Before the actual onset of menopause, before the rants, rages, sweats, and insomnia I began to lose my mind.  At first it was little things like forgetting some one’s name or calling something by the wrong name.  These did not stop as the next phase of the memory loss began they only escalated.  I no longer can immediately recall the names of my children or my grandson but I can tell you the phone number I first had on my own back in 1977.  People say the mind is a funny thing, and it must be true because my family has been laughing at mine for years now.

The first outward sign of aggression was the year they got me Gingko Biloba and Memory (the card game).  The little snot boxes thought that was a hoot!  Like I was going to be able to remember to take Gingko…please!!!  Then they began to make fun of the words that slipped into my sentences when I wasn’t looking.  You know what I mean (if you’re menopausal).  In your mind you are going to say “Go check in the freezer” but what comes out is “Go check in the television.”  Laughter ensues, and you know just as soon as the word leaves your lips that there has been a glitch, but you can’t unring a bell.  I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve said “listen to what I mean, not what I say.”  Later you can’t remember why you entered a room, which isn’t particularly bad unless it’s the bathroom and you have basically two options.  You can shower or you can…read…no wait that’s men…ummm, dust?  Well anyway, so that happens and then you begin to forget things unless you make lists.  I make lists.  Lots of lists, they are everywhere these lists.  I just wish I knew where…Oh look, a chicken (that’s for my non vag. sister).

Now, unlike me, my family forgets nothing.  Every mistaken word, or forgotten name has been safely stored away in their tiny little minds.  They love nothing more than to remind me of all the “mistakes” I’ve made.  No wait…there is one thing they like more…they like sharing with others.  I blame myself.  I taught the little wretches to share.  However; when it comes to my husband I blame anyone and everyone else for his penchant for sharing…and the glee he derives from it.  What is amazing is that: a) I haven’t killed anyone yet and b) they think that will continue.  I am only so addled, or am I?

These fools have decided I’ve got one foot in the nursing home and one on a banana peel.  They figure I’m halfway to Senility Village so I might as well play along.  The way I see it, if I continue to just go along with the memory lapses that are already happening, and add to those mass confusion, and slobbering on myself, with a decent portion of talking to myself, and I just might be too unstable to deal with any of their problems.  I cackle with glee…finally menopause is working in my favor!  Of course this will never work, because I want it to.  Accepting my disease would mean that they would have to admit that they can no longer depend on me for the thousands of little balls I juggle in the air for them.  At one point they had me so concerned that I was developing Alzheimer’s disease that I talked to the family doctor about it.  Our doctor picked my car keys up from the counter and held them out to me.  “Do you know what these are?”  Of course I did. “Do you know what they do?”  Still affirmative.  “Well, it’s not Alzheimer’s”.

In my overwrought mind I know the culprit is menopause.  However; the story I’m telling is that much like a computer that has been filled up with too much crap I need more memory.  And the reason I need more memory is because for the last thirty-one years I’ve been keeping up with their toys, books, baseball cards, car keys, football jerseys, and everything else they’ve ever owned while living at home and my mind is just completely tapped out.  It is just pure luck that I have been able to remember their favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe…and if they keep hassling me about this memory loss thing I’m afraid the cookie recipe is just on the cusp of being lost.  That would be a shame too, since I’m the only one who has that recipe.  Such a shame….now where are my reading glasses…Suckah’s!!!

 

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