Just in case any of you, like me, had your occasional doubts about this, I"m here to tell you it's real. (Well, someone ELSE had to tell me it was real first.)

I came home Tuesday from a late a.m./afternoon round of errands about 3. I greeted Bandit, then I went to bed, I am told.

I asked Bill where I had been that day, about 15 times in a 3-minute period. He called the people he knew I was supposed to have seen to determine if I had been there. Both said "yes" and that I was still an asshole. OK so far, all normal.

He asked If I had gotten a haircut, like I was supposed to. I had to go to the bathroom mirror and take off my cap to give him the answer. He called my med peeps. They said to get me there pronto. I'm not sure about anything until about an hour in the ER.

8 hours later (and one MRI), it was determined that I had experienced an uncommon attack of TGA, Transient Global Amnesia. WTF???!! It has no specific risk factors (even my strokes!), nor indicates any future anything. The ER neurologist had only seen it once before. He diagnosed his mother over------ the phone!

I have known, no crap, thousands of people in my life. I have never known anyone who had amnesia, except within a plot line. So, yup, it's real! And oh so very odd to be in the middle of. (I know, preposition at the end. I just had AMNESIA, cut me some slack, Jeezuz!)

It must be what dementia or Alzheimer's feels like. When you "leave," you have no clue that you have. No memories are being made, as that function has completely shut down. As it's happening, it is immediately leaving your brain. The ride in was about 35 minutes and I have visual memory of only 3 or 4 landmarks, though I obviously "saw" them all.

It's the only one of thousands of hospital visits where I needed my own memory "sharer" to answer ALL of the physician's queries for me while I sat there and smiled. (Just like my Dad did at 85 when he had short-term memory of about 30 seconds. Nice)

Here's the good news, if that's at all possible. I was not agitated in the least throughout this whole thing. If any of the real me had been present and aware of what was happening, I would have been really pissed off. That was my first reaction to all three strokes, 'cause I knew I had to drop what I was doing and go in to the black hole (#1 hospital in America's ER) for hours on end.

This time, nada, which is kinda nice. Though, when I returned (my real evil self), and discovered I'd been waiting for an MRI for 6+ hours, it was agitation city and I made them aware of that. They wanted to admit me (at midnight, after 9 hours, no food/water/meds) for "observation."

I said, "What yo're really saying is that you want to see how someone with this condition looks after adding sleep deprivation to the mix. No thank you. If what you find on the MRI says my head is going to explode tomorrow afternoon, please remember to call me in the morning. Have a nice night." And I signed myself old, err, I mean out.

After almost 40 years of it, the "Oh, no, I"m dying" thing gets, well, old.

So, it appears, that going daft is really not something that puts much stress on the daft themselves at all, but rather only on those who care about them. I may be weird, but that DOES comfort me a little. (Not for me! For them! Unless I become them, of course, but then it won't matter will it?)

So, all things said, I think it's a great record with great tunes and a great recording!

Oh, I forgot! (Ha-ha, grrrr!) I lost my job on Monday, then lost my mind on Tuesday. I'm really glad the week is almost over. (No, no, no, I saw the job thing coming MONTHS ago. It's OK. Because of my MDD, I can't buy a gun in Massachusetts. Ha, lucky you!

Edited by BobKay (04/08/16 12:10 PM)
Always call the place you live a house. When you're old, everyone else will call it a home.