(Oh, hell. Obviously, I intended a "more inside". Dammit.)

I would take a fantastic bath with herbs and aromatherapy, sip tea, drink whiskey, do crossword puzzles, pore over gossip magazines, maybe read a book I've been meaning to catch up on if I could concentrate on it, or listen to an audio book. And sleep a lot. Feel better!

Make-believe phone sex with Lady Elaine Fairchilde, but that's just me.

Followed by a bath.

I've never actually lost my voice, but I have gone days without speaking to anyone. I really just need to get out more.

I make hot toddies - tea, honey, lemon, and generous amounts of whiskey. This stuff is great and it'll cure just about anything.

(Thanks for the speedy more-insiding, Lords of Mecha!)

I've finished all the library books, ordered a mouth-watering array of interlibrary loan books for later in the week, re-read a giant stack of from our own bookcases. Reading from now on will have to be electronic, except for the Sayers mystery I'm saving for the bathtub.

Ooooh, whiskey. Good call. If I mix it with hot water and lemon, I can pretend it's good for me.

Lady Elaine Fairchilde, not so much. (Bonus points: my late partner used to call me Lady Elaine whenever I lost my voice.)

When your voice starts coming back, you may need to strengthen it, in which case, what's worked for me was brief bouts of singing. In the car and in the shower.

my late partner used to call me Lady Elaine whenever I lost my voice.

Oh geez. I'm sorry. I had no idea that comment could possibly conjure memories of lost loved ones.

Read a book!
≡ Click to see image ≡

danostuporstar, it made me laugh! Well, it made me bark like a poorly trained seal wearing a ball-gag, but you get the point.

brief bouts of singing

Exxxxxxxcellent.

When I say "lost my voice," I mean exactly that. It's gone. Ten days ago, I sounded like Lady Elaine. A day later, I sounded like my grampy. For the past week, I've sounded like





that.

Exxxxxxxcellent aye, Chief. (Your symptoms would make a submariner feel right at home -- "Think Quiet" and all that.)

You're going to re-strengthen not only your vocal cords (obvious) but your diaphragm (nonobvious). The latter has to push against resistance from the former to generate sound.

(Longtime choir member here.)

I don't know what Lady Elaine sounds like, but if the implication is that she's elderly, I'm sort of thinking of a rusty old iron gate's hinges on a windy day. Eleanor Roosevelt -esque, if that rings any bells.

So...are you saying you've been unable to whisper? Or cough, or clear your throat? That would be total aphonia. Are you instead so hoarse that it's uncomfortable to try to vocalize?

I can whisper, by which I mean I can push air out and shape words, but the sound comes out like a sigh, not like a voice. Yesterday, I decided to try talking, just to see if I'd made any progress, and I can force a thin breaking creaky voice, but it hurts to do so.

But I can cough. Oh, boy, can I cough!

Now I'm searching my memory for Eleanor Roosevelt's voice. Thanks for the diversion.

I can force a thin breaking creaky voice, but it hurts to do so

Not a diagnostician by a long shot, but my money's on acute laryngitis. When/if you hear audio of Eleanor, you'll cringe.

If it weren't gone entirely, you could do Tom Waits.

The piano's been drinking, not me.

Baby, I could do Tom Waits no matter what!

Oh, um, you meant... never mind.

Elsa, if Tom Waits is to your taste, I wonder if...naaaah. Don't go there, Pax.

But I will say this, in that spirit: There used to be this old Coty perfume commercial with the tagline "If you want to capture someone's attention...whisper." Think of this as your opportunity to drive men nuts in a good way. And if you have good handwriting, a sly, shy smile and handwritten mash notes will make a certain kind of man (the horny kind, especially) your slave.

It's true; previous bouts of laryngitis have shown me that the husky voice of recovery has a startling effect on men, especially when it's preceded by leaning closer.

I hadn't even considered that, though, in my eagerness to reap the biggest fringe effect of the recovery period: I'll be husky enough to do my Christopher Walken impression! Years ago, when I smoked a couple of packs a day, I could practice it daily. Now I only get to indulge when I've been ill.

When I've sufficiently strained my voice at ballgames yelling encouragement (I don't like yelling abuse), next day, I celebrate the moment by using my temporary basso profundo to sing Stew Pot's part in "There Is Nothing Like A Dame" from South Pacific:

There is absolutely nothing like the frame of a dame

Lacking the sheet music, I can only say those last three notes are in the frickin' basement.