Grief brain

Many cancer patients experience chemo brain, which some describe as a fuzziness in thinking or memory issues. It can last long after chemotherapy, and in fact, there's some evidence now that it isn't a side effect of chemo but of cancer itself.

I knew that grief, too, affects thinking. It seems obvious that, as the brain attempts to integrate an impossible reality, it would be drawing resources away from other areas. I've warned my clients and colleagues over the past ten months that they should check and double-check my work more closely than usual, and I have made some pretty boneheaded errors. But I've been surprised that, generally, I've felt able to think clearly and work well.

Since roughly October, I've not felt my logical processes or comprehension are compromised. Instead, I seem to have lost my ability to make sense of time and how events relate to each other. The part of my brain that is affected appears to be the part that is responsible for moving short-term memory into long-term storage, properly filed and cross-referenced. It's something I've excelled at for most of my life. I'm known for my memory of dates. I've always been able to hang events off of milestones or other markers that secure them in their appropriate spot.

I still can tell you when events occurred in the first 43 years of my life. The memories are instinctual; they're in my cells.

Sandy wondered whether chemo brain increased her noun
aphasia and impaired her short-term memory. It was hard
to tell, really, because her short-term memory had always been
poor, as evidenced by her tendency to double-book herself,
lose her keys, or forget her plane tickets (back when they
were on paper). After we got together, I became her short-
term memory in many practical ways.

And I do have clear memories of things that have happened, times I've spent with friends and family, work I've done since July 19, too. But they're all in a jumble. They have not found a home in the filing cabinet of my memory, because time stopped on July 19. I can remember some specific dates, because they were dates I made a big deal of at the time: August 9, August 20, September 18, Thanksgiving Day (whatever date that was), December 16. But knowing those dates doesn't change the way the events feel in my body. They could have happened last week or ten months ago. They're all shoved into a single file, one labeled "After Sandy died."

Meanwhile, I continue to subconsciously count time backward from July. I had lunch with an old friend last week, and we were talking about memories from when we'd done volunteer work together. I said, "That was five years ago." He was amazed, found it difficult to believe so much time had passed.

Hours later, I realized I'd been wrong. I knew as I talked to him that I was talking about events in 2006, but I didn't realize this is 2012, and that 2006 was six years ago. Even as I live it, day by day, I still think of 2012 as the year that never happened. No matter what the Mayan calendars say, time ended on July 19, 2011.

Chemo brain can affect people for years. I've been assuming that grief brain will ease more quickly. I miss being able to place events in order, to understand my life as a flow of interactions and activities through time. I suspect this year will always be a jumble, as everything's already been filed. But it will be interesting to see if my brain is able to recognize time's existence and resume its old system in the coming months and years.