Every night, after our bedtime ritual of reading books is complete, my son asks me to lie next to him for a few minutes.
Last night, as I snuggled next to him, I mentioned that my nose has been bleeding due to my allergies. He asked, “Blood coming out of both nostrils?”
Impressed that he knew what nostrils were, I said, “Yes. But not much blood. Just a little.”
He told me very matter-of-factly that when blood vessels are injured, they bleed.
“How do you know that?” I asked, incredulous.
“You told me.”
I had no memory of this, but I claimed it anyway, saying, “Well, I’m a smarty pants.”
“Yeah, but you’re not very smart.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t remember things all the time,” he said, as if I were an idiot for even asking.
Only then did it hit me that, when I outlined all of my side effects of the IVF meds, I never mentioned short-term memory loss. Why didn’t I mention it in earlier posts? Because I didn’t remember to…
For the past two weeks, I’ve been brain-dead, in addition to being exhausted. When my son asked me to get him some milk, he’d have to follow up with, “Mama, did you forget to bring me my milk?” When he asked me to put on a TV program, he’d have to harass me multiple times afterward with, “Mama, did you forget to turn on ‘Zaboomafoo’?” Every day was a litany of, “Mama, did you forget to do this?” and “Mama, did you forget to do that?”
Two mornings, I had no idea whether I’d given him a bath the night before. The first morning, I had to resort to asking him: He claimed to have been bathed. The second morning, I was able to preserve some semblance of self-respect because I found the towel that I’d placed under his head so his wet hair wouldn’t get the pillow wet; hence, no need to rely on the word of a four-year-old due to my diminishing mental capacity.
I have friends who are routinely scatter-brained and openly admit it. To them, the mental impact of two weeks of IVF meds might be easy to accept because it would be similar to their norm.
But, I have an incredible memory. I remember specific events, including the settings and the general dialogue, from when I was four years old. So for me, the loss of short-term memory was unbelievably upsetting, until, a few minutes later, when I’d forget that I’d had short-term memory loss at all. Very convenient as side-effects go.
Anyway, today I’m back to my normal, productive self. I haven’t had to be reminded of anything. And, I haven’t even napped. So, the two weeks of hell is just that: two weeks. And, for me, two weeks is tolerable. Except for the fact that this particular two weeks convinced my son that his mother isn’t very smart, not very smart at all… It could take me years to overcome this.