Someone in Mum’s dementia unit can read and retain information.  Dont get me wrong, this is great.  For them.  Less so for people like me.

Because, to keep people safe in a home such as Mum’s there are key pads on the doors and to use the lifts.  The codes (apart from the main door) are written in these little pictures hung by the key pads:

Only the picture next to the lift on the dementia unit has been removed.  Which is not ideal as I just cannot remember sequences of numbers for more than around 20 seconds (other than the phone number of my childhood home and the zip code of my friends address when she moved to America age 11.  Neither are useful as Mum and Dad changed numbers when they moved around 15 years ago, and my friend only went to the US for two years.  Why on earth would my brain doesn’t remove these numbers from my memory to make way for others, I don’t know).

Apparently I can’t even remember the number long enough to remember to write it down.  So each week I have to go and find a purple tunic person to give me the code and hope nobody interrupts my walk back to the lift as I repeat the sequence over and over…

So I’m not great with remembering numbers, but it turns out that I’m not good at remembering anything at the moment.  I only remembered to sign some of the Christmas cards I sent this year.  The reason I know this is that some people have recognised that anything with a crochet element can often be traced back to me and checked.  Others may be having a Valentine element to their Christmas courtesy of yours truly.

Then yesterday a solicitor (oh the joys of equity release!) contacted me as I’d only sent her half a document.  It was the important half, but apparently these legal people are picky and they wanted the rest.  I was told I’d I sent the first half in October.  I had absolutely no recollection until she sent me a photo.  And then I had no idea where it might be.  I went through all my Mum and Dad folders. Nothing.  I assumed it must be at Dad’s so I called and asked him to look through his folders.  Nothing.  I spent 2.5 hours yesterday afternoon separating every piece of paper in my Mum and Dad folders, my work folders, all of mine and Mr R’s paperwork and his and my desk drawers.  I even moved my desk and checked behind the radiator. Nothing.  Just as I was about to serve dinner I remembered another Mum and Dad folder I have (there is alot).  It’s the original one.  It was the first document in there.  Of course it was.

So while numbers are a known problem, I suspect that my head is currently just too full for any more information.  I shall concentrate on emptying it over Christmas, until only fairy lights remain 🙂