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 Each day feels new, and my memory of the one before is faint. I’m learning to adapt. |
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In September 2019, a seizure revealed a lime-sized meningioma pressed against my hippocampus—the part of the brain that governs memory and language. The doctors said it was benign, but benign didn’t mean harmless. Surgery removed the tumor, and three days later I opened my eyes to a new reality. I could walk, I could talk, but when I looked at my wife, her name was gone. I called her Precious—the only word I could find. A failure of memory, yet perhaps the truest name of all. Recovery has been less cure than re-calibration. Memory gaps are frequent. Conversations vanish. I had to relearn how to write, letter by halting letter. My days are scaffold by alarms, notes, and calendars. When people ask how I am, I don’t list symptoms or struggles. I simply say, “Seven Degrees Left of Center.” It’s not an answer—it’s who I’ve become. |
| Rewired: Five Years After Five years ago, surgeons removed a brain tumor. Five years later, this is as healed as my brain will get—and I've learned to work with what that means. The unexpected gift: fewer distractions. My brain processes differently now. I see, smell, hear more clearly. When I write, I describe more because I genuinely perceive more. The noise that used to clutter my attention is simply... gone. But healing isn't simple. Memory issues block my creative process in ways they never did before. I can describe a scene with startling clarity, then forget the plot thread I was following. I can capture the exact shade of evening light but lose track of my character's motivation. So I've adapted. I lean on AI to help format my thoughts, to bridge the gap between what I perceive and what I can organize on the page. This brings mixed emotions—I know some writers are completely against using AI. For me, it's become a necessary tool, helping translate my enhanced perception into coherent prose when my changed brain struggles with structure. This is my reality now: seeing more clearly, remembering less reliably, writing differently than I ever have before. It's not the writing life I expected, but it's the one I'm living. And somehow, despite everything—or maybe because of it—I'm still here, still creating, still finding ways to get the stories out. New neural pathways, new creative paths. Both harder and clearer than before. |
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