Don’t know if it’s the weather or just a particularly bad week but I find myself forgetting things as soon as I put them down. Heck, earlier today I spent 5 frantic minutes looking for a set of car keys that were dangling from my index finger…
I phoned Canadian Blood Services to see if I was under a deferral for malaria from a holiday in Mexico just after Christmas. I had my blood donor card, the dates of the trip jotted on a note pad and, just in case I was no longer deferred, a couple of times when I could go in to donate blood. In other words I’d covered all the questions the CBS nurse would ask.
After a few minutes of listening to the usual selection of tinned music and pleasant messages of “all our agents are busy…blah-diddy-blah-press 1”
, the nurse came on the line. We ran through the verification questions – name and number on the donor card, my birthday, address and phone number: all those vital security measures to fend off ne-er-do-wells intent on making illicit blood donations.
Anyway, I rattled off all the information and there’s a noticeable pause where the nurse usually says, “okay, Mrs. B…what can I do for you today.” She coughs and says, um, are you sure about that phone number? So I give her my cell phone number. Nope. My work number? ah, no, that’s not it, ma’am.
what was that address again?
“Oh crap (yes, that is what I said), my husband comes up with phone numbers that are almost the same because he says it will be easier to remember but they’re just a number different and I get confused with which one is which…
The nurse tries to hide the fact she is giggling.
“I swear, I’m not having a stroke, it’s my damn husband…”
Now she is laughing out loud.
I run through the numbers again and finally hit on the one she has on file…
Then I’m at work this afternoon and a customer calls. She wants to know why I phoned the other day. I look at her file but there’s nothing in the way of a clue.
I remember actually making the call yesterday.
I remember a conversation we had 2 months ago about a trip she was about to take.
The only thing I don’t remember is why I called her yesterday.
Considerate person that she is, she says it must have been to wish her happy birthday. We chat about how her trip went but after 5 minutes there is still a blank spot where an answer should be.
‘Oh well’, I say, ‘happy birthday’.
It doesn’t stop, does it, this slow, meticulous decline into senility? After turning 30, I noticed the lug nuts were getting a bit loose and then, at 40, the wheels began to wobble off the bus. Now I feel like I’m sitting at the side of the road with a lap full of ditch water, holding a steering wheel and wondering where the hell my car went.