Bad Brain Day

Last Tuesday was a banner day because it was a bad brain day. Through the course of chemotherapy, "chemo brain" has set in and changes into different forms like a nefarious little mental chameleon. Presently, I'm on Venclexta. Because this drug is relatively new, there's not a lot of data on its side effects or long-term issues. So, in effect, this makes me a Guinea pig. 

So, right... last Tuesday!

Yesterday started off like pretty much any normal day for me. I woke up tired and had issues dragging myself out of bed and down to the kitchen to get stuff ready for my day, to take my morning meds and then head to the bathroom to brush my teeth, sneer at what I saw in the mirror and head out the door to the gym.

Once I was at the gym, the day started to go pear-shaped because, as I was telling my friend, Ken, a story, I couldn't remember the name of a dear friend I've known for over a decade. I could recall many of the details of the story and through the process of telling Ken the tale, I was hoping my friend's name would materialise. Sadly, it did not.

The awesomeness of the day continued when I went to work. Several times during the day, I literally could not see things that were on my computer screen. It was almost like I could see A, C, and D, but B and E were not registering in my brain. Occasionally, I would lapse and type the same line of text three or four times because I didn't see it on the screen until I returned to it from answering the phone or getting up to pull something off the printer. This would have been enormously entertaining if it were enormously entertaining... but it wasn't.

I still couldn't remember my friend's name.

It was an extremely busy day at work and I failed to take a break (again) to catch up with all the tasks that were at hand. I also stayed late (again) in order to make sure I was at a satisfactory stopping point before going home. Because, as I have mentioned in previous posts (and in this one), things leave my brain and they disappear, never to be heard from again. Mostly.

So, overtired and emotionally messed up, I packed up my gear and headed out of the office. A half an hour later, I found myself arriving at a nearly empty car park at Cleveland Clinic and not at my house, which is where I was intending on going to. I guess autopilot kicked in and took me to the wrong place? Again, this was rather distressing as the ride was 20 minutes from work and I hadn't worked out that I was traveling to the wrong location. Fortunately, this didn't take me too far out of the way to get myself home. 

My friend's name still escaped me.

I arrived home in one external piece and many little mental pieces. I plopped on the kitchen floor and pretty much just wanted to sob inconsolably, but our cat, Donnie, demanded to let me know how challenging his day had been and how he required my full attention and lots of pets, so I was pleasantly diverted to that particular place and time: kitchen floor, 6:30 pm, Tuesday, September 17, 2019.

My friend's name is Adam.

Having successfully gotten myself home and managed to right the wrong of my head that plagued me since near the start of the day, I went to bed. This was utter bullshit. See you tomorrow, I thought. And then I did.