His Mother’s Son
Editor’s Note: This piece was awarded an honorable mention in the Pulse writing contest, “On Being Different.”
On a crisp Saturday morning in October, I drove through the early morning fog to the salon for my regular hair-coloring appointment.
I looked forward to these appointments. The hour spent there was my “me” time, during which I enjoyed lighthearted conversations with my colorist, Tina, about movies or fashion while she did my hair. These chats, which took me to a different world—the world of normal people—were followed by a cup of rejuvenating herbal tea. After a hard week as an oncologist in a busy clinic, it was a welcome relief.
This time was different, however.