Wednesday 3 am
You wake up confused by all the coughing. Then you realize that it's you that is coughing. How long have I been coughing? You cough and cough even though your lungs are clear--and that's the thing--your lungs are just not getting that there is no reason to be coughing like this. You're disoriented, exhausted and covered in sweat. For a moment you wonder if this is actually your death-day.
You manage your way in semi-darkness to the bathroom to find the cough syrup. A small herd of concerned kittens has collected around you and are all meowing. You answer their questions but they seem unconvinced. Your boyfriend, who is already downstairs getting you tea, has, thankfully, not yet caught this cold.
Work goes okay until about 3 pm where, while in the middle of a sentence, you lose your voice. Completely. You try to clear your throat but it's no use. This is funny for about twenty minutes. Finally, you just go home. You have no voice.
You stay on the couch all day with your laptop, a glass of hot tea and your phone. You text people. All people--even your mom. After all, you can't talk. And you find that this simplifies many things.
Your voice starts coming back. Somewhere between 40% and 60%. Though you no longer have any other symptoms, you decide to make soup and remain in pajamas all day. You wrap a blanket around yourself. You 'can't talk', you rasp, you 'have no voice'.
To your utter dismay your voice is back 100%. It's actually an improvement on your old voice. You've never felt better in your life. Still, you keep checking your glands and clearing your throat only to find that you aren't in any pain. You are well. Healthy. Your voice is clear as a bell. No matter, you think, one more day of bed rest and pure silence can't hurt anything.
You can't believe the text you have jokingly composed to your boss while waiting for the coffee to brew: You are 'so sorry' but you 'might need another day or so'--you stop yourself right there--what am I doing? You deliberate. You take out the 'or so'. You press 'send'. You regret it instantly.
You return to work and begin talking to people again--just like that--though considerably less than before. You're even a few minutes early. It's as though nothing happened.