The day I forgot my coworker's name in the middle of a meeting

I'm a project manager in Austin, I've run teams for fifteen years. Words are my job. So when they started failing me, I told no one.

It started small. I'd lose the thread mid-sentence. I'd go to get a file and, standing in front of the cabinet, I wouldn't remember why I was there. I'd reread the same email three times without it sticking.

Then there was that April meeting. I was presenting a schedule, I turned to my coworker to hand it over to her, and her name disappeared. A woman I see every day, for six years. Total blank. I faked it, I said 'I'll let you continue,' but inside, I was shaking.

That evening, I typed my symptoms into a search bar. The first word that came up was the one I dreaded: Alzheimer's. My father had it. I thought: this is it, it's starting, and earlier than it did for him.

For weeks, I kept a list. A note on my phone where I logged every forgotten word, every blank. As if counting the damage would reassure me. It did the opposite.

What tipped me over was a remark from a friend over coffee. She said: 'Do you still get your periods?' I said yes, but irregular for a year, longer, more spaced out. She looked at me and just said: 'The fog, maybe that's part of it too.'

I'd never connected the two. To me, menopause meant hot flashes, full stop. Not this. Not forgetting names. I wanted to understand before going to see anyone, because I didn't want to walk into my gynecologist's office saying 'I think I'm losing my mind' with nothing structured.

That's when I took the Decodemeno quiz. $39, one time, and a report waiting for me in a dashboard. I answered on a Sunday night, in my pajamas, with my list of forgotten words beside me.

The first thing I read, and reread three times, was that the female brain reorganizes during the transition. That estrogen plays a role in working memory and attention, and that when it fluctuates, the fog rolls in, and that it's very often reversible. The report was clear on one point: this wasn't a diagnosis, and this transition fog is not dementia.

It sounds obvious written like that. For me, it was a physical relief. I felt my shoulders drop.

The report placed my phase: late perimenopause, consistent with my cycles spacing out. It explained why lack of sleep amplifies everything, why work stress worsens the fog, and it gave me concrete levers to test: protect your sleep, move for circulation, omega-3s, ease off the constant multitasking.

And above all, there was a section that prepared the medical appointment. Not vague advice: the right questions to ask my gynecologist, what was worth checking to rule out other causes, and how to talk about that window where certain treatment decisions are discussed. I no longer had to improvise.

I went to see my gynecologist with the report open on my phone and my questions written down. For the first time, I didn't stumble. I told her: here's my likely phase, here are my cognitive symptoms, what do we check and what do we consider?

She told me something I won't forget: 'This is very common, and it's reassuring that you come in this prepared.' We spent the appointment deciding together, not chasing my fears. We ruled out what needed ruling out, and we made a plan.

Concretely, I changed three things. I protect my sleep like a work appointment, screens off an hour before, a cool bedroom. I added omega-3s and a walk every lunchtime. And at work, I stopped doing ten things at once.

The fog didn't vanish overnight, I won't lie. But it lifted, mostly. What did completely disappear was the terror. I no longer keep my list of forgotten words. When a name still slips away, I know what it is, and I breathe.