Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. Iām learning to adapt. |
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. Note ▼ |
Today, I was not a good steward of my time. However, I did finish reading a book. Other than that, it was a set on my ass day. The rain didn't help. Yet, I had the opportunity to write and chose not to. Since I have a hard time remembering yesterday, I need to stay on a routine. The routines are what get me through each day. I have to admit it gets exhausting sometimes. I need to stop complaining. Alas, I will not remember today tomorrow anyway. Still, it is crucial to be a good steward of time. Once it is gone, you will never get it back. Try to spend it wisely. |