Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
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In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampus—the part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didn’t mean harmless. Surgery removed the tumor, and three days later I opened my eyes to a new reality. I could walk, I could talk, but when I looked at my wife, her name was gone. I called her Precious—the only word I could find. A failure of memory, yet perhaps the truest name of all. Recovery has been less cure than re-calibration. Memory gaps are frequent. Conversations vanish. I had to relearn how to write, letter by halting letter. My days are scaffold by alarms, notes, and calendars. When people ask how I am, I don’t list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, “Seven Degrees Left of Center.” It’s not an answer—it’s who I’ve become. |
| Chronic short-term memory loss has a negative impact on those I love. The most devastating period is between 1990 and 2019. I equate it to a bad memory chip on a computer. Not everything is lost. Yet, enough is to make life difficult. During this time, my children graduated from high school and started their families. There are pictures I do not recognize and letters I cherish to reread. I sure wish I had kept a blog or journal back then. Today, I don't write daily, but I do try to write after events I know I want to remember. This blog has helped me get some things off my chest. It's a surprise that anyone finds it interesting. Thank you to those who read and those who offer encouragement. I see you. |