4. Gavin
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.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see me, because he refused to use any video-calling feature. “Yeah, sorry about that, but I’ve been dealing with some things.”
“Things you couldn’t talk to your family about? What kinds of things?”
“Polyps. On my vocal cords, both of them.” Even saying the words out loud made my stomach hurt, but it grew easier with every syllable. “They aren’t cancerous, which is a relief, but I will need surgery.” I told him all about the surgery and the silent recovery time.
“Is that all? Boy, I had a bout of the clap after a threesome with your grandmother, rest her soul, in our younger days that took longer to heal than that.” He let out a loud, guffawing laugh while I shuddered in disgust.
“Uh, thanks for the advice, I guess. But what if my voice isn’t the same, Granddaddy?” There it was, my real fear—that my voice might not be completely gone, just different. Unrecognizable.
“If it’s not the same, you’ll find a way to make that new voice work for you. I have a better question—what if your voice is even better than it was before? What will you do then?”
“You always ask the tough questions, don’t you, old man?”
He laughed again. “They are my specialty.”
“If my voice is better, that would be perfect. Why, do you have an in with the surgeon?”
Granddaddy laughed again, and it was the same loud bark of laughter I’d heard my entire life. “Not with your fancy million-dollar surgeons, but here at the retirement community, there’s a retired ENT, an orthopedic surgeon, and a cute little lady who was a fertility specialist.”
“Can any of them guarantee the worst thing that will happen is that my voice gets better?”
“Sorry, son.”
“It’s fine. How are things at Sunshine Resort?” A few years back, I had convinced him to sell the home he’d shared with my grandmother for more years than I’ve been alive and move into a retirement community with excellent security. It was damn near impossible for the press to get inside, and there was so much for him to do that he didn’t have time to spend all day missing my grandma.
“Going great, actually. Played doubles tennis this morning and ate a steak and egg burrito for breakfast. Going to do some arts and crafts after I’m done with you.”
“Living the life, then?”
“Yeah, thanks to my stubborn grandson who loves to throw his money around.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s the least I can for the man who gave me a normal childhood.”
“Oh, that’s bull and you know it. Anyway, I’d appreciate it if you stop worrying about me. I love it here and once you broke up with that princess, them tabloid idiots forgot all about me. There’s lots to do, plenty of babes, and I have my own space when I need it.”
“Good to hear, Granddaddy. How do you feel about visiting Jackson’s Ridge?” I didn’t mean it, but now that the words were out there, it was exactly what I wanted. Needed.
“Really? Hell yeah, I’d love to come for a visit, maybe nurse you back to health after they poke you with lasers.” There was a beat of silence and then another question. “Where is Jackson’s Ridge again?”
“Coastal Oregon.”
“That big house on the cliff? Oh yeah, count me in!”
“Sounds good. I’ll have Alex sort out a flight for you and a ride to town.”
“Yeah, sounds good,” he said, semi-distracted. “You got a chef? A fitness instructor? One of those at home recording studios? Hell, I’m in either way, but I just wanna brag to Ray and Samson before I get there.”
“You’re ridiculous, GD, and I can’t wait to see your ugly mug.”
“Same goes, my boy. Same goes.”
With Granddaddy around, it wouldn’t be too hard staying quiet and letting him to all the talking.