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. |
| As stated before, each day is a degree of starting over. The tasks and thoughts of yesterday have passed. The slate is blank, ready for another day. This is my life. I try to explain how each day starts, but nothing seems appropriate. I get up and make coffee, which is the part I have done. Then I watch some local news. From there, the day starts anew. What shall I do? What should I do? I checked the notes from yesterday. In reality, I didn't write any. Did I forget, too? Or did I get distracted and just don't do it? I don't know. I'm tired. I better stop, or the depression will shine through. Enjoy each day is all I can say. Because I know tomorrow, it will have faded away. |