Amoebas and Elephants

Contrary to popular belief, having a brain tumour doesn't usually make you feel poorly. I always get immensely irritated when people treat me as if I'm ill, or diseased. I feel perfectly O.K., and I lead a completely normal life thank-you-very-much. On the whole, I feel absolutely fine. Healthier than you do probably. If my tumour is happy, then I'm happy.

And yet...sometimes I do become aware that I'm not invincible, that something is definitely not quite right. I feel...odd. No other way to describe it. Not quite here. Other-worldy. In particular, I lose blocks of time. Whole periods of my memory have been erased. The early years of my marriage, for example, are all gone. This might be a good thing actually – the first few years of our marriage were apparently very stormy. And my medium and short term memory are also pretty ghastly. Rich has to constantly remind me of stuff that happened yesterday. I'm like the fish with a three second memory.

When I was growing up I used to be incredibly scared of losing my memory. It was a phobia of my youth. I used to think I would rather go blind than lose my past. Our memories are the essence of who we are...if you forget your experiences, then it makes you a lesser person. You're just a blank slate. You forget how you came to be the person you are.

The good news is that memory loss is actually completely painless, emotionally speaking. Because you can't remember past events, you're not upset about not remembering, because you simply can't recall what you should be upset about in the first place.

Another advantage is that whole periods of my sordid past have been completely erased. Also a good thing. And memory loss comes in very handy for inter-marital arguments too. If I get angry with Rich then I don't stay angry for long, because I never remember what we argued about originally. So having an addled and malfunctioning brain is exceptionally good for family harmony. Plus there's the added sexual bonus too. Every time is always the first time for me 'n' the studly Mr Fluffy. I literally never remember it being this good, so I am constantly surprised and blown away by his sexual prowess.

Alas, this memory loss issue will remain with me for the rest of my life. My doctors tell me it will probably get worse too. I'm not especially bothered by this, largely because I know I'm not going to remember being upset about it. It's not going to affect my intelligence or my identity. It's just inconvenient, that's all. And of course, as with most disabilities, you do learn to work around the problem.

Organisation is the key to leading a normal life. I have learned to write things down. Blogs are excellent recorders of stories (part of the reason I started one in the first place.) And I live by lists. I write lists for everything, and stick post-it notes all over the house. Rich designed his day-job software to have sophisticated calendaring and reminder services, so I get emailed every day about specific things that I need to do. For example, tomorrow's messages read: Monday- give cat anti-fur-ball gel, shave pussy, evening shoot. So if I end up with a completely bald and shitty cat on Tuesday, blame Rich's software not me. I just do what the emails tell me to.

If you have severe memory problems, then the only long term memories you will have are the stories told by your loved ones. Rich has to tell me the same stories over and over again. He knows I won't recall it next week, but I swear he never ever complains about being a regurgitating tape recorder. He's a fabulous chap, you know. Who else could possibly be so endlessly patient with me? (Of course, I don't actually remember his faults, if indeed he has any, which I'm sure he doesn't.)

I would also like to submit that photography is of critical importance to brain tumour patients. It is essential to take as many photos as you can, all of the time. I have issued the kids with cheap digital cameras, and they snap anything and everything. They are my memory storage devices. I will be able to remember them growing up through the eyes of the camera. My life's stories are stored on computer. My memories are in digital. If memories are who you are as a person, then my psyche is on my hard disk drive, laid bare for all the world's hackers to see.

Incidentally my appalling memory makes me an excellent agony aunt and confession storage repository. Please do feel free to tell me all your sordid, deep, dark secrets. I can guarantee I won't remember them in two days time. On the other hand, if I seem vague or repetitive in email conversations with you, this isn't because I'm stupid, it's simply because I am a fish.

Now I'm sure some of you are feeling sorry for me by now. This is a mistake, caused by your own inbuilt fear of losing your identity. Truly, you should never feel sorry for people with memory loss. Chances are they are happier than you are.

Thanks to my tumour, I'm in a constant state of contentment.
Amoebas are happier than elephants, let me tell you that.

The advantage of a bad memory is that one enjoys several times the same good things for the first time.
Nietzche



Amy, in high key.