What was I saying?

I have lost my memory. Has anyone seen it? Well, I have not actually lost it completely, but I feel my short term memory definitely dangling by a thread. Thank goodness most of my posts are based on my long-term because I would have nothing to write about.


Now, let's get back to this memory issue. I can't quite put my finger on when it first began, but I can say that it started a few years ago when start feeling as though a lot of things were always right there on the tip of my tongue (i.e.: words, names, titles, etc.) Back then I was aware, and it was no big deal because we all have our moments. But those moments began to manifest themselves more frequently. 


First, I could not remember a co-worker's name -- for a minute or so, anyway. Then I began to forget to pay a bill. Well ...ur humph... maybe I wanted to forget so I could go shopping. So I guess that one does not count. Lastly, there's the old walk into a room and forget what you went for, only to walk out again and immediately remember. And I swear it really happened that when I re-entered to get whatever I was going for the first time -- I forgot again. I go in and out of the house so many times in the morning before I leave, that I now wake up 15 minutes earlier just to compensate.


Recently, I have hit an all time low. I have forgotten my students' names. And, that is a little more than annoying. But I am clever, I am a teacher after all. When it happens, I just smile and call them all "Baby." I know we are not supposed to use such terms of endearment, but when you are older, Black, and female, you can get away with it. They pull the race card on hiring, and I pull it with memory loss. Besides,  don't they expect us to talk that way? Example: "Baby (said really slow with an almost southern fake twain), would you go over there and lay that on my desk." Or maybe it's " Baby (said really slow with an almost southern fake twain), let me explain this to you another way." 


Now the most important part is making good eye contact so that they know which "baby" I am referring to. Besides, they seem to like it. I think it makes them feel special. I don't know, maybe they don't get the endearment tags at home, or maybe it's some weird innate "Mammy" thing that makes them feel comforted and special. And don't you be jealous because you can't pull it off. 


At any rate, those are not really the moments that worry me the most, though, because my own mother used to forget our names. She had three names that had to pick from and would call out any one them in a seemingly random order. If we corrected her, she would snap, " You know who I am talking to!"


Honestly, though, it's the bathroom thing that is scaring me most. Lately, I have noticed students missing in the middle of my class. They were there when I took attendance. I never saw them leave. Yet, in the middle of class I suddenly notice their seats empty. I have stopped freaking out, however, because every time they return, I discover that my initials... in my own handwriting, have mysteriously appeared in their agendas.


Some say I just have a lot on my mind, I say otherwise. I am not divulging my age, so I will talk about an incident I observed with my oldest sister. We were in the Bahamas, on a private van tour of the island. The entire family had gotten out of the van to go and look at the Queen's stairs, with the exception of my elderly mother. 


My sister, who was in the lead, suddenly and unexpectedly began frantically searching on the ground for her wallet. She was in tears with fear of having lost her credit cards and passport. All eight of us  joined, her scouring the grounds from the stairs to the van. We even wondered if she had been pick-pocketed. Once we reached the van, we opened the door to look on the floor. My mom, who had been quietly enjoying the air conditioning, saw the look of fear and anxiety on our faces and immediately said, "What's wrong? You are not looking for her wallet that she asked me to hold, are you?"


So there you have it. My sister asked my mother to hold her purse, and ten minutes later, she had no idea where it was. And why did this happen you ask? She was suffering from the onset of menopause. So, without giving away my age, I ask, why am I blanking out, (or short circuiting as I like to call it)? I don't have the foggiest idea... because I can't remember.

Got Milk!

We stopped taking her to the emergency a long time ago. She would complain of chest pains and my middle sister would rush her off to the hospital. She would separately call me and my oldest sister to take her, and we would both show up at the same time. The biggest problem was that I had to fly in from out of town. But she did not care. She said that wanted a backup in case one did not show. She called us so much and for so many false alarms, that we stopped coming. So, she began to call the neighbors. Eventually, they figured it out. Next she had to call (and pay) other, not so close, friends and neighbors. You see, my mother is a hypochondriac.

She has been that way for years. I suppose it stemmed from her childhood. She had been a sickly child and was the baby of the family. That combination garnered her so much positive attention that she came to believe that being sick was a good thing. I am not saying that my mother has not had her issues, but more so, she has always had a very low threshold for pain and a very high expectation for sympathy, or empathy, or whatever high she seems to be getting from the attention.

Primarily, the complaint was about these constantly recurring chest pains that seemed to move all around her heart. And, yet, she was always given a clean bill of health. At least that is all that she would relay back to us. Then finally one day she let the cat out of the bag. I asked her why had she had started taking the cheese off of her sandwiches for the last couple of years. Her response floored me. She took another swig of her buttermilk and said, “The doctor told me that I need to stay away from cheese and milk.” I was livid. All these years of running to the hospital she never told us what it was. The pains in her chest were none other than gas bubbles caused by the intolerance to lactose – which, by the way, she was refusing to give up. “Dammit, I got to eat something!” was her only response. So she cut out cheese slices, but nothing else.

Well, it has been over 21 years since the diagnosis and she is now eighty-one.  She really does have a host of ailments. And when asked how she is doing, she will NEVER say fine, but, instead will drop her voice to sound weak and then start in on a litany of complaints. My biggest fear is that we will miss something important because the years and years of being the "Boy Who Cried Wolf” has made us deaf to her pleas. Instead, we let her go on for a moment and then sigh and ask, “What did you eat or drink today?” And her response, “Shit, it ain’t always the milk! I’m just gonna to have to call 911 myself. I need to go to the emergency!”