Tucker
I saw Ava less than I liked, still dealing with debilitating headaches and micro-seizures that kept me in bed more days than not. I hadn’t involved Ava in my troubles, preferring to skip the pain meds on days she worked at the diner and doubling up on the days we could see each other.
Bill figured out I was seeing Ava and suggested another double date for old time’s sake, but this time I was the one with the busy life. I had a full-time job of dealing with my health condition, and what few good hours I had, I gave to Ava.
Gram finally caught on to what I was doing and gave me a fierce lecture. We made an appointment with my neurologist, but after yet another pointless conversation with no real answers, Gram tracked down a new doctor in Houston.
Dr. Vicks was everything my old neurologist wasn’t. Sharp, kind, thoughtful. When we reviewed my history, her head tilted, black braids touching one shoulder. I could tell she was really listening.
“There’s no need to repeat these tests,” she said. “You have a recent MRI and EEG. Now that you’ve aged out of Dell Children’s Hospital, it’s considerably less pleasant on an adult epilepsy ward.”
“And no disco room,” I said.
Dr. Vicks looked up from her iPad. “Disco room?”
“Oh, there’s a space at the children’s hospital for the teens to hang out while they are wired.”
“That’s fun.” She scrolled through screens of reports. “We have plenty of data on the parts of your brain that are affected. I see you were deemed ineligible for surgery.”
Gram spoke. “Too many parts affected.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t been offered a VNS. As far as lifestyle and side effects, they are minimal. It’s not a perfect solution, but a decent shot at one. Good enough to install.”
“But he has more migraines than actual seizures,” Gram said.
“It’s all the same in this case,” Dr. Vicks said. “His migraines are actually the postictal results of seizures that aren’t visible.”
“Oh.” Gram and I looked at each other.
Dr. Vicks explained that they’d wrap a wire around one of the nerves in my neck that went up to my brain. It would connect to a small box under the skin of my chest and send a light electric shock to my brain every sixty seconds. If I felt a seizure coming on, I could pass a magnet on a wrist strap over the box to send a stronger zap to try and stop it. But otherwise, it would do the work on its own since my seizures were mainly invisible.
It sounded wild to me, but Dr. Vicks said it was a good option for patients who didn’t respond to medicine.
As Gram drove us out of town, she asked, “So, what do you think?”
“One night in the hospital? Could solve my problems? I’m in.” I was elated. “I’m only mad my old doc never suggested it. Think about it! I could go to college! Think of all the classes I avoided in high school because the meds made me brain-dead.”
“If it doesn’t work, you’ll have that contraption in you for the rest of your life,” Gram said. “And it’s surgery every time you need a new battery.”
“But, I’ll be one step closer to transforming into a cyborg.”
Gram shook her head, but she laughed. “We’ll have to stay in Houston a few days. Will you be able to separate yourself from your girl?”
“I’m thinking of bringing her with us, if she wants to come.”
“Sure. I’m happy to turn over some of the nursemaid duties to her.”
The city zoomed by as we drove down the freeway. “Her dad lives here in Houston. I think I can convince her to see him.”
“Is that a good idea? She never speaks of him.”
“Not often. But when she does, she gets this wistful look.”
Gram nodded, her gray curls bouncing. “So what’s your plan?”
“I have his address. I was thinking of driving by his house. Get an idea of what his life is like.”
“You have your map pulled up?”
