By Jim Hagarty
2007
I’ve always had a pretty good memory (as far as I can recall) but I have come to recognize that I do have the odd blind spot. Sort of like that page that the cat ate out of the novel: You can try to piece things together, but you’ll never really have the whole story ever again.
The main memory block that I now know is a part of my mental capacity involves medical people – family doctors, pharmacists, optometrists, dermatologists, blood-specimen takers, etc. When I am in the presence of any of these good people, that little part of my brain that should be set to record while the information is coming at me, almost always just turns completely off, all by itself. Like the VCR shutting down prematurely because the video you were trying to record onto while you were away has run out of tape.
When our children were small, on occasion, I would be assigned to take them to the doctor. Interrogated later as to what was the specific message given regarding the particular ailment and possible cure by the medical staff, I would almost always have to plead complete ignorance. It was as though I really hadn’t taken them to the doctor at all but instead, hiked off to the playground for some sliding and swinging. Inevitably, a call would have to be placed to various nurses to try to nail down the specifics of medicines, suggested routines, etc. If it was a drug store we’d been at, the pharmacist would receive a friendly call (not from me).
Was that one pill every eight hours, or eight pills every hour?
I don’t know why this is so, except that I am pretty sure I tense up when in the presence of anyone in medical-type frocks and fatigues. These people, it would appear, hold within their hands the power of my life and death and aren’t to be messed with.
In contrast, as a reporter, I can usually come away from an interview with a pretty complete set of written – and mental – notes. But in most of those cases, I am not talking to someone who next week might be massaging my heart to try to get it going again or sewing my head back together after I fall off my roof. In most newspaper circumstances, I am more in the driver’s seat.
So it was on Monday that once again, I went to the doctor and once again, drew a blank practically before I left the examination room. He detailed several instructions and I even asked him to repeat some of them. By the time I walked the 15 feet from there to the nurses’ station, most of it was gone.
“How’d your doctor’s appointment go,” came the question on my arrival home.
“Good,” I replied. “He told me what I had to do if I wanted to live a long life.”
“Well,” she said. “What do you have to do?”
“I’m not quite sure,” I said. Something about Vitamin D and Omega 3 and skim milk and vegetables.
It’s a bit worrying to not be able to remember the prescription for a long life. That seems like that would be fairly important information to have. Life’s too short as it is, in fact, not to be able to recall those steps.
I’ve resisted the lure of those modern digital recording devices for about as long as I can, I suppose. I have one – I just never get around to listening to what I’ve recorded. I always forget to.
