White Dog pressed her face close to mine and asked, "Momma what happened to your voice?" "Nothing," I answered but it came out as barely a whisper and husky enough to possibly be a money maker in racy movies. Those sultry voice dreams ended as a wracking cough swelled up from my throat; now I sounded like a truck with a bad transmission.
"Momma's lost her voice!" White Dog announced to the WDA as she hopped down to go find Steve. He came rushing in moments later. "What's wrong?" he asked in a panic. "WD came out and went all Lassie on me and I got it that there was a problem and needed to come in STAT!" "Just a." I began and Steve said, "what is wrong with your voice?" This time I coughed first and then in a squeak explained that it appeared that I had a sore throat that had lodged on my vocal cords and that indeed this was the loudest I could talk."
With White Dog at my side and the rest of the White Dog Army surrounding me, Steve took my temperature (no fever), felt for my pulse (normal), and checked my fingernails (not blue). "Really, the only problem seems to be my voice and the sometimes cough," I whooshed "And my throat is starting to feel scratchy". "What?" Steve asked not quite catching all I had said. White Dog looked at him and spoke as my interpreter, which caused him to bring a glass of water and to put the kettle on for tea. Not exactly what I said but both appreciated.
They tucked me in an afghan and half of the WDA sat on the bottom edge to keep my feet warm and to keep me in place. White Dog appointed herself my Voice for the day...whenever I said anything she would cock her head, think for a moment, then rush off to get help or make my request happen.
I am not truly sick and actually feel silly with this tiny voice. But I AM appreciating all of the tender care and the chance to let the answering machine handle all of the phone calls. I guess there will be no singing to the pups tonight.