You may feel a little drowsy

At the risk of becoming a health bore, I have lost my voice! In fact, it disappeared without so much as a wistful look over its shoulder before it headed off for an unauthorised holiday. It is very difficult communicating via telephone when your voice is absent, so I decided to do something about it and duly trotted off to see the pharmacist.

When I arrived at her counter, I gestured and coughed to demonstrate the problem. On her advice, I ended up with the company's own brand cough mixture - 2 5ml spoons every 2-3 hours, according to the label on the packaging. "You may find," warned the pharmacist, "that this will make you feel a bit sleepy." Nevertheless, being voiceless is annoying, so I decided to be clever and to take the first dose an hour or so before going to bed yesterday. That way, I reasoned, I'd simply sleep it out of my system.

At 5.30 am, the dogs woke me, shrieking for breakfast. I opened my eyes, blinked and fell asleep again, immediately. At 6.30, a whimpering dog breathed into my face (they're tall dogs and can do this without even stretching if I'm lying down). I crawled out of bed, muttering and wondering why my mouth was so dry. Dogs fed, I made a cup of tea and took it back to bed to listen to the 7 am news. The last thing I remember was hearing the announcer say, "It's seven-oh-six am, and over to you, Jim." At 9.30 am, I resurfaced and, with a huge effort of will, crawled out of bed. Sitting upright is still requiring a surprising degree of concentration, so I feel a brisk walk may be called for at some point this morning.

I'd forgotten how very badly I react to "drowsy" medication; the one thing to say, though, is that at least I know I'm alive when I take such medicine because I dream. Why do I say this? Because, yesterday, for some reason, my thoughts turned to my only experience of surgery. What remains in my mind from that time is the smell of soap the anaesthetist had been using, the sight of the rosebud in his buttonhole and his introductory remark, "Hello, I'm your anaesthetist and I'm going to give you some...". After that, I have no memory until I woke up back in the ward. It's very strange to have a couple of hours of your life totally missing. On the whole, I think I'll go for the dream-filled slumber inspired by cough medicine. But I do wish I could wake up properly now! No medicine now until 2 hours before I go to bed. Perhaps that'll work better. And yes, since you ask, my voice is still absent and I'm still coughing!