By Caitlin MacMillen
I thought Karma dealt me a harsh blow last week when my doctor ordered me on seven days of complete - and strict - voice rest. I was almost halfway through the most social year of college, and this senior was ordered not to talk. Not talk?! I love to talk. And scream. And yell. My friends, my family and my peers publicly encouraged me, but I know many scoffed at the thought of me resisting the urge to speak. I must admit, I too, was a disbeliever.
My vocal chord nodules appeared years ago, but the last six months of scratchy, hoarse, raspy and often lost voice was enough to take action. So, once my doctor gave me the prognosis, and the ordered rest that would be necessary to understand adequate treatment, I undertook the greatest challenge I've ever faced. And through this entire week, I learned about myself and the noisy world around me.
Day One began almost like a fun act. It was silly to gesture and amusing to watch as I (silently) laughed my way through broken communication. Day Two came, and with it, my new found appreciation for my friends. A few even made me flash cards with pertinent key phrases! By Day Three, my amusement began to fade. I was suddenly shut out, tired and non-contributive. Conversations were difficult: my thoughts were traveling a mile a minute, but it took me two minutes to write one sentence! Day Four was just another reminder that the world around me was spinning by, and I was sitting on the edge of the playground. I should clarify that throughout this entire week, my friends and roommates have been superstars. Not willing to let me slip out of conversations, they talked to me as if I could speak back. They were patient, kind and understanding. Most even began to become freakishly good at charades. One of my dearest began to predict my thoughts and feelings. But despite their compassion, I still felt unaccompanied on my journey.
My breakdown (complete with tears, but NO sound) at the end of Day Four opened my eyes. Here I was, hysterically crying and trying to type out my emotions on a keyboard, as my friends clung by my side, trying to understand what I was feeling. And it was then and there I realized something about the human spirit. It is resilient, it is tough and it is observant. When I finally let go of wanting to say something, I accepted hearing what wasn't being said. I began to understand those in my immediate area in a different way: small gestures were happening when no one (other than me) was looking, glimpses of their pride and joy in others' success and their empathy for others' struggles.
The patience I encountered was overwhelming; those who loved me didn't care if I could speak or not. They just wanted me to enjoy life as I did before, each moment by moment. My brief silent week taught me humility, the importance of leaning on others, and my understanding of the previous world I existed in was closely examined. I can't say I am a new person, or that I'm suddenly insightful. I can however, say that my week of silence made me observe life in a new and better way. I know that I appreciate my voice. And I plan to use it.
Caitlin MacMillen is a senior ?finance major
