Where Did All My Memories Go?
Or, Instagram for the good times, Whatsapp for the bad, and medical records for the important stuff
On the 31st December I will turn 42. To mark this I have been trying to write a Substack post entitled “42 things that have improved my life this year”. Now it turns out that 42 is quite a lot of things so I’m not trying to make this list big and clever - so far it contains things like “tagliatelle” and “tinting my eyebrows”. However, I’ve run into a problem. I can’t seem to remember most of this year.
In fact, I’m having problems remembering pretty much anything that happened more than 48 hours ago. The other day my bank asked me for my date of birth and it took my so long to remember that the customer service agent had to restart the security checks. I have called my 75 year old mother three times this week to ask her what she wants for Christmas because I simply cannot remember what she’s told me. The good news is that she can’t remember either so whatever I end up buying her I can claim she asked for and she’ll never know if it’s true or not. I keep thinking I’m about 28 because the entire of my 30s has disappeared from my brain. I’m only reminded when I stand-up and make the “argh” sound of old-age.
When you’re a woman of a certain age worried that your brain is made of cheese, there is one thing that you can’t forget, or rather that the world won’t let you forget.
The ghastly P-word is lodged firmly in my brain;
perimenopause.
While I am very here for women discussing aspects of their lives that have been hidden under the rug, even I am a little weary of hearing the horror stories of ageing. Poorna Bell wrote beautifully about this a few weeks ago. How those of us approaching that period of our lives want to know the realities but also need some hope - we need to hear the good stories, as well as the bad.
So let me give you a little hope. According to my hormones, I am definitely not in perimenopause. In fact, my FSH levels are so low that my doctor suggested that had she just had my test results and had I not been sat in front of her in all my 41 year old glory, she might have wondered whether I was a teenager going through puberty - which at least explains the mood swings and why my boobs won’t stop growing. She might have said more than that but if she did, I can’t remember it.
The problem with ruling out perimenopause though was that it opened up a million other options. While I can’t remember the password I’ve used on my Spotify for the past eight years, my brain is very determined to remember all the possible reasons for memory loss. Early-onset dementia feels unlikely, it doesn’t run in my family and I have enough medical problems as it is, I just don’t have room for another one. Could it be some sort of CPTSD from the past three years? Maybe, but hasn’t everyone had a terrible three years? Has the entire world forgotten their middle name? Perhaps it’s something to do with my gut biome? But how much more kefir can a woman drink?
So I asked the source of all wisdom, the girls’ WhatsApp chat. It turns out, nobody knows their date of birth.
“I’m honestly beginning to worry that I have dementia, I struggle to recall names.”
“I have to find ways around it like googling the name of my accountant’s old company to find the name of his new company and from there his name.”
“I’ve just spent 10 minutes trying to find my car in the car park.”
One friend pointed out that she had no memory of her 20s or 30s but we all agreed that this was less to do with age and more to do with a deliberate erasing of events she’d rather not admit to.
Eventually my friend, Charlotte, came through with practical advice:
“Check Instagram for the highlights, Whatsapp for the lows and your medical and financial records to work out the ‘WTF is that?’ moments.”
And so when my next Substack includes “38: the search function on my online bank account”, you’ll know why.
A reminder that on January 20th / 21st I will be running a two day mini-retreat to help you find purpose and abundance in 2024. Mark it in your calendars before we all forget! Find out more here.
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Hi Harriet! I’m never one to presume that my experience surely will explain your experience—but sometimes a hint from another does lead to a result. In my 40’s I suddenly had such memory glitches, e.g. going down the hardware aisle to get the …? What was it? And, worryingly, returning to your cousin in the next aisle over to ask what it was, not once, but 3 times! My astute internist noted this, along with some hand tingling. Turns out I had B-12 deficiency. In my case, from long term buffer meds/alkali therapy for a rare condition. This over time gave me an alkaline gut, unable to effectively absorb enough B-12 from food. (It was not an intrinsic factor lack.) After ~6 mos. of high dose oral Methylcobalamin, (the most accessible/effective form of B-12), my levels were restored and symptoms resolved. I did not need injections. Note that these days it’s not rare for many mostly healthy folks to take proton-pump inhibitors (‘Protonix’ etc.) for acid reflux. The PPI meds shut down acid production in stomach, but they’re meant to be used only short term until other solutions are put in place (raise the head of the bed , lose weight, etc.) —but folks get them over the counter and take them for years, which can finally exhaust liver stores of B-12. It’s coming to light now that continual use of PPI’s can lead to B-12 deficiency and a side effect can be memory issues. It’s often overlooked esp. since the liver can store quite a supply, but my internist allowed that this should be watched for nowadays more than usual if their patients take PPI’s.
I used to pride myself on my brilliant memory and have recently started repeating stories and finding myself searching for my words!! And my first thought went to perimenopause as the cause 🥲