I’ve been trying to forget what magazine subscriptions belong to which waiting room offices. I’ve been trying to forget the names of receptionists, and the faces of which technicians blow veins.
I’ve been trying to live a normal college student life.
Well, the music is too loud. The hot yoga classes are too early in the day. And, the excitement over the new (mediocre) Asian cuisine restaurant is overrated.
I filed a maintenance request to fix my bathroom door that had somehow come off its hinges last week. As the custodian’s drill bit whirred and the screws brought the door back to the wall, I remembered. Dr. P’s face came back in focus and he asked me to identify the objects and letters appearing on the screen, pressing the spacebar to set off the thick, mechanical swooshing sound that moved from one picture to the next. I hadn’t seen his face in two or three weeks, and that had been a victory.
We briefly talked about axons, dendrites, synapses, and other basic neuroscience in a class this week. We brushed right on through the PowerPoint slide, not evening mentioning the duties of each lobe and delicate area of the brain. I wanted to pipe up and explain their functions, but I didn’t. The word plasticity was mentioned, and I remembered the sound of Dr. B’s voice. I remember his reassuring response to my questions, reminding me that the brain rewires and relearns.
I’ve been trying to forget, but all I can do is remember.
I have been trying to distance myself from my medical memories and subconscious patterns of reminders over the past month, but life keeps calling myself back to remember. These memories are haunting me, and they mean something. Maybe I’m not ready to forget, or, maybe it’s that I’m not supposed to?