“Because these should already be in my head.”
“Which things?”
He looked at the page.
“Money. Work. The house. Driving. Insurance. Whether I signed anything that makes Reid responsible for me.”
Dr. Whitcomb remained quiet.
Noah continued.
“I know these are important. I know I used to manage them. But when I try to think about them, my head locks.”
“Describe that.”
He stared at the journal.
“It’s like one workbench.”
I looked at him.
He had told me this before, but not so clearly.
“Everything gets put on it,” he said. “Pain. Noise. Someone talking. Standing up. Remembering which day it is. If the bench is covered, I can’t put anything else down.”
Dr. Whitcomb nodded.
“That is a very good description of limited cognitive capacity after brain injury.”
“It feels lazy.”
“It is not.”
“I don’t care about bills until I remember that I should.”
“That does not mean you have lost responsibility. It means your brain is prioritizing immediate demands.”
“So it lets me think about lunch but not my bank account.”
“Sometimes it may do the opposite. The inconsistency is part of recovery.”
Noah frowned.
“How do I fix it?”
“You reduce the number of items on the bench. External systems help. Lists. Automatic payments. Written schedules. One subject at a time.”
He looked at me.
“Reid has been doing all of it.”
“Yes.”
“Too much.”
Dr. Whitcomb turned to me.
“What have you taken over?”
