✉ My Dear J,

I received your message last week. Sorry that I didn’t call back. I just couldn’t. I gather that you are truly concerned about my health, and for that, I am grateful. Forgive my late reply—though, I avoided writing back because I had no real answer to offer. But before madness consumes me entirely and I forget even gratitude itself, I must at least thank you and hold your hand warmly, if only in words.

Since you asked—about the cancer—there is still no certainty. And, to be honest, I have abandoned further tests. The bleeding continues now and then, but it has long ceased to matter. It is the least of my concerns. Since Sept. 29, a new affliction arrives each week, an ever-expanding collection of symptoms, as if my body is no longer mine but some foreign, collapsing structure. I cannot recall a single night of restful sleep.  Every morning, upon opening my eyes, I whisper, Oh no, not this again. 

Strange pains wander through me, but worst of all is the relentless erosion of my memory—it gnaws at me, reducing my days to a series of disjointed moments. My short-term memory has deteriorated to the point of absurdity. I open the fridge and stand before it, lost, unable to recall what I sought. Distractions obliterate tasks from my mind. The other day, I was giving a talk, and all of a sudden, I forgot what I was saying and which work I was presenting. Shopping without a list is futile. I forget my meetings. I write notes and forget where I placed them. It feels as though I remember nothing at all.

Last night, I was in the train station, waiting. And then, suddenly—just as one wakes in an unfamiliar place, momentarily unaware of where they are—I found myself staring at the tracks, unable to recall my destination. Was I going to work? Returning home? Here, in the underground stations of Copenhagen, where no sky is visible, time dissolves. It took me far too long to piece together whether I was arriving or departing.

The doctors, however, are pleased. They have increased my medication, and my EKG, they tell me, is normal. Yes, let that be the only line worth remembering: EKG is normal.

My fingers are lifeless as if they no longer belong to me. I try to move them, but they refuse, so I must stop writing. Take care.

Yours