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 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. |
| I ran into an old friend last night. Someone I haven't seen or thought about since the stroke and tumor took away the neural pathways of memory. It scared him a bit because the instant I started speaking, I did not recognize him. I could not pull up his name. Yet, I knew he was someone I should know. That confusion was too much for him, and the meeting became short. I don't blame him for being set back. As usual, 15 minutes later, I started remembering how we knew each other. In fact, we had worked together for several years. I hope he wasn't insulted. Though, I could tell he didn't understand why I couldn't remember. My wife tried to explain that I had memory loss. He then seemed more nervous, and the encounter shortened to a short minute. The encounter caught him off guard. If we run into each other again, I hope for a better exchange and experience. |
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Sending prayers for continued improvement and recovery 
