"If I only had a brain"

                The waitress was ready to take my breakfast order.  “l’ll have the fruit parfait . . . It comes with the yogurt, muffin, and ---.”  I paused.  What was the word for the item pictured on the menu?  In my mind’s eye, I could see the strawberries, blueberries, grapes, cantaloupe, and pineapple neatly arranged on a lettuce leaf. “Fruit,” said one of the women in our Cursillo fellowship.  A second of embarrassing silence followed, broken by Kristy’s friendly laugh and side hug.

                How could I forget the word “fruit” right after I had said it?  What is going on between my brain’s synapses?  (Not much, it appears.)  Such lapses are downright disturbing.  I’ve been misreading words of late as well.  Scrolling down my Facebook feed, I’ll glance at a post, think “What?!” and go back to the offending word, which turns out to be something quite different than I initially thought.  If I could remember an example, I’d tell you.

                But worrying won’t make my memory issues go away.  So I’ll claim chemo brain, which is way more reassuring than Alzheimer’s.  It does give one pause, though, to crash right up against such blanks.  Yesterday, I was addressing a birthday card to my brother John when I suddenly could not remember the number of his street address.  Now that would not normally be a disturbing development, but I lived at that address for five years. I knew it started with a “5” and had three digits, but I couldn’t remember the last two.  I finally went and looked it up.

                This weekend, I’m celebrating the first anniversary of my first chemotherapy treatment.  It is a good place to be, one year out from the hardest months of my life.  But still.  I’d like my brain back.