It started with small stuff. I'd put my reading glasses down and lose them inside a minute. I'd be halfway through a story on the phone with my sister and the name of the restaurant would just leave. Not come back later. Leave.
Then one Sunday I called my grandson by his cousin's name. Twice.
He's seven, so he thought it was the funniest thing that had ever happened. I laughed along, went into the bathroom, and cried.
I did what most people my age do. I bought the ginkgo. I did the crossword every single morning. I downloaded one of those brain game apps and played it until I got bored of it. None of it hurt, but I couldn't point to one thing any of it had changed.
What changed my thinking was a conversation with my niece, Beth. She's a nurse on a cardiac floor in Charlotte, and when I told her I was worried about my memory, she asked me something I didn't expect. She asked how my circulation was.
I didn't see what one had to do with the other. So she explained it the way she'd explain it to a patient.
Your brain is a small organ, but it burns roughly a fifth of your body's energy, and it doesn't keep a pantry. It lives off whatever your blood brings it, minute by minute. When that delivery gets sluggish, which happens to a lot of us as we get older, the brain doesn't break. It just runs on less.
She called it running the house on a dimmer switch. Everything still works. It's just not as bright.
That stuck with me.
In my own notes I started calling it the brain fuel lockout. The fuel's in your body, but less of it's getting through the door. Once I understood that, a lot of what I'd tried made less sense. A crossword can't fix a delivery problem.
So I went looking for something built around healthy circulation first and memory second. That's how I found MemoHoney.
The first time I saw it, I closed the tab. The video I landed on leaned on a famous name and some very big promises, and big promises make me nervous. I only came back a week later because I'd looked up the label, and the ingredients lined up with what Beth had told me.
The 60 day guarantee did the rest. I figured I'd rather find out than keep wondering.