I remember, lucky me, seeing a documentary about a fellow who had completely lost the ability to lay down new memories and had been given a journal in which to write his thoughts and it consisted of line after line, each previous one crossed out, that said things like “Now I am awake,” or the one that stayed with me obviously, “I am finally awake.” I sort of feel like that everyday in a strange way, that each day is a new thing, but then somehow one mostly falls into the patterns of the previous days, leaving little room for change. [Note to self: little room does not mean no room – no wiggle room! [Note to ADHD self: Wiggle Room would be a great name for a baby exercise gym.]] And this is where being extremely lucky comes in, being able to remember those previous days and especially those little changes.
Now in a happy twist, it would appear I have mis-remembered the line that stayed with me … that is apparently because the more we remember a memory, the less accurate it is likely to become [in direct proportion to our growing insistence that we are right!]. At least here is the excerpt that made its way into Wikipedia [does Wikipedia know everything as well as the internet?] and I can always cling to the belief that I saw the line in the documentary [in fact I am certain of that the more I think about it!]:
8:31 AM: Now I am really, completely awake.
9:06 AM: Now I am perfectly, overwhelmingly awake.
9:34 AM: Now I am superlatively, actually awake.
Where I recently bumped into poor Clive Wearing, for that is the unfortunate fellow’s name, was in a book written by a much more fortunate young lady, who was saved by a real-life Dr. House, who figured out what was wrong with her brain because she failed the clock test, something my mum used to get asked to do. You are asked to draw a clock face on a piece of paper, just the circle and then the numbers 1 to 12 spaced appropriately. Which sounds simple enough to most of us. But that is enough of a spoiler.
I started reading
on Tuesday morning and I finished it by Tuesday afternoon. I haven’t read a book that quickly in years, and it felt a bit like coming awake … and there was Clive Wearing, coming to every twenty seconds …
Lucky me is right, and extremely lucky Susannah Cahalan, whose brutal [and brutally expensive] experience has lead her to help many others and also pen a very personal story along the way.
Oh, and it would make a great Christmas present … which seems so lame compared to saving thousands of lives, but hey, time is passing for those of us still able to lay down those memories. It wouldn’t make a good Xty birthday present, I would like to point out, in case you have suddenly developed Clive Wearing disease. But if you have done so, or even if you have not, let me wish you a good morning, followed by a another, and another and another …
And may you find yourself superlatively awake, finally!
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