Operation

Bill had never been more scared in his life. His voice, and his entire career, was hanging barely by a thread, and he was completely powerless to the outcome of the next 24 hours. Being a very controlling person, sometimes bordering on OCD, helplessness was one of the most frustrating feelings for Bill. His Larynx surgery was scheduled for 2pm, and until then, all he could do was wait in utter dread, knowing that if for some reason this operation was not a success, everything he’d built his life upon would come crumbling down.

Their 1000 Hotels tour began at the beginning of March, and Bill had been excited to get back on the road and see the fans again, but barely a few concerts had passed until he began to feel under the weather. At first he just had a sore throat and thought nothing of it; he didn’t even mention it to Tom for fear it would just worry him. A few days passed and it became clear to Bill it was not getting better, but he knew the fans were too important to let down, so he battled through the concerts acting as sprightly and energetic as usual. Bill had been naive to think that the rest of the band hadn’t noticed, but they too wanted to keep quiet in the hope it would pass quickly. By the first French concerts Bill was in constant pain, his throat felt red raw, and most worryingly, his singing was also suffering. He began to dread the high notes because he knew his voice was not strong enough to cope, and it was becoming obvious to the fans that Bill wasn’t well.

David pulled him aside after the concert in Paris and finally broached the subject of Bill’s health, as it was becoming inevitable something had to be done about it.

‘Listen, Bill, are you sure you’re well enough to perform? You’re wellbeing is my biggest priority, and you don’t seem to be getting any better.’ David’s concern was genuine and touching to Bill; they were good friends outside their working relationship, but Bill also knew the band was making him money and cancelling concerts was the worst thing to happen as they’d then have to refund tickets and reschedule concerts. Even a single concert missed would be a huge set-back for the entire tour, as well as disappointing thousands of fans. Tokio Hotel fans were generally understanding, if not of each other then certainly of the band, so a poor concert would certainly be better than no concert at all. So while David was proving himself a good friend by showing his concern for Bill, he knew from a business point of view it was not an option to cancel concerts.

They continued to perform every night, Bill’s face betraying none of the physical pain and mental stress he was feeling, but his voice certainly was showing the strain. There were parts of songs where Bill would open his mouth and simply no sound would come out, and he was forced to let the fans sing more than he thought was ever acceptable. They had paid to hear him singing, and Bill was very conscious of the fact he was failing his fans by giving a mediocre performance. Many of them could only go to one concert, and he was aware of the impact he had upon them; they will remember the day of a concert day for the rest of their life and Bill did not want a petty throat infection to ruin that.

However, he knew that if he did not get it seen to by a doctor it would only worsen, so on the 14th of March, after the most heartbreaking concert where the set had to be cut short and the fans sang more than he did, Bill arranged for a doctor to visit him in the hotel. Bill felt so guilty for having to cut a large portion of the set-list, but half way through the concert, his voice just gave up. No matter how much he wanted to, he could not physically sing any more. It burned when he swallowed, talked or even breathed, and singing felt like his vocal cords were ripping apart with every word.

The doctor probed down his throat with a stick, made Bill repeat strange noises and made lots of disapproving tuts before delivering his verdict.

“A cyst appears to have formed on your vocal cords. Had you contacted me earlier, it could have been treated with antibiotics, but unfortunately we will now have to operate to remove the cyst.”

“But, the tour...”

“I’m not your tour manager, just a doctor, but I can tell you you will not be able to perform for at least 8 weeks subsequent to your surgery.” It felt like a death sentence to Bill. At first he refused to believe it.

“I can’t cancel the tour. I will not do it.”

“You have to. If you leave your cyst untreated it will only continue to ruin your voice until it is beyond repair.”

“Is there no other way?” Bill was desperate.

“ Surgery is the only hope for your voice.” The doctor was calm but unmovable; Bill knew he could not challenge his judgement.

The operation was scheduled for the 30th of March, 2 weeks away, and the doctor quickly excused himself, avoiding having to witness an emotional scene.

The moment the doctor stepped out the door, Bill broke down. He sat on the edge of his hotel-room bed with his head in his hands, his hair falling limply around his face and tears began spilling down his face. Tom sat down beside him silently while Jost, Georg and Gustav, who had been watching from a safe distance, also left the room. Tom placed a comforting hand on Bill’s shoulder, but remained silent, knowing there was little he could say to comfort Bill.

Bill’s shoulders began to shake as he began to comprehend the implications of the situation in which he found himself. The entire tour would have to be cancelled, thousands upon thousands of fans would be disappointed, and he’d let everyone down. This was such a key stage in their career and this had the potential to ruin them if fans turned against them because of it, which Bill knew was a possibility. He didn’t even blame them. This was all his fault.

“I’ve been so fucking stupid. Why didn’t I say earlier?” Bill choked out, leaning his head on Tom’s shoulder.

“Shh, don’t be silly. It’s not your fault; you could never have known. It’s going to be okay.”
Bill shook his head almost imperceptibly as he stared at his knees, but Tom tipped his head up and made him look Tom in the eyes.

“It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare think that for one second.” Tom’s eyes betrayed none of the fear he felt.

Bill didn’t believe him. It was his fault: if he’d only scheduled a doctor’s appointment when he first felt the beginnings of an infection, he could have avoided this. Now, through his own stubbornness and stupidity, put the careers of the 3 guys he cared most about in the world at risk, not to mention the fans. They would be devastated, and possibly bitter. Bill wished he could rewind and for this to never have happened.

What was worse, he knew Tom was only trying to comfort him for his own benefit; he knew as well as Bill did this could put the band in serious trouble. He knew he had to stay strong for Bill, though, and not let him see he was worried. It was time to be the big brother he portrayed himself as.

“What if the surgery goes wrong?!” Bill blurted as the terrifying thought seeped into his mind.

“It won’t. It’s a routine operation; you’ll be absolutely fine afterwards.” Tom replied immediately, trying to soothe the now inconsolable mess sitting beside him.

No matter how much Tom tried to reassure Bill nothing would go wrong, the seed of doubt had planted itself firmly in Bill’s head and the worst possible outcomes played repeatedly in his mind. What if he couldn’t even sing again? What would he do? What would the band do? Bill had no other qualifications or talents, and he never wanted to do anything but sing. Could his own pride and stubbornness cost him his career?