Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. Iām learning to adapt. |
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In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampusāthe part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didnāt 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 Preciousāthe 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 donāt list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, āSeven Degrees Left of Center.ā Itās not an answerāitās who Iāve become. |
| Dignity, or, to be more specific, self-dignity, has been missing from me. I didn't even realize it was gone until recently. Now, I want it back. Trauma has seasons and waves similar to grief. One day, I can feel okay. The next day, for a brief time, I remember the world I lost. Not just for me but for the world my family and friends lost. I also realize I lost something else: dignity. The dignity to realize it is okay; I need help with simple tasks. Writing is one of those tasks. These words would not make sense if it weren't for AI assistance. I admire my wife's dignity in visiting doctors with me. However, I can't remember the visits without my wife's acceptance. Even recording them for me to listen to later is little help. She has to explain the essential topics several times. God bless her, and please pray for her if you have a minute. I am growing my dignity in an attempt to write about my life. I am relearning that I can still have dignity in my successes. I will never be the same person I was, but that doesn't mean I can't find a path to dignity in being the person I am growing into. |