What day is it?
What it is like to lose your memory?
When I lived in California, I listened to Radiolab in bed all the time, and it always sent me to sleep. One show was especially interesting, though, and I desperately tried to stay awake to hear it.
It was about a woman who was temporarily losing her memory. Her daughter took her to the hospital, thinking she’d had a stroke. She couldn’t form new memories and would ask the same questions over and over.
What day is it?
How long have I been here?
Why am I here?
What’s wrong with me?
And, over and over, her daughter would patiently answer the same questions.
Eventually, she noticed that the conversation wasn’t just repeating a similar pattern; it was repeating EXACTLY THE SAME PATTERN with a frequency of exactly 90 seconds.
They have a recording of the whole thing, and were able to overlay one round of conversation exactly onto the next and see that they were identical, with identical pauses and identical expressions of surprise from the mother. Eventually, the daughter started telling her mother that, not only have we had this conversation 183 times already, we are about to have it again in 5…4…3…
This was eerily familiar to me. I also took someone very dear to me to the hospital with temporary amnesia.
In the beginning, she knew she was forgetting and worked hard to keep everything straight, like the guy in Memento. She apologised in advance for her poor memory and that she was sure to forget things.
But as time went by, she couldn’t remember why she was forgetting.
Our conversations were eerily similar to the lady in RadioLab’s.
Can you explain to me why I am in hospital? Why are my parents here from Malta? It must be serious, right?
I patiently explained one hundred – no, one thousand – times that she had a tumour pressing on the part of her brain where memories get made. They couldn’t remove the tumour because the operation was too dangerous. Each time I explained her situation, her heart broke a little more, but each time she amazed me with her bravery and determination. If there was a way to get through this, she would find it.
One day, she refused to believe my explanation and argued there was nothing wrong with her memory. Like an idiot, I argued back.
She: I am NOT losing my memory! My memory is fine.
Me: I’m sorry but it’s true. In a few minutes, you’ll have forgotten all about this conversation and you’ll ask me again.
She: I will not!
Me: You will…
She: Will what?
Me: Forget this conversation…
She: What conversation?
Me: Oh…never mind….
I felt like such a shit for arguing and vowed to be kinder next time around.
The lady in the RadioLab story made a full recovery and was able to laugh at a terrible and frightening part of her life. Our story did not have such a happy ending, and it pops back into my memory sometimes in those twilight moments between waking and sleeping. I hope I never forget.
That’s fascinating about the mother-daughter conversation which was identical even down to the pauses and reactions. I wonder if the daughter tried varying her responses.
But it’s so sad about Rita. You talk about her in such a beautiful moving way.
I had similar conversations with my mother, who had lewy bodies dementia. Oddly, though, she remembered the exact amount of cash that was locked in my uncle's safe deposit box. I was the executor of his estate and probably wasn't supposed to tell her that, but I figured "what difference does it make? She won't remember."