I've Got an Issue with my Hippocampus

ESSAY: I used to be somebody. I knew people. I went places. I learned things. I experienced a rich & full life. Now, those memories are fading. I'm fading. And I'm pissed about it.

The hippocampus in the brain has a job to do. It’s supposed to form long-term memories, store important events and facts for easy recall. Mine is not doing the work it was intended to do.

I can give a pass to my prefrontal cortex for too quickly losing my short-term memories. Although, it is annoying to open the refrigerator door at 74 and forget what you wanted to eat or drink in that moment.

Somehow, the general knowledge stored in my neocortex is holding on, although it usually takes some pondering to bring it to mind.

Things that frighten me - death, the Internal Revenue Service, bad health, the loss of love - still jump right up from my Amygdala and announce themselves with some regularity and volume.

I guess my basal ganglia is working in keeping my unconscious memories, like how to ride a bike. Although, as I am losing my balance a lot, riding a bike ain’t the easy ride it used to be.

Lastly, the cerebellum’s task of controlling my fine motor moves is being challenged by my hand tremors. No one told me that in my old age I’d be knocking over my glass of milk like a child.

But, anyway, back to the node of the brain not pulling its weight - the hippocampus. (What a funny name.)

Memory loss and the fear of something like Alzheimer’s Disease occupies a goodly portion of my constant worrying. I was a television news producer. It was the best job in the world. It gave me access I wouldn’t otherwise have had to fascinating people, exotic places, challenging ideas, important events. I saw a lot. I learned a lot. So, I know a lot.

But (and this is the god-damned tragic but), I can’t access all I know anymore. Or, I should say, I can’t recall all that I knew. Swaths of my life are simply gone from my memory. It makes me weep. So much to share, robbed from my mind.

I wrote a song about it, called, “This Life. It goes like this:

"THIS LIFE" by David Guilbault
"This Life" © 2021 David Guilbault

Time has come to be a sage.
To write this book.
To fill this page. 
But, my story can’t be drawn, 
As memories fade.
With remembrances gone.

What do I have to say?
What was this, anyway?
This life?
These loves?
These times?

There is so much I could tell,
If only my past 
Wasn’t lost in a swell. 
The mist of time’s a feral thief,
Robbing my mind.
Of what it has seen.

Impressions, one by one.
All of them on the run.
From this life,
These loves,
These times.

I’m forgetting, day by day. 
The roles I made and the parts I played
In this life,
These loves,
These times.

This cruelty should not be,
To strip a soul
Of its memories.
I can’t cherish what has been,
If I can’t recall.
The where and the when.

So, I curse the God above,
Who thought it wise to rob me of
This life,
These loves,
These times.

So many of my journalism colleagues can regal you with tales of their extensive travels and eyewitness reporting. Those tales are rich in detail, profound in their telling. Mine, are dust in the wind. And, like I said, I’m pissed about it.

I’m an atheist, or maybe an agnostic. Either way, if there is a God, robbing the elderly of their life, their loves, their times, is a (fill in your own curse word) move. So, yes, I curse the Imaginary Being who always was and always will be and created all of the Universe and Heaven and Hell and Sin and Judgment and all that.

You want judgement, Imaginary Being? I’ll give you judgement. To give someone life and then to drain it from their memory is heinous. It’s cruel. It’s just fucking wrong. You’re a dick!

So, there, I’ve said it. It’s off my chest. Sadly, soon it will also be out of my mind.

I’m sure the hippocampus did the best it could. Not much I can do about it now. Just doing my best to keep my mind active & sharp and open to novel thoughts. Otherwise, my recollections are just spilt milk.

Milk? What was it that I wanted in the refrigerator?