May 24, 2005
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Communication
One of our closest friends lost her voice box to throat cancer about a year ago, and she called us late this afternoon. I answered the phone, and I knew it was her right away because I heard the tapping code she’s worked out and shared with her friends. She didn’t want to talk to me. She wanted to talk to Beth. Beth was in the shower when she called, so Beth called her back.
Glenda, the friend, wanted information about the sex of our grandchild (read back for information on that). Glenda can’t utter a word, but that doesn’t mean she can’t carry on a conversation, even on the phone. She’s got a machine that she had programmed to say, “I want baby news.” And she and Beth talked on the phone for a good 20 minutes. All Glenda did was tap on the phone, and Beth laughed her ass off. After the phone call Beth said Glenda was laughing, too, and she could tell by the way she was taking in breath.
Losing your voice is a major disability, especially if you’re a teacher, as Glenda was. But it in no way means you can’t talk on the phone with your friends, as she proved to me tonight. In person, Glenda will dominate a room and have everybody in stitches. I’ve seen it many times. She uses finger spelling for complicated concepts, but her facial expressions and mouthing of words communicate so much more.
Tomorrow Glenda has to check into the hospital for a heart catherization, which she’s had before. At least one of us will be there, but probably both. Fortunately, it’s the same hospital where my boy is, so I’ll probably spend the day at that place. J, at 17, likes to watch MTV, so I’ll probably see another episode of “Pimp My Ride.” That isn’t something I would ordinarily watch, but they do some awesome things with cars. Pimp My Ride? I consider having my car washed and vanilla scent sprayed in it pimping my ride. Go figure.
ED
