Examination Amnesia

There’s age-induced memory loss and then there’s doctor’s office memory loss. I dread reaching the point when I have both at the same time. Or have I already? Shudder moment.

Photo: CA Hawthorne

See, I did have lots of time. Photo: CA Hawthorne

Still, sitting in the exam room, I had time to reflect on what I can’t remember. If that makes sense. So, how’d I get there? (I mean the reason.) It begins with another recovery and the joys of aging. I’m thankful my mind still runs sprints and marathons even if my body needs a tune-up. Tune-ups are fine, but at a certain point it becomes difficult to find parts. Guess I’ll keep going until I’m discontinued.

This time around my ailment, though long drawn-out because I was trying to fix it myself, was relatively minor. As much as my body reacts adversely to anti-depressants of any kind, it dearly loves antibiotics (if I was a cat I’d purr when I take them). Still, minor or not, I’m relieved to have staved off the infection. It was an infection that ravaged my lungs back in ’09-’10.

On a side note, the pills were a brilliant red. Quite pretty. I miss them already.

Anyway, I returned to the doc and was given a clean bill of health (separate from the bill that gave me a paper cut in the waiting room). I had a medication related question, but it took me several tries to remember it. She was in and out a lot, alternating with the nurse (I’ve never seen them at the same time…h’m). I finally resorted to holding the empty bottle. She asked me what I was holding because, of course, I’d forgotten I was holding anything.

Why does amnesia invade at such an important moment? Is it the rapid-fire Q&A that commences when the doc walks into the room, the same Q&A you just had with the nurse? Just nervousness? Medical magic tricks? Mind suppression technology hidden in the walls. Distraction when attempting to summon answers for unanticipated and highly technical questions the doctor summons with glee so we know the medical degree is real? My theories keep failing, as do my solutions.

People tell you to write your questions down. Great idea. I did that once. I forgot to remove the questions from my purse. Thus far my memory recall is 100% when driving home after the appointment. Maybe I need to drive to the appointment, back home, and back to the appointment again? Somehow I don’t think that’ll work. Even if I remember to try my questions on the nurse I’m told those are great questions for the doc. No! Don’t leave! She’ll work her mojo on me when she comes in and my brain will slip into sleep mode.

Regardless, I’m thankful I’m healed. I’m also grateful my overall health is the best it’s been in over 18 months. Walking is going well this year and I’m hopeful fire season won’t be as horrific as last year because we’ve had so much more rain in 2016.

Wow, the bad fire season was a year ago, but I remember it like it was yesterday. Go figure.

3 Replies to “Examination Amnesia”

  1. Pingback: Examination Amnesia | Christina Anne Hawthorne

  2. Oh. I can SOOO Identify!!! I have always been absent minded, but getting older, and what the oncologist called “chemo brain” means that I have to make notes and lists and set alarms —- and I have still missed the last two shot appointments for Koda. I simply get distracted! Ooo – look! Book! Ooo – quilt! Ooo – garden! Etc. Etc. Etc. And before I know it, it is 3 in the morning and everything I had planned is out the window. I haven’t written a book review in weeks (though I have been reading – just finished “Fire Touched” by Patricia Briggs. I didn’t read the last book because the ex-wife thing turned me off, but from what carried over to this book, I think I can skim the stupid stuff and just read the story, and I really want to. “Wow! THAT happened?!” I am working on a quilt, but I have books to edit right now, so the first thing I do when I get up is grab my tea and start working right away. . . so I don’t Forget! PFT!! 😉

    • And now you’ve described my life. I’m a list maker, too. People think I’m punctual, but it’s because of reminders, calendars, and multiple alarms. If I’m not careful—and too often I’m not—my day disappears with me walking to and fro because I keep remembering something else I was going to do. And then there’s the pill sorter that became a part of my life six years ago. The worst instances I call my “prednisone moments.” It’s amazing, like with chemo brain, what the cures do to us. The bottom line, though, is that you’re still scrappy, still in there mixing it up with life. For that, you have my heartfelt admiration.

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