The Silence is Deafening
November 20, 2005
Friday evening, my voice started getting husky.
Saturday, I couldn't talk. I COULD, however, cough up my body's weight in phlegm. Isn't that something you wanted to know?
Today's Sunday. It's starting to look a lot like Saturday.
* * * * * * * * * *
It's so quiet around our home without me talking. And when Roger says something, I CAN'T EVEN TALK BACK. I CAN'T HAVE THE LAST WORD.
Yesterday he showed me a sore on his abdomen, and then said it was just a scab.
"That is NOT just a scab." (in a whisper)
"You're momma's a scab."
AND I COULDN'T DO ANYTHING EXCEPT GIVE HIM "THE LOOK," BUT HIS BACK WAS TURNED AND HE COULDN'T EVEN SEE ME GIVING HIM "THE LOOK."
I would make a terrible mute.
edited 1:50pm: I just tried to take a nap, except I couldn't, because of the incessant coughing, which sounded less like coughing and more like a seal barking for food while writhing around on a sun-baked rock, dying. DYING.
