Memory Loss

Last week when I posted my hoop performance video, my mother and sister were both reminded of a record we had when I was a kid – classic marches – that I didn’t have any recollection of. Even having been reminded of it, I have but the vaguest tickle of recall.
This happens to me a lot. It is worrying.
I’ve always been this way with books and movies. A few of them stick, but most are forgotten; possibly a part of a scene or a song or something will resonate with me, but the rest is quickly lost. I’ve read voraciously since childhood and assumed that forgetting so-so plots and narrative was my brain’s way of keeping room for the good stuff. But the “good stuff” is pretty random and now real life experiences are getting the same treatment.
I don’t always remember places I’ve visited or restaurants where I’ve enjoyed a meal. Tod knows them and is patient enough to prompt me with details until I have a ping on my radar. “You know, the basement restaurant with the big blue vases? Where the lobby had a old statue of a man smoking and we talked about how you’d never see that anymore? And you had the rice pilaf with the pretty carrots on it?” It can sometimes take a lot of explaining before I twig. And sometimes I never do.
I usually can remember rooms where I’ve spent considerable time. My childhood homes, a classroom, various apartments and friends’ houses. But perhaps I am inventing details over a basic framework of shape and color. I am very good at believing my own make-believe.
But forgetting books, vacations spots, and old LPs isn’t the only memory issue that I struggle with. Recently I started doing The Artist’s Way, which is a sort of therapy course for blocked creative people. Some of the exercises terrify me. For example, listing five people I admire. I can’t think of who they might be, though I am sure I admire five people and then some. Last week we were to list twenty activities we liked to do. It took me three tries to come up with twenty things, even though I know there are scads of things I love to do.
I wonder if I am on the road to dementia? I have unusual white spots on my brain, according to a neurologist and an MRI. These are the sort of spots that are normally only seen on very old people’s brains. So yes, perhaps I am on my way to being the crazy lady who doesn’t know who you are.
That’s scary.
I am developing some strategies for dealing with this current (and possible future) memory loss: live in the present moment without concern for the past or future; teach my body things like hooping and dance that do not require brainpower to enjoy; cultivate a joyfulness in small observations like watching birds and wind; build a body of creative work that will delight, surprise, and inspire me when I explore it.
I try not to be anxious about this, but I am a little. A great deal of my identity is wrapped up in the smart brain I was given. Dealing with loss of mental faculties is difficult. Who will I be if I can’t use my mind as I used to?
I don’t know. And I have to wonder – did I already blog about this?