Man Has Just a Seven-Second Memory After Being Infected by a Virus
Clive Wearing’s world resets every few seconds. He wakes up, believes he’s just regained consciousness, and then forgets. This cycle repeats endlessly.
In 1985, a devastating virus stole his ability to remember. Once a celebrated musician, Wearing now lives in a fleeting present. His story captivates scientists and touches hearts worldwide.
A Musical Prodigy
Born in 1938, Clive Wearing was a musical luminary. He sang tenor at Westminster Cathedral. He conducted choirs and worked as a musicologist.
His work with the London Sinfonietta and editing of Orlandus Lassus’s compositions earned him acclaim.
In 1982, he organized the London Lassus Festival. At BBC Radio 3, he curated music for Prince Charles and Diana Spencer’s 1981 wedding. His life was rich with melody and achievement.
Then came March 1985. Wearing contracted herpesviral encephalitis. The virus ravaged his brain.
It targeted his hippocampus, the region vital for turning short-term memories into long-term ones.
The damage was catastrophic. Wearing emerged with one of the most severe cases of amnesia ever documented.
The Dual Curse of Amnesia
Wearing suffers from both anterograde and retrograde amnesia. Anterograde amnesia blocks new memory formation.
Retrograde amnesia erases old memories. Together, they create total amnesia. His memory lasts between seven and thirty seconds.
Beyond that, everything vanishes. He cannot recall his past or build a future. Each moment feels like his first.
This condition reshapes his reality. Conversations are nearly impossible. He forgets words he spoke moments ago.
He cannot name his children from a previous marriage. His past—a tapestry of music and milestones—is gone.
Yet, some fragments of his identity endure, preserved in unexpected ways.
Living in the Eternal Now
Wearing’s daily life is a loop of rediscovery. He believes he’s just woken up, every 20 seconds.
His diaries reveal this torment. Pages are filled with entries like, “8:31 AM: Now I am really, completely awake.” Each is crossed out as he forgets writing it.
In 2007, over 20 years after his illness began, he still wrote such entries. His mind is trapped in a relentless present.
Social interactions are challenging. He can answer questions briefly but loses the thread quickly.
If asked about his condition, he grows frustrated. He once told a documentary crew, “It’s exactly the same as being dead.”
His words echo the profound isolation of his existence. Yet, amidst this, there are glimmers of connection and talent.
A Beacon of Love
One constant anchors Wearing: his wife, Deborah. Married in 1984, their bond transcends his amnesia.
Each time he sees her, he greets her with joy, as if reuniting after years apart. In her 2005 memoir, Forever Today: A Memoir of Love and Amnesia (Doubleday), Deborah describes their enduring love.
She writes of his desperate calls, minutes apart, asking where she is. His emotional memory of her remains intact, a lighthouse in his fog of oblivion.
Deborah’s presence soothes him. When she leaves, he leaves messages pleading, “Please come and see me, darling—it’s been ages.”
Their relationship, detailed in documentaries, shows love’s power to endure even the most profound loss.
She has also advocated for better care, collaborating with the Amnesia Association to improve NHS services for brain injury patients.
The Music That Survives
Remarkably, Wearing’s musical abilities persist. He can play the piano and organ with virtuosity. He conducts choirs and sight-reads music.
In a 2005 visit documented by Oliver Sacks, he played Bach’s Prelude 9 in E Major flawlessly (The New Yorker).
He even improvises, carried by the momentum of performance. Yet, he cannot name specific pieces or recall learning them.
This preservation of procedural memory fascinates scientists. While episodic memory (personal experiences) and semantic memory (general knowledge) are devastated, procedural memory (skills) remains.
Wearing’s case shows how the brain compartmentalizes memory. His music offers a window into the man he once was, a fleeting echo of his past brilliance.
A Window into the Mind
Wearing’s condition is a goldmine for neuroscience. It reveals the hippocampus’s critical role in memory.
It also highlights the distinctions between memory types. Episodic memory, tied to personal experiences, is gone.
Semantic memory, like knowing historical facts, is limited. Procedural memory, governing skills like playing music, endures. This complexity underscores the brain’s intricate design.
His case has been featured in numerous documentaries. Prisoner of Consciousness (1986) introduced his story.
The Man with the 7 Second Memory (2005) explored his life further. PBS’s The Mind series (1988, 1998) and TLC’s Medical Incredible brought his case to wider audiences.
Radio Lab’s episode “Memory and Forgetting” (Radiolab) and Eric Kandel’s lectures for the Howard Hughes Medical Institute also featured him.
These works emphasize the scientific and human dimensions of his story.
The Personal Toll
Wearing’s amnesia isolates him. He cannot form new relationships. He misses being a musician and being in love, though he feels both through Deborah and music.
His children’s faces are strangers to him. He knows he has children but not their names. His past is a void, his future unimaginable.
In 1992, he moved to a country residence for brain-injured individuals, a more supportive environment than the psychiatric ward he initially entered.
Deborah’s advocacy highlights the lack of support in 1985. She told The Guardian that services were “dire” then.
Through therapy, Wearing learned to recognize Deborah as his wife, a small victory. Yet, his condition remains unchanged. He lives moment to moment, a fragmented self adrift in time.
A Fragile Tapestry
Clive Wearing’s story is a stark reminder of memory’s fragility. It shapes who we are, connecting past to present.
His life, though marked by loss, reveals resilience. His love for Deborah and his music endure, defying his condition.
As we forget mundane details, Wearing’s case urges us to cherish our memories. They are the threads of our identity, delicate yet profound.
