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“Relax…” the doctor motioned for me to sit back down. “You’ll do this stuff and get better. It’ll be hard at first but stick with it. We’ll add a few other exercises to your strength routine as well. Other things like acupuncture or massage can also help. But even just relaxing in a hot tub after a show will help get those muscles to calm down.”
Coleman squeezed my hand. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“No, I guess not.”
“That doesn’t sound bad, no,” the doctor said. “But I’m not finished.”
I rolled my hand in the air, gesturing for him to continue.
“What you put in your body is also a problem. When you consume all the wrong things, your body doesn’t function correctly. Junk food, drugs, and alcohol. It’s all like adding poison to your nervous system. Confusing your body into not knowing what’s good or bad. Your muscles are protecting your spine, but they’re not going to realize you’re aligned correctly now if they can’t sense that through all the shit you’ve been dampening them with.”
“Uh…” I didn’t even know what to say. I mean, my diet wasn’t that bad. But I consumed entirely too many drugs and too much alcohol and had for a long time.
“I know. You’ve been numbing yourself. Don’t do that anymore. You want your body to be able to function properly. Eat a diet of lean meats and a lot of fruits and vegetables. Don’t cut out carbs, but rather eat better carbs. Cut out the processed crap. Not just processed bread and flour products but processed meat and dairy like crappy quality cheese and salami or pepperoni. If you get pizza, just get all the vegetables and chicken if they have it. It’s still pizza. You get me?”
“Yes. I can do that.”
“And I’m not going to say no alcohol because I’m not stupid. But let’s say no alcohol for the next few weeks until your body has a chance to adjust. After that, only one or two drinks a week. Save it for the important times. And no drugs. No marijuana. No. I am going to prescribe an anti-inflammatory. But I only want you to use it for two weeks regularly. Afterward, only as needed. And let’s switch out the pot for meditation. I’m going to leave you information on two of the best methods.”
“Meditation?” Was he kidding? Meditation was not the equivalent of smoking a joint.
“Look, Ziggy. It’s up to you. You can keep using it but you’re not helping yourself. If you do everything I say but keep smoking pot, you will end up with, I don’t know, one or two more tours.You’ll still have pain, but it’ll be tolerable. Until it’s not. But will it be too late? I don’t know. Maybe you’ll compress your spine and need surgery. I don’t know for sure, no. Likely, though.”
“Fuck me.”
Coleman pulled me into a hug. I wasn’t sure if that was necessary. If it came down to playing drums or smoking pot, the pot lost. But it wasn’t going to be easy.
The doctor agreed to meet me at the stage for soundcheck the next day, and Coleman made arrangements for us to have extra time to do it and for me to practice with the new alignment and the brace. The doctor left.
And Coleman stared at me like my head was about to explode.
“I’m okay, Cole.”
“Are you though?”
I shook my head and bit my bottom lip. “I don’t know.”
He held me tightly. “You know, we’re here for you. Not just me but the band and their significant others. Marci and Kai, the whole team.”
“So like everybody knows I’m a drug addict and can’t take care of myself.” A tear formed in the corner of my eye. My parents were right all along. I was worthless.
Coleman grabbed my shoulders and shook me. “Stop that. No one thinks you’re an addict. You’ve had issues. And you’re getting help. That makes you strong. All I’m saying is that we all love you.”
My chest felt heavy. This was new, and it made my head spin. “I want to lay down.”
“Okay. Come on.”
The next morning, I went through the same routine with my yoga, and I added the extra exercises the doctor left for me like a good boy. I did one set of each. It would take time to build up to doing more. I’d try to add a second set the next day. Afterward, as usual, Coleman was down in the gym working out. I got dressed and searched for my pot. And there wasn’t any. I was jonesing fucking hard.
I flipped through my phone until I found my Reno contact, and I texted her. She could come up to the hotel. But I couldn’t have her come up to the room because I didn’t want Coleman involved. I needed to meet her downstairs. She said she’d be there in twenty, and I could meet her at the valet parking.
With a plan in place, I needed to get the fuck out of the room. I grabbed the key card and my wallet and headed out the door. Drake fell in line behind me. “Where’s uh, Calvin?” The other security guard, now assigned to us, was nowhere in sight.
“It’s Clark. And he went with Coleman.”
“Oh. Well. I’m going down to find some food.” Yeah, I could have ordered room service, but I wanted to stretch my legs. Drake followed. I knew he would. And after what had happened with Zade, I didn’t mind one bit.
After getting a salad at one of the restaurants—look at me being healthy—I ate about half of it and dumped the rest. It was time to head out to Valet Parking anyway. When I got to the exit, Drake stepped up his pace, walking beside me instead of behind. “Where are you going? We need extra security to leave the hotel.”
