Thursday night I wasn’t in the mood to go straight home, so I roped Al into going for just one. We left the pub at nine. All very civilized. I remember having three glasses of red. Al however said that there were four. Given what transpired next, I am inclined to believe him.
Three or four- That’s a lot of vino, but I can usually handle that. Not saying it’s a good idea- just that I can handle it. I usually however pace myself – especially when drinking wine. I will drink water between the glasses. Spread it out over six-eight hours. I also usually have food in my stomach.
But not Thursday. I drank four (large) glasses of red- basically a bottle if not more on maybe 350-500 calories. In three hours.
I woke up at 6 in the morning in bed. Naked. Luckily it was my bed and Stuart was lying next to me. I flipped the events of the evening Rolodex in my head.
Left the pub. Okay. Laying here in bed. Okay.
Left the pub. Bed.
Pub. Bed.
I was missing everything in between. This has never happened to me before.
Stuart had put a large glass of water and ibuprophen on the dresser for me so I took a couple even though I felt okay and drank half the water.
Stuart stirred and peeked his head over the duvet.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“You were lashed.”
“Yeah. I don’t remember anything after leaving the pub.”
“You came home at 9:30 singing the French national anthem.”
“I was singing The Marseillaise?”
“See. I didn’t even know it was called that.”
“But I don’t know the words to The Marseillaise.”
“Well, they’re in your head somewhere.”
“I think I’ve watched Casablanca a few too many times.”
“I tried to make you go to bed but you refused. I tricked you by saying you would be more comfortable in your dressing gown.”
Something was coming back. “You undressed me?”
“Yes. And you weren’t very accommodating. You kept rolling around. Then you screamed, ‘Stop hitting me!’ Then you giggled.
“That’s funny.”
“I’m sure our neighbours thought so. Do you remember talking to your mum?”
“I talked to my mom?”
“Yeah, something happened with you sister. She had to have a second surgery. I can’t believe you don’t remember.”
“Is she okay?”
“Yes. She’d called and left a message and you called back.”
“I called back?”
“At 12:30. You were sitting up talking really loudly and woke me up and I had to send you out of the room. I can’t believe you don’t remember.”
I can’t believe I can’t remember either. It’s rather scary. I did some quick research on the topic this morning and I found a really great article by Aaron White, PhD. Basically alcohol messes with your brain hitting the record button.
Alcohol primarily disrupts the ability to form new long-term memories; it causes less disruption of recall of previously established long-term memories or of the ability to keep new information active in short-term memory for a few seconds or more. At low doses, the impairments produced by alcohol are often subtle, though they are detectable in controlled conditions. As the amount of alcohol consumed increases, so does the magnitude of the memory impairments. Large quantities of alcohol, particularly if consumed rapidly, can produce a blackout, an interval of time for which the intoxicated person cannot recall key details of events, or even entire events. En bloc blackouts are stretches of time for which the person has no memory whatsoever. Fragmentary blackouts are episodes for which the drinker’s memory is spotty, with “islands” of memory providing some insight into what transpired, and for which more recall is usually possible if the drinker is cued by others. Blackouts are much more common among social drinkers than previously assumed and should be viewed as a potential consequence of acute intoxication regardless of age or whether one is clinically dependent upon alcohol.
There is one benefit of me not eating enough and going to bed without dinner. I was a pound and half lighter Thursday morning than I was on Wednesday. Maybe there is something with the whole starvation thing. (of course I am kidding. And anyone that knows me knows that would not be possible for me to ever do)
I told Al that I had a black-out.
He was surprised. “You must have been drunk!”
That made me feel mildly better that while my record button had been taped over, at least I was functional. . . to someone who had had four pints.
“How are you feeling?”
“I feel fine. Great. I’m hungry because I haven’ had breakfast, but other than that fine. Isn’t that terrible?”
“Are you kidding? That’s great. They should take your blood and study it. Do tests on you to find the secret to no more hangovers.”
While I don’t generally get hangovers, I really don’t fancy another memory gap.
Although, it would be rather fabulous, if deep inside me, are the words to The Marseillaise.
June 1st, 2008 at 12:33 pm
Yowsers… I’m so lucky I remember everything when I’m drunk, something must be wired differently in my bonce.