Short Term Memory Loss

9/22/2014

It's been a year since I stepped foot into an office.  A year spent without ringing phones, deadlines, peer friction and stress.  I have been placed on medical disability through Social Security, and every now and then I think to myself, I could work again.

I have started a volunteer position with the Humane Society of America corporate office.  I work for a very nice and patient lady.  She needs to be patient, because in the week I have been working with her, my short term memory (or lack thereof) has become somewhat of an issue.  I believe the issue is more on my side than hers, but I feel bad when she, like Jeff, has to repeat things to me more than once.  And yes, I do write down what I'm told and then I lose the paper that I've written on.

Making file labels last week took me at least 30 minutes to find the label template, add data and print.  And I'm thinking that the labels were a problem for me.  I, once upon a time, could whip out labels and overnight package forms practically in my sleep.  Not anymore.  

Truly I feel as if I'm slogging through mud most of the time.  I have apologized multiple times as I receive the same set of instructions that was told to me mere hours ago.  I have been very honest with this woman.  She knows why I have short term memory issues and is willing to keep working with me. I had a bit of a melt down today over whether a group of files were called interns or volunteers.  I really and truly was lost about what different groups of files were called.  How sad is that?

  I did, however, tell her that if going forward she believes I'm not a good fit for her, I would understand.  Through my tears I told her that I was once at the top of my game and had been for many, many years.  So to admit to almost a stranger that I'm baffled about labels is a big pill to swallow.

There is no real stress with volunteering.  If you're unhappy, you stay home.  If they're unhappy with you, they send you home.  Not being able to do the most simple of tasks in an office is humbling.  These people don't know what I used to do, what I was once capable of.  I now know that I'm mentally not capable of working (for real) in an office and this makes me sad.

I once asked my doctor if, as I was sitting across from her, was the best I'd ever be.  It takes time for a brain to heal from trauma, but after only a week working at the most mundane of tasks, it's clear that my brain has not healed. And maybe I really am as good as I'm going to be. 

I do "moron" (my word for easy) crossword puzzles. I have an online "paint by number" program where I have to match the color numbers to corresponding puzzle pieces.  I "paint" every day. I read for pleasure, but then can't remember what the book was about.  People talk to me and I listen and then within no time at all, I have little or no recollection of what I heard, or I screw up the details.  

Don't mind me, I'm just having my own private pity party.  Today, after losing it over something as simple as labels, that was a real eye opener for me.  

P