The day I forgot my life
After a seizure erased her memories, Rachel Hazell, 48, realised she’d have to create new ones
My seizure came out of the blue five years ago. It took away memories I’ve never been able to recover and I have no memory of it happening.
As I lay in a hospital bed, my partner Tony had to explain that at around 3am, I had been making strange noises that had woken him up. Thinking I wasn’t breathing, he started doing CPR on me, before asking our eldest daughter to call for an ambulance.
By the time the paramedics arrived, I had regained consciousness – though I don’t remember this. The last thing I recall is sitting on our bed at home with an ambulance crew surrounding me. They had tried to establish my level of awareness by asking me if I knew who the man was sitting next to me. I’d said, ‘Of course, I know. That’s my dad.’ It was in fact Tony.
The paramedics quickly established that I required further assistance and took me to hospital, where I kept rambling incoherently. At the hospital, I remembered who Tony was. And soon afterwards, he showed me a photograph of our daughters on his phone and asked, ‘Do you know who they are?’
Bewildered and confused by what was going on, I slumped with relief as I recognised their faces. The girls in the picture were our daughters, Libby, Erin and Phoebe, aged 12, 10 and eight at the time. On hearing my answer, he
‘My consultant said it was unlikely my memories would ever return’
exhaled the breath he had anxiously been holding.
But as I tried to recall my memories of carrying them each for nine months, giving birth to them and raising them, my mind was blank. There was nothing. What’s more, we had no idea if the seizure I’d just suffered had wiped these memories temporarily, or whether they had been deleted forever.
My time in hospital was a blur. I’d never had an epileptic seizure before but an MRI scan showed slight signs of epilepsy, though not enough for a firm diagnosis. The doctors couldn’t say exactly why the seizure had happened, but suggested it was possibly triggered by stress. Later that day, I was allowed home.
It was special to go back to my girls at our home in Hertfordshire because we’d all been terrified by what had happened. The four of us had a huge, tight hug, with me reassuring them that I was fine.
It didn’t dawn on me immediately how severe my memory loss was. In the
days that followed, I kept testing myself, trying to think of things from my past, my childhood, school, births, weddings and holidays – but there was nothing, just blackness.
Over time, I realised that I didn’t remember any physical events at all from before the seizure. Tony and the girls tried everything to help trigger my memories. We looked at photos and videos together, I read the diaries
I’d kept over the years, we listened to music and watched old films, including Dirty Dancing, apparently a classic – but it was like I’d never seen it before. Every TV programme I had seen many times previously was new to me too.
We did this for months, trying all sorts of new methods in an attempt to bring something back. But every time we were unsuccessful.
I began to feel overwhelmed, wanting so badly to say that I remembered something, but I didn’t. I broke down in tears, feeling empty and desperate. Our girls coped well, but they each had their moments. Erin was worried something bad would happen again and hated to leave my side; she would become nervous to go to bed, in case I had another seizure in the night.
I recognised other family members and friends, if not straight away then after a while, who assured me it was positive that I could recall the people in my life, even if I couldn’t remember the things we had done together. I was grateful, yet it was like having a set of puzzle pieces and not knowing how they fit together.
I knew I had three daughters but couldn’t recall significant moments, like seeing their first smiles and their first steps, or hearing their first words. I desperately longed to remember them starting school, their birthday parties, and our summer holidays together. All I had were photos – snapshots of these things happening. But, in my mind, I wasn’t even there. Tony showed me our wedding photos and video, but as I stared at the screen, it was like watching someone else’s wedding.
I had no memories of my childhood, either. I knew where I grew up and where I went to school, but I didn’t recall a single day I spent there. I’d forgotten what it was like to have your first boyfriend, your first kiss, and to go on a first date. Those emotions of excitement and anticipation had been removed from my memory.
As well as being put on epilepsy medication, I was sent to London for memory tests. These were for short-term memory and the results showed no problems. Yet, there were no tests for my long-term memory.
My consultant said no one else had ever had the same problem and that it was unlikely my memories would ever return. I’ll never forget the words: ‘It’s like a hard drive that’s been locked and we don’t have the key.’
I had annual meetings with my consultant, but knowing there was no explanation and nothing to help me was heartbreaking. Nobody knew if I would ever remember my life.
Tony explained that before the seizure, he had been studying the Knowledge for three years to become a black-cab driver. As well as that, he had been working full-time in the police. So, with
‘We watched old films – but it was like I’d never seen them before’
three small girls to look after, I was exhausted. The weekend I lost my memory was the weekend Tony passed the Knowledge, and now I wonder whether my body had said, ‘And relax…’, which triggered something in my body to cause the seizure.
Tony also tells me my personality has altered slightly. I’m no longer so gregarious and I’ve lost confidence in what I can do. After the seizure, I decided I could no longer work in customer services management and opted for admin instead.
Through everything, Tony has been my rock. We have been together 15 years, and he’s caring, attentive and romantic. So, despite a very difficult few months after it happened, with me having many emotional outbursts, we have remained strong and plan to renew our vows. We want to create new memories of us celebrating our marriage and reaffirming our love for each other.
Five years on, it’s still hard to believe the memory loss ever happened – others struggle to believe it too. Friends often say ‘But you must remember your 40th’ or ‘You must remember that holiday we had’. But the simple answer is, I don’t.
I can finally talk about what’s happened without getting upset, but the feeling of my life being taken away from me stays the same. Who knows, perhaps one day my old memories will return.
But for now, all I can do is enjoy every moment with my family as we make new memories, ones I can cherish forever.