“I know what the bullet did, Doc. I was there,” I mumble coughing. “I just need to know what’s going on.”
“I need some more tests, but you were aware that they were unable to retrieve a small fragment of the bullet, right?”
“Yeah,” I wheeze.
“The thought process was that it was so small that trying to extract it would do more damage.”
I nod.
“There’s been research to show that the fatigue and weakness you feel can be attributed to that.”
“Does that mean, this is my life now? Is this why my voice keeps going in and out?” I ask, bitterness beginning to well up inside of me.
“It could be, you must remember you’re very early along in I’m afraid we may have bigger problems. It appears there is a polyp along your vocal cord. Now, normally these are not worrisome. In fact, most of these are not cancerous at all.”
My eyes shut at the word. Cancer.
“I don’t want you thinking the worse. It could be nothing. I actually think that could be the case. Still, yours is very large. We will need to remove it. We can send some of it to pathology and make sure my deductions are correct.”
“So, I’m forever going to be this weak, useless, piece of meat and hey, let’s just throw cancer into the mix for fun?”
“I don’t think cancer will be your issue, Mr. Hudson.”
“But there is something….”
“The polyp is wrapped around your cords and growing at an unprecedented rate. Whereas normal surgery is relatively simple and takes maybe thirty minutes—at the tops sixty. “Removing it could be tricky and there’s no guarantee…”
“Doc, quit dragging it out. What’s the bottom line?”
“You could lose your ability to speak and as with any surgery in that area it could affect your ability to swallow and eat.”
“Fuck….”
“It’s a big decision. Take a few days and think about it.”
I hold my head down, and then I get up without a word and walk out. There’s nothing to say.
As I’m walking outside, my cell rings. I don’t want to fucking talk to anyone. I take it out and look at the caller ID.
Millie.
Any small hope I held of having Millie is gone. There’s no way I’m going to touch her now. There’s no way I can have her.
She’s just one more bitter blow to the gut.
She’s a shot I’ll never recover from—which is okay.
It’s not like I’m going to survive anyway.