Frog in the Throat

You begin to speak — and the voice doesn't carry. It breaks off, scratches, slips an octave lower, as if it were filled with sand overnight. You clear your throat. Once, twice, three times. The irritation eases briefly, then it is back. A tickle, a scraping, a coating that no amount of swallowing dislodges. You drink water. You clear your throat again. And somewhere between the syllables you ask yourself why your voice sounds as if it does not belong to you.

Medically this is often dismissed as reflux, as irritation of the vocal cords, as a side effect of dry air or a dragging cold. Sometimes that is true. Often something remains that no examination finds: the voice is there — and then suddenly it is not. Like a light switch that wobbles. Like a transmitter that crackles as soon as the subject gets delicate.