You may have seen them decorating the desks of sports-obsessed co-workers or mounted on the dashboards of restored automobiles at classic car shows. Whether it's old school baseball or football players or miniature animals with oversized wobbling heads, there's something unsettling about the bobblehead doll.

Is it the petrified smiles on their oversized faces? Can it be those eyes with stony gazes that never waver, and appear to look right through you?

Little did Chicagoan Jim Higley know the bobblehead collecting gene he "inherited" from his four older brothers as a young boy would become so ingrained thirtysomething years later. The quintessential worker bee, Jim was so completely immersed in a never-ending loop of commuting, work, single-parenting and, generally, too many responsibilities that, frankly, existing was all he knew.

Sound familiar?

Who knew a randomly checked box on a lab worksheet, perhaps by mistake, during an annual physical would lead to a prostate-specific antigen (PSA) test that no one expected to be a problem until it was, and soon shatter Jim's bobbleheaded life forever.

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