I Forgot to Play Wordle
“Go ahead, add another day to your 1 day streak.” What the hell?!? My streak is (was) 290! I counted back to the day before the day before. I’d gone for a hike at Mount St. Helens, I was out of internet range when I ate my lunch, when I customarily do the daily Wordle. I forgot, when I got home, that I hadn’t done it. It was two days before I noticed. I’m losing it; old, forgetful. I could have admonished myself, but didn’t. (Sort of didn’t.) I was, after all, hiking alone at a mountain, which is hardly a sign of losing it. (Well, some might think so.)
When we were much younger, and misplaced our keys or forgot someone’s name, we didn’t say, “I’m having a young moment.” But when we did so in later years, we laughed and said, “I’m having a senior moment.” Hilarious. Now, in the Third Act, we realize we have arrived and we can’t even joke about it. We are our own worst enemy in instilling fear of aging, especially when it becomes more than just the occasional brain fart we have at all ages. It is, in fact, normal cognitive decline. The slow slide begins, I might have read once, at about age 21. (I’ve forgotten the details.)
I am not particularly fearful of becoming less mobile. Not being able to hike or drive feels devastating at this moment, but I’m pretty sure I will adjust as changes come. And there are more aids all the time to make mobility easier. (There’s an AI image going around social media of a walker that looks like a Volkswagen; my first car was an orange VW van and I want that walker!) But fear of losing our marbles? Now that is terrifying. Every forgetting of a fact (or getting turned around on a trail) is a potential spaz-out moment of terror, surely indicating a leap onto a slip ‘n slide.
In fact, serious mental decline is not an inevitable, or even normal, part of aging. According to the MacArthur Foundation Study of Successful Aging: “Declines rarely affect all kinds of cognitive performance; second, most losses come late in life; and third, many older people are not significantly affected by even minor losses of mental ability.” Yes, of course, we all know of people on the dementia spectrum, but our fear of it happening to us or to a loved one is out of proportion to the statistics. It has surpassed cancer as the number one health fear.
I had my annual Medicare Wellness Exam last month. Every year I wonder if this is the year I won’t remember the three words I have to repeat back later. Every visit, I say them in my head as I draw an analog clock and set the hands at the specified time. This time, I was so startled by the three words I forgot to do the head recitation and had a moment of panic when the nurse said, “What were the three words?” But my hesitation was brief. They were “banana,” “sunrise,” “chair.” The day before, I had eaten a banana while watching a brilliant sunrise paint the sky from my chair in the corner. The ability to make such connections to help us remember is adaptation.
What, exactly, is the point of the exam, I’m wondering now? What would be the outcome if one couldn’t remember the words or draw a clock? Most forgetfulness is not dementia, or even necessarily a sign of cognitive impairment. It’s just normal decline and there’s not a hell of lot to be done about it. Besides, I’ve never had a good memory for facts. They don’t check balance at that exam, or vision or hearing (all which could be addressed). Cognitive decline is part of normal aging, just as are creaky bones, a slower pace, fading vision; but it’s a long reach to a dementia diagnosis. (Also the lengthy pre-exam questionnaire doesn’t even ask if I do brain games.)
Eighty percent of us will experience some degree of memory loss, particularly the ability to recall specific things like names and numbers on demand, finding words, remembering where we put something down, why we went into a room. We may become less adept at multitasking. We can learn new tricks, though, so skip that ageist old-dog phrase because we do it all the freaking time.
The bigger question might be how are we adapting to the changes in others? Are we embarrassed, solicitous, sad in the presence of an elder having a mental lapse? Or do we take in stride, “no big deal”? My mother was adjusting to her aging just fine, until I moved in. I wonder now if I hindered her happiness by heightening her awareness of what she was losing. Suddenly she had to justify and deny, because I was watching. I did okay with her physical limitations, offering my arm when we walked, helping with her seatbelt, encouraging her to use a cane and later a walker. But I did not cope well with her normal cognitive decline, a continuum she was pretty far along on at age 96, but still not abnormal. I reacted with frustration, fear, sadness. I felt like I was losing my mother. But that was about me. I wasn’t losing her, I just didn’t want to adjust to her changes, to my expectations of her. And so I belittled and raged in my head. And sometimes out loud, I’m sorry to say.
I was afraid for her, but mostly for me. I resented being the scapegoat when she couldn’t remember, or didn’t know, what happened (her less than ideal adaptation), and I didn’t want to look my own aging in the face. We do this to ourselves, beginning at a young age, and society supports it. Ageism.
A few months ago, distracted by the deer family in the meadow, I overshot the micro-curve in my driveway and sideswiped a fencepost. My daughter asked if she needed to take my keys away. I knew she was kidding (I think), but whenever these little things happen and we blame it on age, we feed the fear of losing our marbles. I’m going to stop the self-flagellation and just observe, letting it pass through my mind with nothing more than mild interest.
Next year, I’ll ask my doctor what happens if I forget the three words. (If I remember.)
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Do you have fears as an “older,” either currently or looking ahead? Do you fear cognitive decline? How do you feel about it in others?
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Great post! we ARE our own worst enemies, yup! I’ve spent months deciding I could no longer walk my annual half-marathon because i have arthritis in my back and hips. And certainly can no longer run (I say to myself)! I’ve signed up for the 5K instead. Yesterday, I started trotting, by golly, and my hips and back feel fine, even good today!
On a different but related note, I wonder what is going to happen now that we have an easy and (relatively) inexpensive blood test to detect amyloid buildup in the brain – aka, Alzheimer’s disease (not the same as dementia). People are going to be facing the potential of dementia much earlier with such early diagnoses – even before they are symptomatic! What will that do to our self-flagellation and others’ impression of us” (“Do we need to take your keys away?”) Time to consider this fallout!
Sometimes we just have to try a thing, right? I inched back to my writing project this morning, after days and days of telling myself it was too hard. Funny, when I finally sat down with it, it didn’t feel so hopeless. Good job on the trot!
I am pretty sure I don’t want to know in advance. Not until/unless there is something to be done about it, like getting a mammogram or a colonoscopy. And that won’t happen in my lifetime. Especially not in these next four years. (Oh, was that political?) And, yes, the family will also be obsessively vigilant and concerned for every tiny potential indicator. No thank you!
I will not let anyone walk through my mind with their dirty feet. -Mahatma Gandhi
Funny you would be writing about memory today. I’ve touched on this a lot recently in my own living and writing. So very much to unpack. I am a chronic “forgetter” but I may have identified part of the.problem. The storage closet I’ve assigned to hold everything is full-up. I mean busting at the seams … I can’t close the door. What’s worse, is that in the wee hours it pops open and everything spills out. It can be hours before I manage to shut the door again.
Maybe the key is knowing what to leave inside and what to let go of. (Good gawd, it can’t all stay!) All these years I’ve let my nice neat pantry of memories and useful tools turn into the junk closet. So many unnecessary things … and so many more that aren’t even mine. For example, I want to save a space for where I’ve hidden the key to my safe. I’d like to let go of that time I got my feelings deeply hurt. Meditation helps me to remember that my mind is not for storage. I still forget stuff (words mostly) but worry never lessens the problem. Seeing this kind of decline in others is deepening my compassion. I get it. Their closets are full too. We can only hope that it’s the more meaningless things that slip away.
I’m a long time forgetter too. Elder sister used up the memory gene in my family. 🤣 It is much easier for me now to say, “Hmm, I don’t remember, oh well.” Also the internet makes it easier; it’s a fount of largely useless information, until one does need it. “What is a word for …?”
I do wish I had had deeper compassion for my mother. I only ever had one person to practice on, though. And maybe I wasn’t as bad as I think now that I was. But maybe I’ll have more forgiveness for myself.
I was going to write a comment but I’ve forgotten what it was…. Oh yeah: what happens to that clock test when the current youngest generation, unfamiliar with analog clocks, reaches elderhood?
good question!! they’ll need a new test I suppose.
Haha! Yeah, I have mused on that multiple times in my writing and my mind. “Brilliant young grandchild can’t even read an analog clock. They will need a new test.” Probably, as Bev points out, merely a blood test. Or they will know by then there is no point in the test; there is already no point in analog clocks.
Yes to all of this, well done. The thing that jumps out at me is the multi-tasking. If I’m not doing two (or more) things at once, I’m doing while while thinking ahead 2 or 3, and suddenly I am failing terribly at everything. It used to be much easier, and I see the process is clogged irreparably. I have to unlearn these tendencies, settle into the one thing at a time – but how? I haven’t figured that part out yet. Like looking at deer and driving, some things are more fraught, and others, talking to a toddler while getting ready for my swim, (this morning) are just those huh? moments of what the hell and how do I rewind. How fun it will be to age together!! 🙂 <3
Oh gawd, me too! I can’t concentrate on any one thing these days, and I do nothing well. For me, it’s probably more the ease with which I get distracted. Is that a result of these times we are in that sap so much out of us, or of aging? It’s really annoying. Yes, I don’t want to learn to multitask better, or relearn; I want to be better at single-tasking. To settle into one thing and be present. (Haha, looking at deer and driving. 🙄) It’s so good to have aging partners!
As the caregiver daughter of the caregiver for her mother and elders, dementia was part of my life from high school. It was my mother’s fear that never happened. Her body failed but her mind was a steel trap. It took two months to get hospice orders from her doctor so New Year’s Eve I stayed up watching the fireworks in the next door church parking, wondering how would evacuate her in the hospital bed if the house caught fire. I was moving her the next day while waiting in the hospice nurse. She was moaning so I asked if I was hurting her. Her last lucid words to me? “No, I’m just mad.” I am from a line of tough strong southern women. Dementia and all. My aging without family will be interesting. I already know I never had the memory capacity to learn lines or names. I rejoice when I actually completed the tasks I forgot about. And just let it (worry) go. My childhood friend had a massive stroke that took her memories away. But she kept on living. Never worrying about the next day. I don’t know which is worse.
That is a long time to live in close proximity to dementia. It’s quite probably hardest on the caregiver, especially if the caregiver is family. My mother spent a lifetime worrying about losing her vision. Finally, she did, but she was nearly 100. She paid lip service to “not borrowing trouble,” and yet so much of who I saw her to be was a glass half empty person. She set a good example for me, of how I don’t want to be. Maybe that is true for you too. So many life-changing things could happen to us, but I’m not giving up today worrying about them, or over-preparing for something that might never happen. Awareness, yes, maybe even a plan. Obsessing, no! So good on you, and on your friend! Thank you for writing your story here, Mary.
Thank you, Gretchen! Insightful and helpful topic. As a person who’s still in the corporate world while graying, I’m asked quite frequently when I plan on retiring…often accompanied by a comment about my bravery for letting my hair “go” natural (but that’s another story). I have wondered if it’s because I am perceived as less fit for duty than my less seasoned colleagues or because they can’t believe I still have to work in the company trenches. I felt similar curiosity when my career life began and I sailed out of my twenties, unmarried and childless. People often asked when I going to settle down. Later, I did marry and have a child but the settling down never happened, at least not yet.
Ageism is painfully real and scary, especially now when so many support services are threatened. Appreciating our strengths and patience with our evolving capabilities is a characteristic of mature adulthood that I’m happy to be associated with. As you mentioned, decline begins and continues throughout life. I loved Helen Mirren’s comments in a recent interview when she responded to her interviewer telling her that she was so youthful and young at heart. Helen replied that she was not young or youthful, but rather old and full of life. I’ll toast to that with a glass of that wine that I just love…you know the one, it has that cool looking label. 😉 Cheers!
OMG, brave to let your hair be the color it is. (I would love to hear the story.) “Sixty isn’t the new forty, but it is a new sixty.” How long will it take before we catch on to that? Yay for Helen Mirren for stating it straight up. I daresay your younger colleagues would be in a world of trouble with you and your experience. Maybe you should say, “Why do you ask?” Also, we desperately need a different word than “retired.” “Refocused,” maybe, “reimagined,” or . . .. There is nothing tired about it! I would so love to share a toast with you. YDFG
Reading your article and the responses is so comforting, and I enjoy the feeling of solidarity! I have been in the doctor’s office for my annual physical (and mental acuity test) many times – and I’ve made a mental picture of the words so as to associate them and regurgitate upon request – but one time I couldn’t visualize how to draw the stupid clock (I had just had a really low blood sugar at home before I drove to the doctor’s office (which I probably shouldn’t have done) which my diabetes doc later confirmed was enough to fog my brain when I had to draw the clock. But I don’t do that stupid test anymore. I asked several years ago, “What can be done if there’s a noticeable difference in my cognitive ability?” The reply? “Oh, nothing can be done. We just want a record of any cognitive decline.” The following year at my annual physical, I said assertively, “No, I’m not taking the cognitive test anymore.” And guess what? That was that!
We’re still in charge of our lives, and as Pearl Buck illustrated in her novel, The Good Earth (almost couldn’t remember the name), we will all eventually end up in the end of our story looking like a faded version of our former selves. I plan to enjoy sitting in the sun, sipping my morning tea, and totally enjoying the verdant grass, trees, and plants, as well as the deer, birds, bunnies, and children that allow us to peacefully be as we are at that stage of life.
Whaaat! We’re in charge of our own lives? I am so going to refuse that test next year. I don’t need the stress. I was of the understanding that it was a medicare requirement. It’s the annual exam with no co-pay, in which new issues will result in another appointment. I will definitely question it. I have an MRI next week, for back issues.
I’m so excited to see you next month!