What began as a completely normal evening quickly transformed into one of the most disturbing moments Emily and I had ever experienced together.
It was a Tuesday. Nothing special. We’d ordered takeout, watched an episode of our show, and were winding down for bed. Emily went into the bathroom to shower while I cleaned up the living room.
Then I heard it.
A sharp gasp. Then silence. Then a sound I’d never heard from her before—a choked, trembling whisper.
“Babe? Can you come here?”
I walked into the bathroom, expecting a spilled shampoo bottle or a missing towel. Instead, I found Emily standing in the shower, water still running, her face pale as the tile behind her. She was holding something in her trembling hand.
“What is it?” I asked.
She opened her palm.
My stomach dropped.
There, in the center of her hand, lay a dark, glistening cluster of something that looked like it had no business being in anyone’s hair. It was small—about the size of a nickel—but it was moving.
The Discovery (What We Saw)
Let me describe it without causing you to lose your lunch.
The object was roughly round, dark brown, and slick. At first glance, it looked like a small piece of cooked rice. But rice doesn’t have legs. Rice doesn’t twitch. Rice doesn’t make your partner’s voice crack when she asks, “Is that a… a tick?”
It was a tick. A fully engorged tick, swollen to several times its normal size, and it had fallen out of Emily’s hair while she was washing it.
Neither of us had ever seen a tick this large. We’d heard about them. We’d seen pictures. But in person, on someone you love, attached to their scalp? It’s different. It’s visceral. It’s panic.
Emily had been hiking two days earlier. She’d worn a hat, checked her clothes, done all the right things. But one tiny arachnid had found its way into her hair, burrowed into her scalp, and feasted on her blood for 48 hours without either of us knowing.
Now, thanks to the warm water and vigorous scrubbing, it had let go—and dropped into her palm.
The rest of the night was a blur of internet searches, frantic phone calls to a 24-hour nurse hotline, and a lot of “What ifs.”
The Aftermath (What We Did)
We didn’t sleep well that night. We didn’t sleep at all, really
Emily was terrified. Ticks carry diseases—Lyme disease, Rocky Mountain spotted fever, anaplasmosis, ehrlichiosis. The thought of a tiny creature feeding on her for days, potentially infecting her, was horrifying.
I spent hours on my phone, scrolling through medical websites, trying to determine:
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What species of tick was it? (We photographed it and compared to online guides.)
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How long had it been attached? (She had showered the day before. It wasn’t there then. So about 48 hours.)
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What were the symptoms of tick-borne illnesses? (We memorized them.)
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When should we see a doctor? (Immediately, if symptoms appeared.)
We called the nurse hotline. The nurse was calm, professional, and reassuring. “Save the tick,” she said. “Put it in a sealed bag or jar. If symptoms develop, your doctor can test the tick for diseases.”
Emily saved the tick in a small ziplock bag. It sat on the bathroom counter like a tiny, terrifying museum exhibit for days.
The Waiting Game (The Next Two Weeks)
For the next 14 days, we lived in a state of low-grade anxiety
Every headache was a potential symptom. Every ache in her joints was a possible sign of Lyme disease. Every bout of fatigue was cause for concern.
Emily checked herself for rashes multiple times a day. She took her temperature obsessively. She asked me, “Do I look okay?” so often that I started answering before she finished the question.
I tried to be reassuring. “You’re fine. It was probably nothing. We caught it early.”
But I was worried too.
The first week passed without incident. Then the second. No rash. No fever. No joint pain. No flu-like symptoms.
Slowly, the anxiety faded. Emily stopped checking her temperature. The tick baggie got moved from the bathroom counter to a drawer, then to a box in the closet.
