Each of us has the occasional moment of forgetfulness. We walk into a room and can’t remember why. We call someone and leave a message to call back, but when they do, we don’t remember what we wanted to say. We refer to those times as “blonde moments” or “senior moments.” If these occasions are common enough to get a nickname, they’re probably nothing to worry about when it happens to us. However, I come from a long line of women who have had strokes, so if those “blonde, senior moments” happen too frequently, I get a little worried that I’m following in family footsteps.
I was experiencing more than an acceptable amount of forgetfulness one night last summer which led my daughter to ask me if I was having a stroke. She most likely did not think that I was, but she was a little concerned about my memory loss that evening.
It started when we decided to go out for a sandwich at a local sub shop. Though we’d been there countless times, I couldn’t seem to remember where it was. No sooner did the question regarding it’s location leave my lips, than I suddenly remembered. But it was too late. I had uttered the words and my daughter knew that I having a little old lady moment.
Okay, no big deal. Everyone has a mental lapse now and then. In my case, it’s caused by storing too much intelligence in my brain. There just not enough room in my head for directions to the sandwich shop around the corner. (wink)
I couldn’t finish my sandwich and I started wrapping it in a napkin, like some Depression era survivor. My daughter looked puzzled. As if it were not obvious that I was saving my sandwich for later because I don’t like to waste food. Duh! She asked if I was becoming a hobo and planning to hang my sandwich on the end of a stick. Then she reminded me that they have to-go boxes for such purposes. For just a millisecond, that was a brand new concept to me. A box in which to put my leftovers. Genius!
That’s when my daughter asked “are you having a stroke?” right there in the eatery. I’m not saying that she said it loudly, just aloud. I knew that she meant it jokingly, but if anyone else heard it, they might think she was asking a legitimate question.
While driving home, my husband called. He was leaving a meeting and wanted to know what to expect for dinner. I told him that we were just leaving the sub shop and he asked if I’d bring him a sandwich from there as well. I offered to go to any place to get him whatever he wanted, anywhere other than where I’d just left.
My reason for refusing to go back inside and get my husband the sandwich he requested was simple. I’d just eaten all that I could, wrapped up my leftovers and walked out. If I walked back in a few minutes later and ordered another meal, an astute employee might call 911 on my behalf. “I heard her daughter ask if she was having a stroke. She clearly is. She forgot that she just finished eating and now she’s back ordering more food! Poor thing.”
I didn’t want to end up in an ambulance explaining that I was fine… other than forgetting how to get somewhere I’ve been a hundred times and forgetting what a to-go box is. I would not have been very convincing.
Anyway, I’m fine. No strokes so far. I’ve found my way to many destinations and used several to-go boxes since that night. Although, I have left most of those to-go boxes sitting on the table at the restaurant!