2021 was a year filled with personal medical problems. There were arthritis pains stemming from a 20-year-old injury, bouts with peripheral neuropathy that may have been a side effect of a medication I've just stopped taking, abdominal issues that revealed renal cell carcinoma (which usually manifests in octogenarians, making me the youngest such patient the cancer center doctors had ever seen), and some mental problems. I was experiencing confusion and memory loss that eventually led to a breakdown of social etiquette and periods in which I would sort of "wake up," look around, and wonder, "Where am I and how did I get here?" When I realized I was in a room I had entered at least once a day almost every day for the past 35 years, I knew it was a problem.
I had to make a list of issues and email it to myself so that I wouldn't forget everything I wanted to tell my doctor, and tearfully begged him to order a head CT because I was convinced that I had a brain tumor. Well, Medicaid denied that request about three times until the MRI revealed that RCC, which I imagine told Medicaid that my body was falling apart and maybe that test was necessary, after all. They finally approved an appointment with a neurologist, but when that office reached out to me (around Thanksgiving 2021), the nearest appointment they could give me was March 28th of this year. I took it, even though by then, I was certain I had found and resolved the problem...
My doctors knew exactly what medications I was taking, including the Aleve for my worsening back pain. Neither of them mentioned the problems of mixing Lithium with NSAIDs, even though my sister's psychiatrist had warned her about it. Finally, she and my mom got me to Google the effects, and my experiences seemed to stem from that combination. I stopped taking Aleve (and have just recently ditched the Lithium), and my memories came back. I still kept that appointment, though, just in case. When I told the neurologist what had happened, he was shocked. He told me that combining those drugs raises Lithium levels in the blood to toxic amounts, meaning, my doctors had allowed me to unwittingly poison myself for over a year. The look on the neurologist's face told me that it was a miracle I hadn't died. But in spite of all that... I wasn't upset with my former psychiatrist or my primary care doctor. They had actually done me a favor. I shall explain...
When I was losing my memories, I was desperate to salvage them. I began to compile a document. I used physical journals, saved emails, my old LiveJournal account, Facebook Notes from years past, blog posts from this website, articles I had written for my college newspaper... anything I could find to piece together the things I had done that I did not want to lose. Most of these experiences were concerts I'd attended. I should also note that in addition to medical problems, 2021 was also a year loaded with live music. My sister and I saw five concerts in four months, though I was not always in good enough health to enjoy each one in its entirety. So, I was not only collecting old writings about past concerts, but I was also writing summaries of new ones. In time, that document expanded to include memorable sporting events, readings and author signings, and pop culture conventions in addition to concerts and music festivals.
Before long, this document was more than just a collection of memories about concerts, which were my most cherished, but a blueprint to who I am (or was, as I have changed over the years), and by the time my memory was back to normal, I finally decided to take the long-ignored advice that I write a memoir seriously, because that was exactly what I'd spent the majority of 2021 doing. It was never intended for publication, but rather as a personal account to remind me of my life. Once I was well, I decided that maybe this document could be published to tell others, not just me, about my life. So, in a way, by neglecting to warn me about the dangers of mixing those two medications, my doctors reawakened my passion for writing, which had fallen dormant time and time again. Because of this, I'm not even angry with them, even though it could have killed me. This time, writing seems important again, for the first time in a very long time, and I am beyond grateful for that. That sounds weird, but I have always been weird, so... there's that.
I ran the idea of this manuscript by my therapist and when I told him I had begun writing it to preserve my most precious memories, he remarked, "That would be a pretty good question for other clients in therapy: 'If you could only save one memory, what would it be?'" After a short period of self-debate, I decided on a name: The Memory Reserve. I'm still doing things worth writing about, and there are... unpleasant things I've experienced that I'm not quite ready to address yet, but I already have the conclusion written. Whether I publish it or not all depends on how much longer I keep going... not just writing, but really LIVING rather than just surviving.
I may or may not keep this site going, but blogging this entry was important. Hopefully it's seen, but even if it isn't, writing it was important to me, and that's what matters.