The fact is, nothing really stays in my head anymore. When I wake up in the morning, I have no idea what day it is. I have no idea what I watched on television the night before. I can't read a long story because by the end I won't remember the facts of it. I'm actually getting used to missing things and making mistakes. I know that it's just the process of the disease, and I try not to blame myself.
I carry around a piece of paper and a pencil when I go out now. If I remember something that I know I was supposed to do earlier, I stop and write it down and then take care of it: Pick up the prescriptions; do this or that for Jess or Phil; take the film in for developing. A big dry-erase board carries the daily household schedule since the desk calendar became too easy for me to miss, and I make large visual reminders for myself by writing with markers on windows and mirrors.
I don't go to as many places as I used to. Attending large gatherings is out. I get together with my sisters and brothers, but it's very tiring to have a lot of people around. We got to church every Sunday, but the service it two hours long, and when I leave, I haven't a clue what was said. Steve and I spend a great deal of time together. We've decreased most of the friction. We don't do a whole lot because noise and crowds bother me. The best times are when we're doing something ordinary together, like washing dishes or going downtown to shop. Then there are days when things are just really difficult, when I feel agitated or confused, but Steve recognizes that.
