Personal journey
How do you move forward when you can’t remember your past? Natalie Bamford, 37, whose memory was affected after a serious illness, explains how she uses pictures to keep magical moments alive
Watching my husband, Adam, 36, playing with our daughters, Lola, 15, and Poppy, four, I don’t just savour this simple moment. I take a photograph to add to the thousands of others. It’s how I keep hold of precious memories that I know I will soon forget.
Much of my life is not made up of my own memories, but rather recollections that my family have shared with me over the years. My memory loss ranges from small, everyday details, such as forgetting what I’d planned to cook for dinner, to gaping holes in my life. I can’t remember the songs that played at my wedding or even my children’s first words.
My childhood in Derby with my parents, Stephen and Hannah, and older sister, Hayley, was happy. My parents tell me I liked school and had a good group of friends. But when I was 10, everything changed. I was off sick from school, slumped on the sofa with a headache. My parents called the GP, who suspected I had a virus. He advised resting in bed and drinking plenty of fluids.
I got much worse that day. I had a rocketing fever and started hallucinating, saying ladybirds were dancing on the walls. Alarmed, my dad called another doctor, who asked if I could rest my chin on my chest. I couldn’t – and was rushed to hospital.
I was in intensive care when Mum noticed a rash of dark red spots had clustered at my feet and was creeping up my legs. She told the nurses who immediately recognised it was septicaemia, which was a result of contracting a serious form of bacterial meningitis.
The doctors treated me with intravenous antibiotics. They told my parents that the next 48 hours were critical and suggested my grandparents and sister came to the hospital in case they had to say goodbye. When I came round I had double vision, but I could say a few words, at least.
For the next few weeks, I was monitored closely and had lots of brain scans. I’d begun suffering seizures, owing to secondary epilepsy, which can happen when you’ve suffered bacterial meningitis. The uncertainty was difficult for my family. My mum has since told me that during those weeks, she prayed at my bedside, begging for more time with me.
Eventually, I began recovering physically, but inside I was very different. I knew who I was and I recognised my family, but memories of my childhood had become patchy. Parties with friends, school lessons and summer holidays had slipped away as if they’d never happened.
When I finally returned t
