In Over My Head-Part 1

I went to the salon the other day for my semi-regular “sunshine injection pilgrimage”.  In other words, to get my hair highlighted.  Sadly, my hair turned on me from medium/dark blonde to light brown sometime in college.  I could be wrong, but instead of attributing this to my increasing age like my stylist does, I attribute my darkening roots to the excessive amount of dark beer that I drank in college.

While in the salon, I typically like to decompress, drink my glass of water and read an empty magazine article.   I started reading a Dallas magazine story about a woman around my age faced with a growth on her brain.  The article chronicled her on the road to recovery and I am happy to report her health and life returned to normal.  Toward the end of the article, she mentioned the name of the doctor she owed her miraculous turnaround to--Dr. Bruce Mickey of the University of Texas-Southwestern Medical Center.

My eyes froze on his name.  They were paralyzed there as I said his name in my head over and over and over again.  I closed my eyes and was transported back through nine years of memories, jobs, parties, celebrations, tragedies and laughter until I was sitting directly across from Dr. Mickey in his office. 

It is an experience I will never forget.  I had been suffering with migraines for years.  I had been able to control my headaches with diet until the spring of 2000.  In the time period of a week, I suffered with six unbearable migraines that were eventually accompanied with double-vision. I went to my regular doctor who ordered an MRI of my brain.  “Routine” was the word she used.  She called me that afternoon and suggested I come in right away.  Don’t panic, I thought. 

Knot in my stomach. 

Jay and I were in the early stages of our relationship.  We had met just six months before and our dating routine didn’t include trips to the doctor to discuss serious health matters.  Things were about to change.

Jay was in the waiting room and I went back to the exam room after my name was called.  The doctor came in and immediately snagged a box of tissues from the counter and brought them over to the exam table near my leg.  She let out a heavy sigh.

“Are you here alone?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.  Her long dark hair was in a braided ponytail and it whipped from one shoulder to the other.  

“No, my boyfriend is in the waiting room here with me.”

“That’s good,” she said, “that’s good.”