“Don’t worry, that’s my job,” I quipped. I had no idea what I was getting into.
First off, I swear on my Signature stiletto-tipped needles that I am not making this up: Last week I got amnesia.
I was rushed to the hospital with something called Transient Global Amnesia, which is sort of but not totally related to stress, and sort of but not totally related to migraine headaches...
...and, well, sort of but not totally related to REAL LIFE in my book. Come on, that’s the stuff of romance novels, isn’t it? And don’t you think for a moment that the romance novelist jokes weren’t flying fast and furious around this house last week. And the Dorie from Finding Nemo jokes. We can almost laugh about it now, primarily because I am completely fine (with a hoard of test results to prove it). There’s no sign of stroke or aneurism or anything else scary. I have recovered all of my memory but the day of my episode, which they tell me I may never recall.
Stay with me, this tale of mayhem does have a knitting connection.
Essentially, TGA is a benign vascular phenomena taking away my ability to form new short term memories for about twelve hours. This meant that my saint of a husband had to endure the same ten questions from me (and the same reactions to his answers) for that long stretch of time. Kind of like having a 47-year old toddler. I remembered who I was, remembered names and faces, just not context and current information. The few requests I made of dear hubby were classic Allie: make sure the kids are alright, call my agent (I had a rewrite due last week), and bring me my knitting.
Funny thing was, I kept the knitting close by, but never knit. I’ve been pondering that all week, and have come up with the theory that somewhere deep inside I was terrified I’d forgotten how to knit. Scared I’d pull out my lovely neck comforter only to stare blankly at the needles. Had that happened, I’m sure I’d have needed heavy sedation. I rather think I was sedated anyway--I find myself fascinating, and even I couldn’t listen to myself ask the same questions for a dozen hours.
Once I came back to myself, I’ve been happily knitting all week. Comforted by my craft in a way I’ve come to love and depend upon. I’m the same Allie I’ve always been, just with a new few exciting stories to tell. It’s fine that I don’t remember the ambulance ride. It would have been a monumental disaster if I didn’t remember how to knit.
Don’t ever worry about my ability to make twenty-one inches of fisherman’s rib interesting.