I stopped talking one day. At the time, I wasn't sure if I couldn't talk or if I just didn't want to anymore, but just like that, my wife asked me "Will you take Brutus for a walk?" and I couldn't reply. I shrugged my shoulders while she repeated the question a couple times, eventually getting cross with me, until I picked up my phone and messaged her
Honey, I can't talk. I don't know what's going on, but I don't have words. Feel fine otherwise. Maybe you should walk the dog today.
She got panicky at first. It was Christmas day and we had a house full of guests. Her bothers, their wives, and in total five kids were staying with us. Normally this is a lot of fun, even though it's a little hectic in our small house, with the makeshift sleeping arrangements and all the cooking and cleaning. In the living room where I was sitting in my usual chair the TV was on even though no one was watching. Wrappings from the presents that were opened in the morning were still scattered around the room. The kids were in the basement playing some game that caused them to scream from time to time and the adults were idly chit chatting about this and that.
No politics or religion, that was the rule. My wife's younger brother had a hard time sticking to the rule though, and he was prattling on to his brother about the economy and what he felt were President Jones' shortcomings. The wives were gabfesting, phones out, using Facebook posts for fodder. Honestly, the conversation was not very stimulating, just the sort of time and silence filling yick yack most people feel compelled to fill time and silence with. I listened to it all without much interest, and didn't contribute to the racket, unless someone asked me a question or otherwise tried to engage me in conversation. That was pretty rare, though. If I ever was in a talking mood, most of the time I would engage with people by asking about them and their lives. Everyone likes talking about themselves. But I wasn't in a talking mood when my wife asked me if I would walk the dog.
For a while it was quiet and everyone was looking at me, after my wife explained what was going on. She asked if I needed to go to urgent care. I texted her that I felt fine and didn't need to go anywhere. Her older brother, who was a physician assistant, pretty much insisted that we call 911 because he thought I could be having a stroke. He asked me a bunch of questions: "Does your face feel numb?" "Do you smell anything unusual, like burnt toast?" "Can you stand up and walk around?" I didn't answer any of his questions, but I did stand up and walk around just fine. My wife just kept saying "What is wrong? What is wrong?" over and over. I messaged her again to reassure her I felt fine and eventually she settled down. Her PA brother too finally stopped asking questions. Then things went pretty much back to normal. I sat in my chair and everyone talked and talked again about nothing in particular. I listened without paying attention and closed my eyes. They probably thought I went to sleep. Every now and then my wife touched my arm and asked if I was okay. I waved her off with a smile each time, until I messaged her that I was going to go upstairs and lie down for a while. She said "Okay, but we'll check on you in a little bit." As I was walking up the stairs I heard them talking about me and what might be wrong. Her brother said "It's pretty strange, but maybe he's just tired. He doesn't have any other symptoms besides not being able to talk. Let's let him sleep for a while. He's probably just tired." Everyone agreed with him.
On the 28th I got in to see my physician, Dr. Lancer, at my wife's insistence. She also insisted on going into the exam room with me. I had written a note that explained what was going on, that since the middle of the day on Christmas I hadn't been able to talk, and that otherwise I felt fine. She gave the note to Dr. Lancer. He examined me the way a doctor does when he has no idea what else to do. He made me watch his finger move around without moving my head, just by tracking it with my eyes. He shined a pen light into each of my eyes, watching to see if both my pupils dilated properly. He asked me to repeat a list of items he read off a list: man, potato, tree, television, airplane. I wrote them promptly on the pad of paper I had started carrying with me everywhere I went. He stood back with his hands in the pockets of his white doctor's coat and said "Well, there isn't anything obviously wrong with you. We need to order some tests."
The new year was upon us. My wife had wanted to go to a party in the neighborhood, but thought it best to cancel the plans when the 31st came and I still wasn't talking. I insisted we go. I wrote that it didn't matter if I couldn't talk, no one at the party would mind, and that it would be good to see everyone. We went. She had a great time. I wandered around among our friends listening to all the talk about the weather, the kids, sports, the upcoming elections, and so on. I smiled and sipped my tonic water and lime. I had a good time too. In fact, freed from the need to converse with people, I felt more at ease than I usually do in situations like that. Our neighbors seemed to understand. And it is a fact which you can verify yourself sometime if you're so inclined that people are more accepting of someone who can't talk than they are of someone who won't. A won't-talker is a standoffish outsider; a can't-talker obviously wants to join in but can't, which is much less objectionable.
For a while I tuned out the chatter altogether and stood looking out large front window watching big flakes of snow fall softly to the ground, until Jack tapped me on the shoulder and started telling me about the promotion he was getting at work. Jack was a talker's talker. It made no difference to him if anyone had anything to say or not. In fact, if I had to guess, I would say that he enjoys talking to me more now because he doesn't have to suffer any interruptions. I wrote 'That's Great' on my pad and held it up for him.
At the party Jack's wife Mary talked to me for a while too. Mary is a me-tooer: to everything anyone says to her in conversation Mary replies with things like "That happened to me too once..." or "I want to do that too..." and then she goes on about what's in her own thought bubble. Charitably, me-tooers like Mary aim to support a conversation by establishing shared experience; but practically, they end up hijacking a conversation and rarely turn it back in a productive way. My wife can me-too too. It's interesting to listen to her and Mary talk, it's like hearing two one-sided but similar conversations going on at the same time. Mary didn't me-too me on New Year's eve because I didn't offer up anything for her to me-too about.
Eventually Jack interrupted Mary to say that we should go into the room where everyone was watching the ball drop on TV. "... five, four, three, two, one, happy new year!" everyone exclaimed. Then there were hugs and kisses and happy new-year wishes all around. My wife and I walked home and went to bed as usual. "Goodnight dear," she said loudly. She had developed the habit of talking to me very deliberately lately, and in a louder tone of voice than usual. 'Happy new year', I wrote on my pad. I smiled and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
The first week of the new year brought a flurry of medical tests. I gave several vials of blood for detailed bloodwork, had an MRI of my brain, and a nerve conduction study. I would have skipped out on these tests if it weren't for the fact that I have great healthcare insurance, and besides, everyone else wanted me to have the tests. The healthcare providers wanted to make money: what's the point of having all the fancy machines if they didn't get used? Dr. Lancer wanted the results because he was flummoxed. And my wife was genuinely worried about my wellbeing, and I'm sure she wanted me to talk again. I didn't really care one way or another, because the truth is, I felt fine.
What is the point of most talking anyway, to most people these days? I agree with the claim that there are two kinds of people: people who listen and people who wait to talk. And if I had counted them up over the years I'm sure the wait-to-talkers would outnumber the listeners ten to one. Ten to one, at least. In most social situations, too, talk is small. Very small. "What do you do?", "How 'bout those Lions?", "The weather is terrible these days, isn't it?" As if the answers to these questions and the conversation that would follow from them mattered much at all. It had been a long time since I had a truly stimulating and rewarding conversation with anyone in my circle of friends. I don't know when the people I knew lost the knack, but lost it they had.
The test results all came back unremarkable. Dr. Lancer suggested that I consult with a neurologist, and a psychologist too. I drew the line, and left things alone. Everything about me was normal; my not talking apparently had no physiological basis. And as I've said, I felt pretty good. Better than I had in quite a while, in fact. Plus, I've always been a better listener than a talker anyway. I was getting used to not talking and had found that I could communicate in writing better than ever. At that point I was ready for things to get to a new normal. There was a hitch, though: the semester was starting and I had to meet my classes in ten days.
I wrote a detailed email to my department chair about a week before the semester started explaining what was going on. I told her that I couldn't go out on disability because all the test results showed that I wasn't disabled. I wrote that I was confident I could still meet my teaching obligations, albeit in an unusual way: I'd have to communicate with my students in writing and encourage them to talk more! In fact, I was looking forward to the experience and felt pretty sure it would come off well. I thought maybe I could write my lectures and use text to speech and have them read in some silly computer voice. She was not so optimistic. A day later she replied that she had spoken with the Dean's office and everyone agreed that I would not be able to meet my classes as planned. The overarching concern was that the students would not like to listen to a computer voice and they would be disappointed if they had to read most of what they needed to learn. That's what books were for. If everything a student needed to learn could be found in a book then there would be no need for professors or universities. There would be many complaints. She wrote that I would have to transition to an appropriate administrative roll at the university or retire.
I chose to retire. That was a no brainer. We have enough money saved and our needs are modest. I bought myself a new electronic tablet I use to communicate with my wife. She can talk and talk, and when I need to reply I type or write on the tablet or either show it to her or have a silly computer voice read it out loud. I like the HAL9000 voice the best. My wife, she doesn't like it so much. But we are getting along about as good as ever. I use the tablet when I'm out and about too. Most people don't seem to mind.
I do sometimes miss good conversation, though. The ebb and flow of for and against, the way spoken language can establish a deep connection with another person. But there is a downside to the spoken word too: careless or hateful speech can't be unheard by even the most wait-to-talk kind of person. I've been on both sides of that downside; now I'm on just one. I'm happy with that choice too.
The house is quiet in the morning when my wife is still asleep. My thoughts come and go with an easy fluidity. I sit quietly at the kitchen table, without my phone or tablet, and drink the last bit of coffee from my favorite cup, which I then rinse out and set on the side of the sink to dry. Brutus perks up and wags his tail when he hears "Come on, let's go for a walk."