Noah complained through all of it.
She called the complaints a positive sign of cognitive stamina.
He complained about that too.
Dr. Whitcomb read the newspaper profile before we arrived.
She also read the sources Elliot cited in the final paragraphs.
Noah sat across from her with his arms folded.
“Will I get dementia?”
She did not offer false certainty.
“Your risk profile may differ from someone without a severe head injury.”
His jaw tightened.
“That means yes.”
“It means risk is not diagnosis.”
She explained what researchers knew, what they did not, and how individual outcomes varied. She spoke about cardiovascular health, sleep, mood treatment, cognitive activity, social connection, and future monitoring.
She corrected several claims from the websites Noah had read.
Not because they were entirely false.
Because they had been stripped of context and turned into personal predictions.
“Could I forget Reid again?” he asked.
“It is possible for many medical reasons across a lifetime.”
His face tightened.
“It is not inevitable because of this injury.”
He breathed out.
Dr. Whitcomb leaned forward.
“The most useful thing you can do now is protect the brain you have, treat symptoms early, and build a life with enough support that fear is not your only planning tool.”
Noah looked at me.
“We’re making documents.”
“Advance planning?”
“Yes.”
“That can be wise. Do it with an attorney who understands capacity and medical directives, not because you expect decline soon, but because adults should record their wishes.”
His shoulders lowered.
She examined him.
