what it feels like... (amnesia)

What It Feels Like … to Have Amnesia
By Mark Thistel, 35, co-owner of a car and van service, as told to Mike Sager
from esquire.com

Amnesia is not like what you see in movies. You remember 80 percent of what you need. It's the other 20 percent that makes you feel helpless.

It happened two years ago on a family skiing vacation in Utah. I had decided to learn snowboarding, and I was going downhill way too fast. My feet went out from under me; I broke the fall with the back of my head. I remember thinking, Wow! That's the hardest shot my head has ever taken! And then, just like the movies, a black curtain descended.

The next thing I knew, a bunch of people were standing around me. My stuff was all over the slope. My brother-in-law snapped a picture. I don't remember getting back on my snowboard, but I did. I snowboarded another couple hundred yards to a midslope lodge where we were all going for lunch. I was sitting at a long table. Everyone in the family was talking and drinking something warm. I couldn't for the life of me remember where I was. I knew I was on a ski slope. I knew who these people were. I knew who I was. And I knew that I should know where I was. But I didn't. I had no idea. My head ached a little. I began to get scared. I tried to marshal my inner resources. I thought to myself, I can figure this out.

I looked out the windows. There were huge mountains, the kind you never see in the eastern United States, so I figured I had to be in the West. So I said to myself, "Okay, what states are in the West?" And I'm naming all the states to myself — Vermont, Pennsylvania, California — but I couldn't remember which states were the western ones.

I thought, Okay, that's okay. So I can't remember where I am. Let's try something easier — let's try to remember what time of year it is. And I knew it had to be winter; there was snow. I could name the months in order — January, February, et cetera — but I couldn't remember which ones were the winter months.

I began to panic. Even though I was thinking in complete sentences, I couldn't talk. I wanted to say that something was wrong, but I couldn't form the words. Finally I said, "I don't feel good." I thought maybe this wasn't going to go away, that it was very serious. I wanted to cry.

It became clear to everyone now that I needed to get down the mountain. When they handed me my snowboard, I realized I'd forgotten something else. I couldn't remember how to snowboard. But I had to get down the hill. I fell and I fell and I fell. All the way down the mountain.

At some point after that, it all came back to me. I suddenly recovered my memory. The whole thing lasted only about ninety minutes, but it was the scariest ninety minutes of my life. I spent the rest of the vacation in bed.