The first specialist was hesitant for a symptomless patient to undergo invasive brain surgery. He sent me to another specialist. That doc also obsessed over my absence of symptoms. He sent me to a neurosurgeon. The neurosurgeon told me I could wait to see if the tumor grew, or he could just go in and get it. He outlined the area he would shave — he was leaving me with bangs and a ponytail. And, nothing in the middle. Who on earth could rock that look? But, it wasn't until he robotically patted my shoulder, as if he’d learned the gesture in some elective humanity class, that I bolted from his office.