After finding out that I was pregnant I decided to check myself into rehab. The temptation for me to drink was really high but I didn’t want to do anything that could harm the baby. The rehab facility was really nice and peaceful. It was a welcome break from the demands of being a rock star.
One morning I was getting ready to go to my group therapy session when my water broke.
The contractions were intense and labor was quick. Much quicker then it had been with Fionna. The rehab facility has a team of excellent doctors who came running.
I gave birth to a beautiful baby boy whom I named Fletcher.
I was a rock star, and now that I was out of rehab, I was ready to make my comeback. I had spoken to Paul, (he knew I was in rehab but not that I was pregnant) and he had already lined up several gigs for me. My fans were eager for my comeback tour. I also knew that there was no way I could be the rock star I wanted to be and the mother Fletcher needed. I know that other performers have children and balance their careers with their families but that is just not me. I am not cut out to be a mother. But my parents were getting older and I knew I couldn’t saddle them with another child to take care of — they were already raising Fionna for me. So I decided to put Fletcher up for adoption.
The rehab facility put me in touch with an adoption agency.
“We promise to find him a good home. Would you like this to be a closed adoption? Or are you open to him contacting you down the road?”
“I think closed would be better. I am a celebrity and I don’t want children coming out of the woodwork claiming to be my son. I think it is best if no one ever knows I even had a child.”
“Ok,” he said making notes.
I opted not to say goodbye as I feared it would be too painful.
After giving Fletcher up for adoption I threw myself into my career. I went on a world tour performing every night. Paul said I was better than ever and my fan base was increasing. My concerts were selling out in a mater of minutes.
However, night after night of performing was taking its toll on my vocal cords. Some nights my throat hurt so bad I had to cut songs from my playlist because the notes were so high I couldn’t hit them.
It eventually got so bad I decided to go to the doctor and get checked out.
“Well, miss Equidae it looks like you have developed some vocal nodules. These are likely caused by strain to your vocal cords from performing night after night. We could perform surgery to remove them but often the surgery can alter your vocal range.”
“And if I don’t have the surgery?”
“I would suggest rest to see if they heal on their own.”
“How long?” I asked. “I am on a world tour and scheduled to be in France on Monday.”
“You will need longer than the weekend that is for sure. My recommendation would be to cancel the remainder of your tour. If you do not rest your vocal cords you may never be able to sing again.”
Paul was furious at the very idea of canceling the tour.
“CANCEL THE TOUR!! ARE YOU CRAZY?”
“WELL WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO? THE DOCTOR SAID IF I DON’T REST I MAY NEVER SING AGAIN.”
“YOU JUST GOT BACK FROM AN EIGHT MONTH STINT IN REHAB. NOW YOU WANT TO TAKE ANOTHER BREAK?! YOU KNOW WHAT, I AM DONE WITH YOUR DRAMA. I WILL CANCEL THE TOUR BUT YOUR DROPPED FROM THE LABEL.”
And with that he stormed off.
So I did the only thing I knew to do. I packed up my stuff and Rembrandt and returned home to Appaloosa Plains.