Drivin N Flyin

Drink, drug, drive, fly were my four questions for my doctor.

"So, am I able to have a glass of wine or a beer at night?" I asked shortly after sitting down in the examination room.

His answer was it wouldn't hurt. He said a half of a glass of wine or beer will feel like two glasses, but that's a tolerance thing not a reaction from the brain.

"And what if, recreational of course, I was to have weed around me. Would that be bad for my head?"

His answer; it too won't hurt. It might affect my balance. I may be more wobbly than usual but no physical reaction with the brain.

"And how about driving?" I asked.

He started filling out the release forms on the spot.

As he did I asked my final question: "And how about flying? Is there anything that the pressure might do to my head?"

"Not unless you have a pocket of air in your head from the surgery. But the chances of that are, nil."

"I don't know, I have been labeled an airhead before," I joked.

And there they were, my four questions. Such a difference from a month ago, when talks of seizures, of cognitive fatigue, of depression, and irritability ruled the day. And while I am always susceptible to the risk of post-traumatic epilepsy, and while cognitive fatigue, an inner darkness, and a testiness will continue to float around in my head for some time, they have taken the back seat in my drive back to normal life. I now can leave the house on my own accord, I can crack open a beer with a friend, or, well, take a toke if I please. I can visit my parents, my dad, who last saw me days after my coma, groggy and discombobulated. Alcohol, drugs, and driving usually shouldn't be uttered in the same sentence, but in this case it is the perfect concoction.

Upon leaving the doctor's office, I was smiling. Aimee handed over the keys. We got in and off we went. What a ride it was, not the one back from the doctor, but the trip that got me to where I am today, where drinking, drugging, driving, and flying were among my biggest concerns of the day.