How Much of My Forgetfulness Can I Blame on Menopausal Brain Fog?
Or is my fuzzy head a sign of something more serious?
The young man stood just outside the glass-paned door of my office building. He held a box of donuts. I recognized him, but his name remained buried in some inaccessible spot within the ether of my head.
I knew the company he worked for started with an A and ended with tek but a misty shroud covered the letters in between.
We’d used his services to acquire a recent hire — that part I remembered with clarity. I smiled as I opened the door and greeted him. He offered me the box of donuts as a token of appreciation for using his services. I searched in vain through the vapor-soaked space between my ears to grab hold of his name but came up empty. I thanked him with as much grace as I could muster and we wished each other a nice day.
The hunt inside my murky head to recall either his name or the name of his company continued as I alerted my coworkers to the presence of donuts in the kitchen. When asked who dropped them off, embarrassment set in. I could only offer these words.
They were from the company we used to hire Alex.
I’ve always had trouble remembering names. I readily admit that. I’m a visual person, so it helps to…
