I miss my laugh. You know, the laugh that I always thought was too loud? The laugh that an acquaintance of mine made remarks about one day when we were both in a Wal-Mart store and she said, “I knew you were here, I could hear you laughing all the way on the other side of the store.” That’s the laugh I miss.

I didn’t realize until about 6 weeks ago when I suddenly woke up with a hoarse voice that continues to worsen and simply won’t improve because my right vocal cords are paralyzed, how much of my personality is reflected in my voice. What I say and the tone I say it in is an important part of how others deem who I am. How crazy is that!

For a few days I was put on total voice rest. I was still sitting at my desk, but it was as if I had become invisible. Since I couldn’t respond, people stopped talking to me. I don’t know when I ever felt so lonely -- well, except when I was married to my ex-husband. It was like I was trapped inside of myself. I still thought of all the snappy comebacks I would use if someone would only talk to me, but I couldn’t verbalize them. My ability to laugh at myself (out loud at least) lay paralyzed in my throat and as a result the desire to laugh was drowning in a deep pool of tears that were always just below the surface. Actually I wanted to scream. God, I couldn’t even cry out loud. Even the expression “for crying out loud” lost its significance to me.

And now - I have this weird little laugh - like someone stepping on a broken squeaky toy. It comes out in short uncontrollable bursts that disappear into breathless wheezes. My words evaporate into silent gasps for breath as I voice them. And sing -- forget it. I used to sing karaoke for hours at night much to the distress of my little Chihuahua. But that is who I am -- the old gal with the loud laugh and snappy comebacks that loves to sing. And I need my voice back so you will remember who I am also.

Yes, I really miss my laugh.

© 2008 Ilene Madrigal