September 8, 2017
Forty-four years have passed by and my voice has still not recovered. According to the doctor, I suffer from vocal cord paralysis, making it impossible to speak. How it occurred, and more importantly, how I managed to live this long, was a medical mystery. He greatly emphasized how long I had lived, to which I took some offense to; however, I politely nodded my head and agreed.
After several years of living independently, I had decided that, perhaps, it was time to get some help. Well, it was less of my decision and more of my body's. Previously, even though my breathing has been a bit difficult for as long as I can remember, I could work outside and walk to the local market with little to no struggle. These days, I can hardly trek to the Robertson's house three blocks down the street from mine. Not only has a lack of transportation hindered me, but also communication. No one in my neighborhood can speak nor understand sign language.
It is not all too bad, though. I thoroughly enjoy my home and its abundance of southern charm. I still enjoy gardening despite the consequences of back pain. When I am not tending to my garden, I am lathering a canvas in paint. Art is my passion as it is opens up an opportunity to express myself, which I do not get very many of. Although I do not share my home with another human being, I share it with my beloved cat, Van Gogh.
YOU ARE READING
I speak in Silence
General FictionA young girl from Michigan seeks out a fresh start after the betrayal of her ex boyfriend. She is emailed a curious message of a long lost relative from Georgia. Little does she know, the two could not seem any farther apart. Ennay is a deaf, elderl...
