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.  | 
| Today, I want to share a funny story.  A few weeks after the surgery, my wife took me out for dinner. In many ways, my brain was still traumatized. But I was ready and willing to get out of the house. The restaurant makes my favorite sandwich with tater tots, so I ordered the "Variety Sandwich with Tootsie Rolls." I was proud of myself—until I noticed the waitress looking at me confused. My wife snickered and asked, "Tootsie Rolls?" "No," I said, "The Variety Sandwich with Tootsie Rolls." The waitress, "I'm sorry, we don't have Tootsie Rolls," started to snicker with my wife. This went on for a couple of minutes before I connected the dots. I was thinking of tater tots, but the words Tootsie Rolls came out. I could not say "tater tots" every time I tried "Tootsie Rolls," is what I said. So, in the end, I got french fries. I could say, "french fries." I hope this made you grin or chuckle.  |