Yes, the weather has taken a turn for the autumnal, but that’s not what I’m talking about.
Just last weekend I was thinking how contented I am with life. After years of low level anxiety about the kids, they all seem to be in a good place and finding their feet. I’m thriving at work. I’m enjoying the garden, even with the associated dramas with birds, butterflies, and gardeners. Ratdog is less of a ratbag, still leaping athletically over fences and barking at other dogs but no longer chewing carpets or using the indoors as a giant toilet. Or, less often, at least. I’m enjoying my hobbies of yoga, meditation, and languages, have recently joined the film society and am hoping to take up dance (we shall see). Even the vile bullying orange cockwomble in the Whitehouse isn’t destroying my equanimity too much (I know, I usually try to avoid writing about politics, but this last week has been something else, I’m sure you will agree).
So, it’s with typically impeccable and ironic timing that I arrived at work this morning, went to my locker that I’ve had for the last several years, and promptly forgot the four digit code to unlock it. I stared at it in horror. I have a tendency to read articles where people write about their personal experience with terminal cancer or dementia. In the last one I read, where a woman was contemplating having herself euthanised with early onset dementia, she wrote about the first time she noticed that something was really wrong. She drove into her street and couldn’t recognise any of the houses. Hence the chill that entered my soul as I started blankly at the lock. Luckily, it turns out the lock is broken, and it just opens without any numbers being inputted. Not particularly safe for my belongings but it allows me somewhere to put my clothes.
In a daze I got changed and have proceeded with the morning’s work like an automaton. It briefly occurred to me to wonder if I was safe to be anaesthetising patients but it’s been an hour and a half so far and I’ve done nothing too egregious yet. I was initially feeling quite panicky and flustered but I’m feeling more normal now. As always, I’m hoping I’m just the “worried well”, as hypochondriacs are known to the medical profession. To put it in perspective, I’ve been worrying about early onset dementia for years, well before I started this blog. The idea still fills me with dread. What am I without my intellect?
I’m feeling calmer now anyway. Chances are I was just tired, or something similar. I was going to make an appointment with my long suffering GP but I think I’ll just see how I go. This isn’t going to be an interesting or fun post to read but I’ll keep it anyway. It might be useful to go back to in future. Was this the beginning of the end? In the meantime, I’ve remembered my locker code. Am I brave enough to ask for the lock to be fixed now?
