Luke sighs. “Yes, Danger, I made sure.”
Approaching the clinic, we proceed inside. My heart races uncontrollably while we sit in the waiting area.
Almost thirty agonizing minutes later, a man in a white waistcoat emerges.
“Mr. Pipe,” he calls out, and I fucking shudder hearing my name.
The three of us walk into the specialist’s waiting room and find a seat facing the doctor.
He wastes no time getting down to it. “So, Dwayne, tell me your symptoms.”
“Please, call me Danger,” I correct him instantly. “As you can hear, my voice is breathy and hoarse. My throat felt strange for about a week, and I didn’t think much about it, but my voice only went completely off last night at a concert. That’s when things started to fail.”
“Okay, well, first, I need to look at your throat and vocal cords. Do you consent to me using a small tube-like instrument and a mirror to look inside your throat?”
“No problem. Do whatever you need to.”
He stands, gathering instruments and pulling on rubber gloves. A bright light shines in my face, and he goes about his procedure. The tube tickles my throat even though he used a numbing agent, and it makes me want to cough, but I let him do what he needs to without causing a fuss.
This is too important to be a baby about it.
“Mm-hmm,” the doctor murmurs, then pulls the tube out of my throat and switches off the light. He walks back behind his desk as I sit, my heart racing, and I am breathing so hard and fast that I feel lightheaded.
“So, Doc?” I ask impatiently while he scribbles something on his notepad.
He looks up and exhales with a frown. “I’m sorry, Danger, but you have a polyp on your right vocal cord.”
It’s like the room spins as a wave of nausea washes over me. My body flames red hot, and I sink further into my chair as the realization hits me.
Luke exhales more dramatically than he should, and Lunar looks around the room at the grim faces.
“So how long will recovery take after the surgery, doc?” Luke poses the question I should be asking, but I remain frozen, fearing that any movement might make the situation worse.
Lunar gasps. “Surgery? It’sthatbad?” she asks.
I scrub my face with my hands, knowing I’ve blown this tour for Recoil, and our shot at fame is coming to a grinding halt because of me—yet again.
“It’s different with everyone, but usually with vocalists, the downtime is approximately six weeks from surgery without complications. If, however, there is a complication duringsurgery or your speech therapy needs extra work, then it can take longer. We generally advise six months for the full beneficial recovery period.”
“Six months!” I try to yell, but it comes out as a hoarse rasp, which earns me a disapproving glare from Luke, knowing I will only strain my throat further.
“Okay, thanks, Doc. We need to make plans and talk to the rest of the band. Let’s make some decisions, Danger,” Luke suggests.
I stand defeated. My career is over.
Even with the surgery, my voice might not return to what it was before.
I know that.
Luke knows that.
This is a shit hand we have been dealt.
Fucking hell!
We thank the doctor, leave, and head to the car. Luke gets on the phone with Ryan immediately and requests the band group in the penthouse for an emergency meeting when we return.
Lunar holds my hand, but I still feel numb.
