When the PET Scan Says “Yes” and Verizon Says “Upgrade”

I haven’t written a Spark blog since January 30th. It’s February 11th. So yes, radio silence. Not because life got quiet. Because it didn’t.

We went to Dartmouth for Tim’s PET scan. It came back positive for amyloids. There’s no clever way to dress that up. It’s a hard confirmation of what we’ve been living inside for a while now. Something is happening in his brain that we cannot negotiate with optimism and good intentions.

And yet, because this disease has a strange sense of timing, there were wins in the same week.

A phone upgrade that did more than upgrade a phone

Tim’s phone got upgraded from his ancient iPhone 8 to an iPhone 17, courtesy of Verizon. Something unexpected happened. His confidence came back online. Not in a motivational-poster way. In the practical, everyday way that matters most. Driving a little farther. Navigating with less stress. Adapting faster than either of us expected.

We’ve also discovered that “Hey Siri” is not a feature. It’s a confidence drill. I’m practicing patience because the goal isn’t to use voice commands. The goal is to keep Tim’s world bigger, not smaller, and to do it in a way that doesn’t turn him into a student in his own life.

A quieter loss, and another kind of technology

Just before Christmas, we lost someone who mattered deeply to me. He was my doctor, and the husband of my best friend from my homeland, Wales. In the way life insists on being both practical and cruel, the funeral in the UK wasn’t until January 23rd.

We didn’t fly to Wales, but we watched it online, in real time. Another strange wonder of modern technology.

It wasn’t the same as being there. But it was still a kind of presence. A reminder that connection doesn’t always require a plane ticket. Sometimes it requires a signal, a screen, and the willingness to show up anyway.

And I mention this because it’s the same principle behind MiM.

Who really struggles with the very idea of this app? Usually not the Traveler.

When I speak with spouses and partners of Travelers, I hear the same worry: “My person won’t be able to adapt to an app.”

But what I’m learning, again and again, is that the bigger friction often lives with the Supporter.

Not because Supporters aren’t capable. Because they’re overloaded. They’re carrying the calendar, the meds, the appointments, the household logistics, the emotional weather, and the quiet fear that if they miss one detail, everything tips. And on top of all that, they’re supposed to learn a new technology themselves, then somehow teach their Traveler to use it, while pretending they are not exhausted.

So MiM is not designed to be overwhelming. It is designed to be a crutch in the best sense of the word. A support system for both Travelers and Supporters. Gentle prompts. Clear routines. Reminders that reduce friction rather than add to it. A tool that helps keep life moving without making anyone feel managed.

MiM isn’t here to replace human care. It’s here to back it up, so the people doing the caring can breathe.

What comes next is not abstract. It has a name, a drive, and an appointment time.

We visited Justine in Concord, Tim’s Neurology Nurse Practitioner, and we’ll be back at Dartmouth soon to discuss the new infusion options.

That is the rhythm of this season. Test, result, regroup, decide. Medicine moving forward, families trying to keep pace, and every decision carrying both hope and logistics.

That conversation feels like standing at the edge of a new chapter. Medicine moving forward, families trying to keep pace, and every decision carrying both hope and logistics.

MiM is moving too.

With my scientific mentor's help, I’ve upgraded the MiM app to include the Brain Diet, no longer just the Mediterranean diet as a catch-all. It’s one more step toward making MiM what it’s meant to be: not a generic wellness app with pretty icons, but a real-world life system that supports people in the gap between diagnosis and daily living.

Here’s the honest truth. MiM has come as far as I can take it without help from someone who knows programming more than I do. I’m still bootstrapping all of this. Building with grit, late nights, and equal parts stubbornness and love.

And yes, people keep telling me I don’t have time.

They say it like they’re being sensible, like this is a hobby I should put down.

But if you’re living this, you already know. Families don’t get “time.” They get a diagnosis, a pile of brochures, and a system that assumes they’ll figure it out while juggling everything else.

So I’m making the time. On purpose. Because I want this app funded. Because I want MiM to exist in the real world, not just in my head and my notes app.

And honestly, writing is also a relief. It’s fun. It’s a diversion that gives my brain somewhere to put the pressure, somewhere useful. It turns chaos into narrative and fear into forward motion.

The Lipid Codex isn’t a side quest. It’s the engine.

The Lipid Codex is currently published on Substack as a series of Case Files. Each one is designed to pull the reader forward, step by step, toward the book itself. A medical thriller in the spirit of Michael Crichton and Dan Brown, fast, investigative, and slightly unnerving. Fiction based on reality.

The science is real. The characters are composites. The point is to take what’s happening behind the curtain and drag it back to the kitchen table, where families are trying to make decisions in real time.

That’s why the Case Files exist. That’s why they’re accessible right here on this site. See the link above.

And that’s why I’ve started hunting for a literary agent to bring The Lipid Codex into the world properly.

Maybe it finds a publisher. Maybe it makes it to the Times bestseller list. Maybe it doesn’t.

But I’m not writing it for applause. I’m writing it to build a bridge.

Because MiM, the real thing I’m building, needs oxygen. The right collaborators. The right developer support. And yes, the funding that turns “almost there” into “live.”

A bright spot: more people have signed up on the site as Advocates. That matters more than I can say. Advocacy is how projects like this stop being “a nice idea” and start becoming inevitable.

I’ve also been interviewed by Dr. Bruce Miller and Dr. Serggio Lanata at UCSF, and now I’m waiting for the news I’m hoping for. Waiting is its own kind of work. It looks passive. It isn’t. So while I wait, I build.                                                                                                                                     

Now the part where I’m going to be very direct, without making it weird.

If you know someone, anyone, who funds early-stage health-tech with a heart, angel investors, mission-driven donors, innovation grants, family offices, or quietly generous humans who still believe in building what should exist, I’d love an introduction.

Not because I’m begging.

Because I’m building.

And I’m at the stage where momentum needs oxygen.

MiM is bigger than me. It’s bigger than one family. It’s a bridge for people who are still here, still capable, still wanting dignity, while the world treats them like they’ve already disappeared.

We’re not disappearing.

We’re building.

Cheers!
Vanessa

Quick Links

Read The Lipid Codex Case Files: https://mimconnect.substack.com/s/the-lipid-codex

Become an Advocate: https://livewithmim.org/register
Contact / Introductions: [email protected]