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. |
| Do you ever have trouble reading your work? If there is one truth about me, I am not an editor. When I reread my work, I wondered if the person who wrote it knew English or how to type. The first draft is so raw that it is almost impossible to read. That is why it is called a process. Most things make the second draft. If they make a third draft, I might be onto something. That is when the "want-to" kicks in. Do I really want to be a writer? The answer is yes; the process is part of the deal. Never give up on the process. Keep writing and reviewing and rewriting and reviewing until you are happy with something. Whether it is shared or published isn't important yet. I do say yet. Stay with the process, and the rest will eventually line up. Keep on writing! |