Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55458 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Two weeks, I told myself. Gavin Ross would be gone in two weeks.
Or less.
Gavin
I sat inside one of the offices on the third floor of JRMC, staring at the collection of books just over the left shoulder of the ENT who looked like a doctor should look—brown hair with streaks of silver, kind honey-brown eyes, and a friendly smile.
“The good news, Mr. Ross, is that you don’t have cancer.”
The air whooshed out of my lungs and relief covered me like a weighted blanket. I hadn’t realized just how much I needed to hear those words.
“Are you sure?” I slid to the edge of my seat and clasped my hands on his desk. “I mean, did you run the tests through a couple times just to make sure?”
Dr. Parnell smiled and nodded. “It isn’t cancer, Mr. Ross.”
“Gavin, please. You gave me my life back so it’s only fair you call me by my first name.”
“Gavin.” He smiled. “You don’t have cancer. What you have are non-cancerous polyps, that’s the good news. The bad news is that you have them on both vocal chords, and given your line of work, therapy is unlikely to produce the desired outcomes.”
I nodded. I knew what was coming next; I’d spent hours online researching every possible throat or vocal cord problem in existence. I knew how they were diagnosed and all available treatment options, so, yeah, I knew what he meant. “Surgery.”
Dr. Parnell nodded. “Micro or laser surgery, but yes. Surgery.” The doctor sighed and leaned forward. “They each are simple surgeries, but all surgeries come with drawbacks.”
“Like, you might nick the wrong thing I’ll end up mute for the rest of my life? Or worse, just unable to hold a note?”
“Again, that is unlikely, but it is a possible outcome. I have performed these procedures hundreds of times in my career and I assure you, there is nothing to worry about.”
What else would he say under the circumstances? I had to trust someone, and Alex found this guy because he wasn’t just an ear, nose and throat guy—he had a subspecialty in laryngologist, as well. If I was going to let anyone near my vocal cords with a scalpel or a laser, this was the guy. “What’s the recovery time for polyp removal?”
“It’s outpatient surgery so you’ll recover at home, that’s the good news.”
I fell against the chair with a groan. “You’re killing me, Doc.”
“I know. The pain will be minimum and over-the-counter painkiller should do the trick for the day or two after the surgery. But you’ll be hoarse and should take it easy, meaning minimal voice usage for seven to ten days post-surgery. It’ll be about eight weeks until you are fully healed, and you need to take it easy until then. We’ll follow up every ten to fourteen days to track your progress.”
Eight weeks. Two months. “No talking or singing?”
“No throat clearing. No yelling or shouting, or whispering. No coughing, if you can help it.”
Shit. “So, eight weeks of virtual silence?”
“On your part, yes.”
Silence wasn’t a regular part of my life. There were always people around, making my food, cleaning my house, driving me wherever I needed to go, making sure I exercised regularly, keeping my schedule. But here in Jackson’s Ridge, I only had a housekeeper come in once a week and the chef left my meals for me. There was no one else in the mansion. No one but me.
“I guess that’s that, then?”
Dr. Parnell nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. “The time will fly by. Enjoy this downtime by reading, writing, and enjoying the beautiful scenery this part of the country has to offer.”
Writing. That was a good idea. I couldn’t sing yet, but I could start writing my next album. “Humming?”
“Not until I give you the go-ahead.”
“All right, let’s get this thing scheduled, shall we?” The sooner the surgery was done, the sooner I’d be healing and singing. And back on tour.
The truth was, I felt relieved that the problem wasn’t cancer or some other unfixable vocal cord issue, but I was also terrified of all the things that could go wrong during surgery. What if I coughed too hard after the surgery and exploded something? What if the salty ocean air wasn’t good for healing? There were too many damn what-ifs that I couldn’t account for, and this was my life, my career. It was everything I had ever worked for, and one little twitch and it could all be over.
I was confused and scared as I left the medical center, and there was just one person I could talk to when I felt like this. “Hey, Granddaddy.”
“Gavin, my boy! How the hell are you?” I could hear the smile in his voice and it brought a smile to my face. “Been a while since I heard from you.”