I know,” she insisted, but what does that mean?”
All I bought was chicken soup and cat food so a fast exit was easy.
The most adorable episode happened when my child was about four. While I could still whisper a little, I was able to tell him he could continue to build with his plastic blocks in the next room as I rested on the sofa and read.
“But son,” I reiterated as he listened intently to the plan, “if you hear me pound on your toy xylophone, please come to see what I want.”
He assured me he understood to appear quickly if he heard the noise.
In a while, I picked up the colorful little instrument and went up and down the notes with the attached mallet. On and on I banged but he did not respond. I hit all notes forward and backward, and then just one over and over. I was beginning to give myself a headache! No child answered.
Finally, clutching two small red blocks from his construction project, he sauntered into the living room. I motioned for him to get close so he could see me exaggerate the soundless words, “Where--were--you?”
With pure innocence, he replied, “Oh! I thought you were just trying to play a song.”
Of course, a response that sweet and transparent received a hug.
The biggest revelation from the times my compromised voice challenged good communication is that too many assumptions can be made we did not intend. Sometimes, even with clear enunciation, there’s a disconnect for which Laryngitis is not the culprit.
We may think we hear. We may think we understand. Sadly, armed with incomplete information we often proceed with no caution and then verbal transmission can break down faster than a house built with toy blocks.
Whether or not the speaker is barely able to make more than a raspy murmur, the counterbalance to understanding rests with the hearer as well. (It probably has something to do with the adage about why we have two ears and one mouth.)
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I enjoyed Always Have a Plan B.
It is frustrating when one is trying to speak and the best that comes out is a whisper or a croak.
Your essay was on topic and held my interest from beginning to end. It is well communicated and flowed smoothly.
Thank you for your work.