the chemo brain is strong

I rolled my eyes when I read about chemo-brain. I couldn’t begin to fathom what it could possibly mean. “Impaired memory.” I’d experienced my fair share of mommy-brain moments, but nothing could prepare me for forgetting some one’s name the instant they introduced themselves. So, for your reading pleasure: a list of things I – a 27 year old woman – struggle with after chemo.

1. Recipes. There is a certain finesse to following a recipe. A quick read through should give you the gist, so that you can then start at the beginning and have a good idea of what’s going to happen. Not me. Not any more, at least. Long gone are the days that I can read a recipe online and recreate it in my kitchen at a later date. In fact, the only way to make sure I’m going to not screw up a recipe is to re-write it, by hand. I guess it saves on printer ink.

2. I was never fantastic with names, but pretty good. I could remember the names of people I’d met, or characters from a show I enjoyed. Now? Forget it. If I don’t write that person’s name down it’s going to be gone in about five seconds. I usually abate this problem by asking them to add me on face book, but it has lead to some fairly embarrassing face-to-face challenges. There’s nothing more frustrating than knowing some one, and not being able to remember their name.

3. Productivity. I’ll be honest. I wasn’t incredibly productive before my cancer diagnosis. Mostly because I was tired all the time. So I guess there has been some overall improvement in this department, but I am so easily side tracked. I lose half of my day when I start doing the dishes and realize I can’t find the sixth part of the damn onion chopper so I decide to organize a draw which leads to emptying the entire pantry onto the kitchen table which leads to ordering pizza for dinner. #doesntmattergotpizza

4. Time. I find it difficult to measure the passing of time. Never mind that I am still almost constantly tired (especially if I stay up late… like I’m doing now…), but my day just disappears. Most of my friends know that I keep a timer on my phone. It goes off every day at two o’clock. Mostly so that I know that it’s two o’clock. That means I should eat now if I haven’t eaten yet. That means B-man will be home from work in a few hours. It means I should take my medicines if I haven’t. It means my day is slipping away. It means my daughter is running around singing a song about two o’clock because my husband did it once.

5. I’m a rude friend, or a lousy acquaintance. Picture this: the magazine photo of a fun motherhood. Coffee with a friend across the kitchen table while the kiddlets play in another room. And yet, I can’t enjoy it as much as I would like to because the second I want to respond I have three choices. First, the rudest option, interrupt and say what’s on my mind. Second, stop paying attention to what my friend is saying and repeat my thought to myself over and over again and hope that it stays relevant to when I get a chance to say it. Or third, forget my thought and come across as uninterested. With close friends they have been fairly patient on my toddler-level conversation skills. With every one else I just nod and smile.

6. I have to write everything down. And by “write down” I mean literally, with a pen, on paper. This is actually my cure-all. From grocery lists to daily tasks: if it’s written down, there is an incredibly improved chance that I will remember it. Thank goodness. The hard part here is that I then end up keeping a ton of lists, and an actual paper planner (I’ve actually had people ask me “what’s that” in regards to my planner. Bite me people. It’s not THAT crazy!).

7. There’s probably a million other things, but that’s the joy of chemo brain. Ignorance is bliss and I’ve completely forgotten. And that’s okay. This is where I am, and nothing changes over night.

 

It’s not glamorous, most people don’t understand that some one my age could actually struggle with most of this, and people always say “but it’ll get better, right?” The answer? Supposedly. It can take 4-5 years, and not every one regains complete function. Until that point I will be forcing myself to do things I don’t feel confident in doing (like writing!), and keeping a mountain-sized-pile of lists.

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