DISCONNECTED MEMORIES 2/28/07

My memory has been tested and rated as rather superior in spite of my t.b.i. "Superior even to people without brain injuries," the nice neuropsych doc told me. "At the 99th percentile superior."

The test showed that I could recite 9 and almost 10 numbers forwards and backwards-- meaning I suppose that I remain wonderfully equipped to remember phone numbers. I was never told if that translates somehow into a magical ability to remember who called me this morning.

Remembering what I had for breakfast this morning is easy because I eat the same thing for breakfast every morning. Yet, some of my memories fall into the category of, "I remember that I remembered doing this. I no longer have the actual memory itself. But I do have the memory of remembering."

There are whole sections of my life that have been wiped. I have found those memories gradually seeping back in, like a steady leak of water. Drops of water that hit me at random intervals instead of the pot placed on the floor for that purpose. Those I record in one of the other blogs for posterity or hilarity.

I was with a good friend today who asked me if I remember her doing such-and-such. "Oh, you are the one who did that?" I replied. I sorted through and attached that particular disconnected memory to my friend. I remembered details of having been told about the such-and-such, but not who had done them. I filed her name away. Now there is a storage part of Briella* that contains the following: It was this here good friend who did the such-and-such that I remember having been told about. Another link in the mess of necklaces partially restored. Still no memory of the friend telling me about it. But a name to go with one of the such-and-suches floating around in the cerebral atmosphere.

Interior fragmented landscape not withstanding, I am not complaining. Briella* is rather cheeky and as I reach up mentally to give her a hug, she slaps my hand away and says in stern reproach: I don't like being fondled by strangers.

"Briella* it's me," I attempt to reassure her. She walks away muttering under her breath words that I dare not write for English class or in any blog.

sapphoq healing tbi

*Briella is my post-t.b.i. brain-- brilliant, just a bit sideways.