Beyond The Music (The Rock Gods Book 7) (5 page)

“Yeah, yeah. Of course,” Spumoni said and shoved another meatball into his mouth.

“This is so fucking good,” Lincoln said. “Thank you for cooking.”

“How about I drive you to see Doctor Hardy on Monday?” Spumoni asked.

Lincoln looked up from his plate of food. “Why would you do that?” That comment earned Lincoln an eye roll from Spumoni.

“I’d like to think of us as friends,” Spumoni said. “And a friend would drive another friend having trouble seeing to his fucking doctor’s appointment.”

“I can call the car service,” Lincoln replied with a shrug.

“Are you going to be a complete dick about this?” Spumoni remarked. “If you use the car service you’re running the risk Dagger could find out you went to see a neurologist.”

“I don’t think Dagger would connect the dots, but I suppose you could drive me,” Lincoln added.

“You
suppose
? Jeez, Linc. I don’t want to over-step the boundaries of our friendship,” Spumoni’s tone was pure sarcasm. “I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was sucking your dick or something equally as sordid.”

Lincoln almost choked on his food. “Again, it’s not happening. Ever. Got it?” The smile on Lincoln’s face displayed the levity of his comments. It felt good to relax a bit and let down his guard. But, as much as Spumoni’s relentless attempts to give him a blowjob were flattering, Lincoln would never go there with him. They could be friends, even hangout like they were doing right now, but Spumoni would forever stay in the friend zone.

Chapter Four

Spumoni drove Lincoln to see the neurologist on Monday morning. Thankfully, there was only two older people waiting in the reception area for their appointments when Lincoln and Spumoni entered the office. The wait wasn’t long at all and Lincoln stood up when his first name was called by the nurse. Spumoni leaned over in his seat and wished Lincoln luck before Lincoln disappeared with the nurse down the hallway.

“Did your friend want to be part of the appointment?” the nurse asked.

“Ah, no, that’s not necessary,” Lincoln answered.

The dark-haired nurse brought Lincoln into an examination room and had him sit in a chair beside the exam table. Lincoln’s stomach was in knots. He had a foreboding feeling that when he left the doctor’s office today his life would never be the same. The sting of tears bit at Lincoln’s eyes. He began to reflect on his life so far, the things he still wanted to accomplish, and how unlikely it would be now for him to do any of it while dealing with a serious illness.

The doctor entering the room drew Lincoln back into the moment. He tried to stand and shake the doctor’s hand but wavered on his feet. Doctor Hardy steadied him and helped him back into the seat. Christ, he felt like a fucking invalid. What was next? Someone wiping his ass?

“Good morning, Mr. Stallworth,” the doctor greeted.

“Please, Lincoln is fine.”

“Okay, Lincoln. Any new symptoms or changes to your sight?” Doctor Hardy asked.

Lincoln touched his left eye. “I think it’s a little better,” he stated, trying to sound overly positive even when he himself wasn’t at all. “I only really notice the spot now when I cover up my right eye. When both my eyes are open, my vision is pretty normal.”

The doctor got comfortable in his chair and set Lincoln’s file onto a small table beside him. “The brain is an amazing organ, Lincoln. It has an almost impossible ability to make adjustments to the signals it is receiving and filtering the bad signals from the good to make those adjustments,” Doctor Hardy said. “What I believe you are experiencing is one of those adjustments your brain has made in order for you to function better.”

“So, my eye is still fucked-up?” Lincoln asked.

Doctor Hardy nodded. “I’ve had a chance to study the results from all of your tests from Friday and my original diagnosis is correct. You have a form of multiple sclerosis called relapsing-remitting.”

“Shit,” Lincoln mumbled.

“Nowadays, this disease is very manageable with plenty of rest, a healthy diet, and regular exercise,” the doctor added. “Plus, there are numerous drug therapies we can use to help keep you stable and in remission.”

“How am I supposed to deal with my life now?” Lincoln questioned.

“Same way as you did last year and the year before that, and so on,” Doctor Hardy replied. “You’ll have to modify your lifestyle somewhat, but for the most part, you can live life as you normally would.”

Lincoln shook his head. “I don’t see how that is possible,” he said.

“What do you mean, Lincoln?”

“I have band rehearsals coming up and we’re leaving for a long European tour after that,” Lincoln explained. “How is it possible for me to
manage
a disease as you described and live out of hotel rooms while I travel through numerous foreign countries for the next several months? When I’m working, I typically do sixteen-hour days. I don’t see myself getting plenty of rest with that kind of schedule.”

The doctor was quiet for a minute while he studied the notes inside Lincoln’s file. “Have you given any more thought to doing a course of IV steroids?”

“Yeah, I thought about it, and I don’t want to do it.” The muscle in Lincoln’s jaw began to tick in annoyance. “Is that gonna be a problem for you?”

Doctor Hardy made a notation in Lincoln’s file. “This is your decision to make, not mine. What we need to do is find a treatment you feel comfortable doing for the long term. But I am strongly urging you to start on one of the disease modifying drugs as soon as possible. The sooner we get you on a program, the quicker we’ll get you stable.”

“Drugs.” Lincoln scowled. “So, that’s your answer to this?”

“Yes. For the first few years, I’m recommending you do one of the self-injection interferon drugs,” the doctor stated. “After you become acclimated with that therapy, we can discuss some of the oral pill options available.”

Lincoln finger combed his hair and groaned loudly. “Injections? You can’t be serious,” Lincoln grumbled.

“I’m very serious, Lincoln. From what you’ve told me, you’ve been dealing with symptoms of this disease for years. You can’t afford to ignore this health issue any longer.” The doctor leaned forward and held Lincoln’s gaze. “The hard truth is, with every one of these relapses, you are running the risk of permanent nerve damage. Once the nerve is severed, there is no surgery yet to repair the nerve. And here is some more of that harsh truth for you. The optic neuritis you have in your left eye is very likely permanent. Meaning, the sight deficit you’re dealing with today, will probably be with you for the rest of your life, and the next relapse could damage your walking ability, and so on. You need to be proactive with this, Lincoln.”

“Oh, my God! I can’t believe this is what I’m dealing with now.” Lincoln’s voice cracked with emotion.

“Another option I think you should consider is hiring a private nurse that could work with you one-on-one on a regular basis, perhaps even in your home. They’ll get you set-up with a diet and exercise program suited to your medical needs.”

“Am I supposed to bring this nurse to Europe when I go on tour?” Lincoln was being a dick now and he knew it, but damn it, this was a lot to process all at once.

The doctor closed Lincoln’s file. “I think that would be a wise decision on your part.”

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” Lincoln barked. “Musicians don’t typically tour with babysitters, unless you want to put our body guards into that category.”

The doctor sat with Lincoln another thirty minutes discussing every last aspect of the disease, even supplying Lincoln with websites to check-out and a few MS hotlines for him to call if the urge hit him. Sadly, Lincoln paid very little attention to any of it, since he tuned-out after the first five minutes of the doctor talking. It was too much information for Lincoln to process and the outcome too scary to allow himself to think about it. He knew he was being childish and irresponsible, but absorbing everything now was too overwhelming.

Without much notice, Lincoln stood up from his chair to leave. Doctor Hardy removed several leaflets from a display on the wall behind his desk and handed them to Lincoln. “I want you to take these brochures home and study the pros and cons of each drug,” he said. “And then next week I’m going to give you a call and see which interferon drug you’d like to try. Okay?”

Lincoln shuffled the brochures in his hand like playing cards. “Are these all needle drugs?”

“Self-injecting, yes.”

“I’m not a fan,” Lincoln said and stepped toward the door.

“It’s a small, half-inch needle that is placed just beneath the skin,” Doctor Hardy explained. “My patients have told me they don’t feel the needle at all, it’s the medication itself that can give you a slight burning sensation as you inject it into the skin.”

“I’m even less of a fan now.” Lincoln opened up the door and did his best to walk a straight line down the corridor. When he got to the waiting room, he momentarily stopped beside Spumoni and then continued to the exit.

Lincoln kept walking and Spumoni caught up to him at the elevators. “You okay?” Spumoni asked.

“Never been better,” Lincoln said through clenched teeth and stepped onto the empty elevator.

They didn’t speak again until Spumoni opened up the car door for Lincoln. “Talk to me,” Spumoni requested. “You were in there for so long I was beginning to worry. What the hell did Doctor Hardy say to you?”

Lincoln rubbed at his forehead and yelled inside the car. The sudden outburst made Spumoni jump. “I’ve got MS and my life is fucked.”

“Is that what he said?”

“Christ! I need to think,” Lincoln grit out.

“Let me take you home and then you can yell and scream all you want,” Spumoni said and pulled out of the hospital parking lot.

The ride back to Lincoln’s house seemed to take an eternity and Lincoln was sinking in a sea of negative thoughts. He just didn’t see how he could continue to be part of a high profile band such as Black Ice and the rigors of touring while he dealt with a disease as complicated and life altering as MS. How could he ever expect to live a normal life from here on out?

Spumoni parked in front of Lincoln’s three-car garage. “Do you want me to get you inside?” he asked.

Lincoln shook his head. “I’d rather drown myself in my pool.”

“Don’t say shit like that,” Spumoni answered and directed Lincoln toward his front door.

“Easy for you to say,” Lincoln sputtered.

Spumoni got Lincoln inside and put him on the couch. “Look, this isn’t the end of the world,” Spumoni scolded. “You’re acting like you’ve been given a death sentence and MS is hardly that.”

“Fuck you!” Lincoln barked. “You have no clue what I’m dealing with or how I feel, so don’t vomit your stupid little pep talk bullshit on me. It’s a waste of your time and breath.”

“Not what I’m doing, Linc!”

Lincoln rubbed at his face. “Why are you here?” he asked. “Is this some kind of game for you? Am I a charity case for you that will give you brownie points with someone? What the fuck do you have to gain by babysitting me? Huh?” Spumoni stood silent in front of Lincoln and that pissed Lincoln off even more. “Answer the fucking question!”

“Stop acting like a dick,” Spumoni reprimanded. “Your attempt at pushing me away isn’t working. No way in fucking hell I am going to let you deal with this alone, so the sooner you embrace that fact the better off you’ll be.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Lincoln balked.

“Your friend,” Spumoni answered. “I don’t see anyone else here, so I’m it.”

“I have other friends,” Lincoln protested. “I also have the guys in the band, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” Spumoni countered. “I don’t see any of them here with you and no phone calls of worry over your obvious health issues. Why is that?”

“That’s because none of them know!”

“You’re right,” Spumoni argued. “Over the last couple of years you’ve managed to isolate yourself from everyone around you. You spend all your free time hiding out at home and when you’re working with the guys, you do your best to hide the issues you’re dealing with by keeping them at a nice safe distance. God forbid they get close enough to see what’s really going on with you! Face it, Lincoln. Your home has become a prison cell for you. Is that really how you want to live your life?”

Lincoln lifted his chin to Spumoni and growled, “Go to fucking hell. In fact, why don’t you leave right now and forget you know my address. Think you could do that for me?” Lincoln watched the muscle tick in Spumoni’s jaw. “Do it. Turn the fuck around and walk out the door, Spumoni, and leave me the fuck alone.”

Several seconds passed before Spumoni simply answered, “No.”

“No?” Lincoln tipped his head. “I think you’re forgetting who owns this house.”

“I’m not leaving,” Spumoni replied. “Call the police, do whatever you need to do, but I’m not leaving on my own.”

Lincoln leaned forward and held his head in his hands. “Why are you doing this?”

Spumoni sat down on the coffee table facing Lincoln. “Because I fucking care, you asshole,” he answered. “Don’t ask me why I care, but I do. Find a way to accept my help because I’m not leaving.”