Lost Cells

Tuesday 14th September

Day 146

My sister and I take down the framed pictures from the walls of my study. Where I write every day. We pack away the shelves of books into shallow boxes that I was going to use to store the apples. Getting ready for the man with the ladder and paint brush who will come and decorate when we are in America.

To compensate for my echoey empty room, in the kitchen I cover the whole fridge with photos of our beloved families. Where they used to be on the old fridge. A bright collage of smiles every time we open the door for a tomato or a lemon.

In the consultant neurologist’s office my husband and I gaze at the computer screen. He clicks the mouse so that each time the picture of my husband’s brain gets bigger and closer. Like a map of the world hurtling towards us in black and white.

‘You can see here,’ says the doctor, pointing at dark smudges on the right side, ‘ these are spaces.’

Where before there were cells.

So this explains why he can’t recall the name of a penguin or a courgette even though he knows that he knows it.

I wish we could replace those cells with new ones. Paint in the spaces. As easily as sticking photos on a white fridge door.