This Is What Alzheimer's Is Like By: Timothy Chambers

This Is What Alzheimer's Is Like
By: Timothy Chambers
(Inspired by the book Still Alice, by Lisa Genova)

You forget.

You forget the word, "lexicon." You forget the names of your daughter's roommates. You forget that you left your BlackBerry at the restaurant. You forget your wallet at the Starbucks cash register. You forget how to walk from Harvard Square to your home a mile away. You forget why "Eric" is written on your To-Do list. You forget to go to the airport for your flight to Chicago. You forget how many eggs go into the annual Christmas puddling recipe. You forget how your daughter met her roommates. You forget you just asked your daughter, "How did you meet your roommates?" a minute ago. You forget that your son broke up with Jill last month. You forget how to spell words learned long ago. You forget that you don't like coffee. Your forget that you're supposed to give a lecture today. You forget the details of the news-blurb you just heard. You forget whether it's 3:00 in the afternoon or 3:00 in the morning. You forget how to draw the face of a clock reading 3:45. You forget the order you gave the waitress 10 minutes ago. You forget what day your husband is leaving for that conference. Your forget the page you just read in King Lear. You forget why you entered this room. Your forget which door leads to the bathroom. Your forget that your sister died years ago, and ask when she's coming home. You forget that the white stuff next to the bagels is called "cream cheese." You forget that you left your book in the microwave. You forget you left your BlackBerry in the freezer. You forget the time your daughter's play starts. You forget that you just asked your daughter, "When does your play start?" You forget that the actress talking to you is your daughter. You forget that this item of clothing is your underpants, not your sports bra. You forget how to get dressed. You forget what people are referring to when they use pronouns. You forget the unfolding plot of a movie. You forget that the beeping is coming from the microwave, not the doorbell, not the computer, not the phone. You forget how to use the coffee-maker. You forget how to work the television. You forget the names of your former co-workers. You forget how the sentence you're speaking began. You forget what you were just thinking. You forget the conversations you had with your husband about moving to New York. You forget what you were just feverishly looking for. You forget that you and your husband are driving away from the cemetery. You forget why you are crying so hard. You forget that the doctor asked you to point to the window after you touch your nose. You forget the address the doctor quizzes you to remember at each appointment since last year. You forget where in the room the doctor placed a twenty-dollar bill at the beginning of the appointment. You forget what happened yesterday. You forget that the white stuff in the bathroom is moisturizer, not toothpaste. You forget that the black thing is a TV remote, not a phone. You forget how much time has passed since your last shower. You forget your daughter's age. You forget your daughter's name. You forget that you prefer chocolate ice cream to vanilla. You forget that the brown bits in the chocolate ice cream are called "brownies." You forget what month it is. You forget how to type. You forget how to compose words out of letters. You forget how to use the computer printer. You forget how to tell time. You forget that the brown liquid in the glass is called "Scotch." You forget that your mother is dead. You forget that the man is your husband. You forget that the image in the mirror is you.

You forget that you forget.