Last summer my wife Barbara and I were on holiday in Tobermory, Mull. We’d hired a car and for our first outing toured round the north of the island, spotting golden eagles before going to Calgary Bay for lunch. It’s very beautiful, with a white sand beach and a sea that begged to be swum in. My 12-year-old grandson Adriani and I made plans to come back the next day and do just that.
And so we did, apparently. I know nothing about it except what I’ve been told. Adriani had his wetsuit on, but I didn’t have mine with me and was in swimming trunks. I had this theory that the Gulf Stream would make the water warm. I now know, having consulted an atlas, that Ireland deflects the warm water well to the north of Mull.
Barbara tells me that after about 10 minutes I came out of the water, walked up to her and said: “I don’t know where I am or how I got here.” I knew who she and Adriani were, and who I was, but I didn’t know the day, month or even the year.
Barbara thought I’d had a stroke and called for an ambulance. I was able to reason that it couldn’t be a stroke because there was no paralysis, and I could dry myself and get dressed; but I was unable to form new memories. This meant that I operated like a goldfish on a short-term memory loop, “coming to” every 90 seconds or so and asking the same questions and reaching the same conclusions each time. This drove Barbara and Adriani mad.
The ambulance took me to the little hospital in Craignure and from there to the ferry. I was installed in the sick room until it docked in Oban and an ambulance took me to the hospital. I left a trail of bemusement behind me.
But when I saw the consultant, he was very clear in his diagnosis. I had not had a stroke; I was suffering from transient global amnesia. The condition usually affects older men and the most common triggers are immersion in cold water and sex. Because of its rarity and unpredictability, it has been little studied. The doctor said the episode would last eight to 10 hours, after which I would gradually improve; there would be no long-term effects and no likelihood of a return if I kept out of cold water. He offered to keep me in overnight but said it wasn’t necessary – and he was right, as the amnesia began to fade.
The first memories I formed were a snapshot of the doctor’s face and the feeling of the strap round my forehead in the scanner. On the ferry back, I was still asking the same questions again and again, each time remembering a little bit more. It was like coming round after an anaesthetic – I was disoriented and felt distanced from everything.
Back in the taxi to Tobermory, I felt normal. The taxi driver, listening to me explain what had happened to me again and again over the 35-minute journey, disagreed. Barbara left me outside the B&B with strict instructions to Adriani to keep an eye on me while the driver took her to the cash point. Once I was in the rear-view mirror, he said: “Now’s your chance, lass. Tell him you’ve never seen him before.” Luckily, she didn’t take him up on the offer.
The next morning I was exhausted but operating normally. A few days later we stopped at a pub where I was embraced by a paramedic in uniform. “Well, how are you?” she asked. “Well, who are you?” I replied. I didn’t recognise her at all but did reason she must be the one who had fetched me from Calgary Bay. She was off to do the ice bucket challenge. Very brave of her, I thought, considering what she’d seen happen to me.
Looking back, fully recovered, I find the whole episode hilarious. But it had been scary for Barbara, who’d been wondering whether this was the beginning of the end for me. We met when studying cognitive psychology, so I’m a little disappointed that we missed the opportunity to take notes. I’m almost tempted to dive in again with a research team standing by – but missing one day from my life is enough for me.
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