Why couldn't I remember?

As we age, and boy are we aging, we find our memories aren't what they used to be. I read an article on msn.com the other day that said that not being able to find your car in the parking lot, or not remembering someone's name is not necessarily a sign of Alzheimer's or dementia. According to the article if you can't remember the word for a popsicle and say something akin to 'ice on a stick,' that might be a warning sign.

Well, I frequently forget where I parked my car, but that has been going on since I started driving. One time, many years ago, I carried on a conversation with someone I had worked with for three years and was totally unable to remember their name. Check those off the list.

Several weeks ago, I printed some papers at work, matched them with other papers as per protocol and filed them awaiting the remainder of the paperwork needed to complete them. I promptly then went back to the printer looking for the papers I had printed and was quite upset when I couldn't find them. It was only when I gave up and went to reprint them that I discovered by previous actions. I almost called my doctor for a CT scan order, but decided against it.

This week, while working on this blog, I forgot how to spell the work existence. I found myself on dictionary.com typing in igsistence to find the spelling. I think I will have that CT scan ordered.

Memory is an odd thing. I always thought that forgetting little things was my brains way of making sure there was room for the important things. I would love to be one of the scientific anomolies who use more than the average capacity of their brain. I've read that the average human only uses 10 -30% of their brain capacity. Imagine what you could accomplish if you could use it all.

My mother has Alzheimers. I don't see her as often as I'd like or as often as I should, and I miss her terribly. The problem is that after I see her, I miss her even more because she is not my mom anymore. Actually that is not true - she is still my mother, I'm just not her daughter. She seems to enjoy seeing me, and thinks I'm a very nice person. Considering she doesn't know who I am, I take that as a compliment every time. The last time I saw her, she leaned over after we has visited for awhile and said "You might want to pull up you shirt. I don't think you want to be wearing it that low." I thought my shirt was respectable, but I thanked her for pointing it out to me and yanked it up.

We had brought pictures of family and she would take great delight in telling my father - Look Bill, this is our daughter (or grandson, or son). She seems to remember my father more than anyone - sometimes as her husband, sometimes just as someone who comes every night to sit with her and watch Wheel Of Fortune and stay for a few hours. She recently hurt her leg and was confined to a wheelchair. After she recovered, she didn't want to get out of the wheelchair and walk. My father was pretty insistant that she get up, but my thought was if she is happy in the chair, let her have the chair.

My grandmother on my father's side had Alzheimers and ALS. I cannot imaging the horror of not only losing your memory but losing control of your body also. To have no idea who these people are that are helping you use the bathroom, and bathing you and not being able to hold your head up or call for help. She was a saint and I hope when she got to heaven she got to stand up tall and say to God "That was a hell of a thing, Lord. Let's not put anyone else through that, ok?"

My mother's mother lived to be ninety-six and just recently passed away. She had to see her daughter's mind go while she still had hers. My mother never asks about her, my dad went to the funeral without her and says if she ever does ask about her mother, he'll just tell her her mother was deceased and she just didn't remember. It's kinder this way.

So, you can see why everytime I can't remember something, I start to panic a little. I'm trying everything I can to avoid the A word, but I'm sure I could be doing more. Which research do you believe?

I know my car is in the garage, my husband's name is Keith and I'm going to go have a popsicle. Guess I'm ok for now.

Not time for that pity party yet - at least not over this topic.

Holly