This morning, I read a brief item on CNN that made me feel instantly relieved and much better about my life. Apparently, the sudden onset Alzheimer's I feared I had developed is nothing more than advancing middle age. I say, thank God, because I was really worried about myself, and had spent some time in prayer on the matter. It's nice to know that I am not the only person my age who has forgotten more than some people know in a lifetime. I had begun to wonder if too many paint fumes had so reduced my ability to think that I had lost my mind irretrievably.
There are days I am surprised I remember my own name. I have forgotten my home phone number. I have forgotten the names of people I have known for years. I have forgotten appointments and meetings and events that I was genuinely looking forward to attending. I routinely forget everything that I am told unless it's in writing, then I am continually surprised to find out I ever knew it in the first place.
My children are becoming well versed in the routine, as they put in yet another phone call to chastise me for the latest failed effort on my part. Lunch money that I was reminded of twenty times? Didn't happen, because by the time I got to the computer and got online, I forgot why I needed to get there in the first place.
It's gotten so bad, that recently, my son and I had the following exchange.
Mom: "Hello, Adam. What's up."
Adam: "Mom. I told you I needed my rent money. You haven't transferred it yet."
Mom: "Oh, that's right. I forgot. I'll do it in a few minutes."
Adam: "No, you won't. You will forget again."
Mom: "Don't be silly. I will remember this time."
Adam: "I'm sorry, Mom, but I actually need the money, so I can't play that game today. I am going to stay on the phone with you until it gets done, so I know for sure you did it."
I will admit to being a little irritated with him for his cheekiness, but of course, he was probably right. In fact, by the time I got to my computer, I had already forgotten what he wanted me to do, and he did have to remind me yet again. It doesn't help that he always calls right when I am in the middle of something, after all, when am I not in the middle of something? But the reality is, we have now devolved to my being babysat by my irritated children if I am to accomplish what they need of me. It's demoralizing.
I have, of course, devised strategies to help me cope with the sudden brain failure I've been experiencing. If I need something at the store, I put the empty carton or container in front of the door so I cannot miss it as I leave the house. It's the only chance I have that I will remember to get it while I am out.
The other day, I had a little pile of packages clipped to the door with my magnet, and grabbed them on the way out. I shoved them into my back pocket, and when I got to the store, pulled them out to serve as my list. It's an odd method, but I find it works better than a list, which I generally forget to bring with me or lose track of before I reach the store. It does, however, result in some odd looks from the people who work there, all generally under the age of 20.
I am almost afraid to go to church any more, because every Sunday, it is almost a guarantee that I will see someone I know and whose name is escaping me. This leads to the very embarrassing situation of them knowing my name, and my not knowing theirs. Of course, I can remember every single thing about them except their name. But it turns out, they may be having the very same internal struggle themselves, which is reassuring in some bizarre way, since then we are all in the soup together.
Like so many people, I recently found myself calling the dog by a name usually assigned to one of my children. I was irritated the dog didn't respond, until I heard myself in rewind, and realized what I had done. I was relieved said child was not there to hear me, since she would have been less than thrilled to see the dog promoted like that. It was totally without malice aforethought, of course. Turns out it was apparently nothing more than the result of overwhelmed working memory. What a relief there is a logical explanation, and I am not just a ditz.
I am currently studying for a licensing exam that I must take and pass as soon as possible. I read, and reread, and read it again, and I simply do not seem to take in the information as I would wish to. It is driving me mad, because I wanted to take this exam weeks ago, and I can't seem to retain the information, no matter how hard I try.
To make matters worse, I know I can forget most of it as soon as I have passed the exam, so there is little incentive to commit all these useless facts to my long term memory, thereby cluttering up what little space is apparently still available. I only need to have it in my recall just long enough to get the truly mediocre passing score I must achieve in order to get the license I need. It is pathetic to see, as I sit and nearly weep over the frustration of it all.
I have always considered myself fairly smart, except for math, at which I am less than adequate [read hopeless.] But I am no longer feeling that way about myself. I have felt like an academically challenged second grader; I can read it, but comprehension is simply not there. Retention is a long forgotten dream. It is, quite simply, a futile effort, and I am apparently never going to get it.
This article, outlining the difficulties that other people in their 40's are experiencing, made me feel a lot better. In fact, it seems the author is even more troubled than I am, and is forgetting more than me. It left me feeling relieved, if not morally superior, since I am afraid I am heading in her direction sooner rather than later.
I have decided that these name tags every company employee seems to be wearing on a lanyard these days is simply the way that management has devised to remember who it is they are laying off to pay for the golden parachute of the latest failed executive. Perhaps instead we should all have them, cleverly displayed with name facing outward at all times, to aid those of us over 40 in our helpless pursuit of short term memory. I think it's an idea whose time has come, since the Boomer generation is rapidly approaching senior status, and it can only get worse.
If you find yourself in the grocery store, and you run down the nearest aisle to avoid meeting me because you can't remember my name, although you can recall with perfect clarity what car I drove when my son was in elementary school, put your fears aside. I don't remember your name either. But I can tell you, I really admired your dress at fifth grade graduation ten years ago, if that makes you feel any better.
I have to go now, because I know there was something I needed to do this morning. Or somewhere I was supposed to be. Or some way I was supposed to be spending my time, but it wasn't writing this blog post. I am pretty sure of that. Now, what was it? In the immortal words of my favorite magnet, I've gone to find myself. If I get back before I've found me, please keep me here.
