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<h3>This morning my husband Tim, who lives with Alzheimer’s, came running into my homeoffice excited:<br>“Look! Dr. Sanjay Gupta has found a cure!”</h3><figure id="figure-zt58gani1mmfiiba46"><img id="zt58gani1mmfiiba46" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/2c55GKsaJSTvj4yzmnfnxcfNhIdyhAdX7oWBuk1ys5efWKfeKxuwOcCwOmA7OnO8.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 3/2; object-position: 50% 45%;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="3:2" data-caption="" data-positionX="50%" data-positionY="45%" data-fullWidth="false"/></figure><h3><strong>Except… he hasn’t.</strong><br>And Sanjay himself has said so:</h3><h3>“No, I have not discovered a cure. No, I am not selling supplements. Those ads are fake.”<br>&nbsp;<br><strong>What’s Really Going On</strong><br>Scammers are using deepfake ads with Gupta’s face, CNN’s logo, and the word cure to push miracle pills.<br>It’s not medicine — it’s weaponized hope.</h3><h3>&nbsp;<br><strong>The Truth</strong><br>✅ Lifestyle changes can help.<br>✅ Drugs like Donanemab show promise in slowing progression.<br>❌ A Facebook pop-up “cure”? <strong>FRAUD.</strong><br>If there were a cure, you’d hear it from the FDA, the New England Journal of Medicine, and every neurologist in the world — not a sidebar ad.</h3><h3>&nbsp;<br><strong>Why I’m Shouting</strong><br>Because families like ours deserve better.<br>Because hope isn’t for sale.<br>And because scammers shouldn’t be allowed to profit off grief.</h3><h3>👉 Real updates, real tools, no snake oil: livewithmim.org</h3>

⚠️ No, Dr. Gupta Did Not Cure Alzheimer’s

<h3>Jensen Huang, the CEO of Nvidia, famously said: “You won’t lose your job to AI, but you will lose it to someone who uses AI.”</h3><h3>That’s a hopeful line if you’re in corporate America. A rallying cry for the inbox-weary. But when you’re staring down an Alzheimer’s diagnosis, the calculus shifts. The hard truth is this: once Alzheimer’s is in the picture, you will lose your memory. No pep talk changes that.</h3><h3>And yet — the second tragedy isn’t memory loss. It’s what happens when fear of technology convinces families to slam the doors shut. Travelers are told they can’t cook, can’t drive, can’t walk alone. Supporters are told the only safe option is to lock, restrict, and monitor. That’s not living. That’s waiting.</h3><h3>The irony? The very tools people fear — the “AI” everyone thinks is too complicated or too cold — can be the difference between a life locked down and a life still lived.</h3><h3>At MiM, we don’t ask Travelers to master technology. We design it so they don’t even feel the gears turning. Structure is invisible. Dignity is visible. Routines show up like a familiar friend, not another app to learn. Supporters stop feeling like jailers and start feeling like guides.</h3><h3>AI in an app isn’t about replacing humanity. It’s about giving Travelers and those surrounding them the chance to live and breathe easier.</h3><h3>Fear of tech is the same story whether you’re closing a deal or caring for a loved one. In real estate, clients don’t need to know how the algorithms work — they just need to trust their broker is using them in their favor. In Alzheimer’s, Travelers don’t need to “embrace AI” — they just need to know their mornings, their memories, and their agency aren’t lost before the disease takes them.</h3><h3>AI won’t take your memory. Alzheimer’s will. But if we do this right, AI can give you back the one thing Alzheimer’s steals fastest: the confidence to live today.</h3>

AI Won’t Take Your Job, But Alzheimer’s Will Take Your Memory

<p>This week I did something bold. I wrote an open letter to the Milken Institute — the ones who like to call themselves The Future of Aging.</p><p>Why? Because while they are busy on stages and in panels, the real future of aging is happening at my kitchen table.</p><p>It is my husband, Tim, who still drives, makes coffee, and thanks to this effort is back to writing. It is the millions of people like him living with early Alzheimer’s who deserve tools that help them keep doing what they love without being treated like they are already gone.</p><p>It is also the Supporters — the spouses, kids, grandkids, and friends — who want to help without hovering. MiM is being built for them too.</p><p>MiM is not a finished product. It is not backed by celebrities or institutions. It is being bootstrapped through scrappy real estate deals and long nights. It is raw, real, and necessary.</p><p>So I asked Milken a simple question: Will you show up for families like mine, or will history remember you as the panel that blinked?</p><p>👉 You can read my full open letter <a data-mce-href="https://mimconnect.substack.com/p/dear-milken" href="https://mimconnect.substack.com/p/dear-milken">here:https://mimconnect.substack.com/p/dear-milken</a></p><p>And if this resonates, please share it. Forward it to a friend, a colleague, or someone in your network who cares about the future of memory care.</p><p>Because MiM is about keeping families together for longer. And that is something none of us should miss.</p><p>Vanessa</p><p>If you’re reading this, you’re part of the MiM founding circle. Thank you for believing in the messy, kitchen-table stage of building something that matters</p>

Why I Wrote to Milken

<p>By Vanessa Saunders<br>Fear of learning something new is a universal experience — but in Alzheimer’s care, that fear can quickly become a wall. I’ve been writing about how fear blocks growth, and today’s Letter from Tim is a perfect counterpoint: proof that small steps forward, whether it’s puzzles or even an Apple Watch, can wake up a quiet part of the brain.</p><h3><strong>Letter from Tim</strong></h3><h3>Before my diagnosis with early Alzheimer’s, learning something new felt more like a choice. Now it sometimes feels like a necessity — and yes, a little scary. I don’t think I’m alone in that.</h3><figure id="figure-c4q4bbtzwmf7cgf90"><img id="c4q4bbtzwmf7cgf90" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/40vuByuTq3Ugy6vcsusUIWevGjA7aweMQJGtXeR5ujit5uggmhrSFjbjVGNMXFtJ.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionx="undefined" data-positiony="undefined" data-fullwidth="false" data-mce-src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/40vuByuTq3Ugy6vcsusUIWevGjA7aweMQJGtXeR5ujit5uggmhrSFjbjVGNMXFtJ.png" data-mce-style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;"></figure><h3>Fear of learning isn’t always about the thing itself. It’s about worrying whether we’ll look foolish, or whether our brains can handle it. But here’s what I’ve discovered: the more I push past that fear, the more I find I can still learn, and the better I feel about myself when I do.</h3><h3>Some days that means tackling a crossword puzzle that seems impossible at first glance. Other days it’s figuring out how to make my phone do something I didn’t think it could. Each time I try, I find my brain firing in ways that remind me it hasn’t given up — and neither should I.</h3><h3>It’s not about pretending fear doesn’t exist. It’s about facing it, taking one step, and letting the brain surprise you with what it can still do.</h3><h3>—Tim</h3><p><br></p>

From Dick Tracy to Apple Watch: Learning Never Stops

<p>Broccoli has a branding problem. Parents decide kids won’t like it, so it never even makes it to the fork. The “never” isn’t about taste — it’s about projection.</p><figure id="figure-a4rmhj5dtfmf7c5978"><img id="a4rmhj5dtfmf7c5978" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/16ntc9J8uaOn2vLdQB2RDAs17AuQ2lhuu3XGIjAo8U6XZ7I1RAHgT0wG6rTB5oMK.png" alt="A hand held up in refusal in front of a plate of steamed broccoli and sliced carrots, symbolizing resistance to trying new things." title="A hand held up in refusal in front of a plate of steamed broccoli and sliced carrots, symbolizing resistance to trying new things." class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="It’s not about broccoli. It’s about fear dressed up as certainty." data-positionX="undefined" data-positionY="undefined" data-fullWidth="false"/><figcaption class="body-normal text-gray-500 mt-2">It’s not about broccoli. It’s about fear dressed up as certainty.</figcaption></figure><p>The same thing happens in Alzheimer’s care. Supporters sometimes say with absolute certainty:</p><p>“He’ll never wear an Apple Watch.”<br>“She can’t use reminders.”<br>“They won’t do that.”<br>Most of the time, that “never” isn’t tested. And so dignity, independence, and opportunity shrink to fit inside four walls.</p><p>That’s why I started MiM. It’s not about gadgets. It’s about rhythm, reminders, and small wins — broccoli blended into soup instead of raw florets shoved on a plate.</p><p>Fear, certainty, and projection can stop a Traveler before they’ve even had the chance to try. But what if “never” really just means “not yet” or “not like that”?</p><p>Today’s Letter from Tim is living proof. He’s not a “tech guy,” but he wears an Apple Watch every day. Why? Because given the chance, he tried. And then he found it worked.</p>

It Starts With Broccoli

<figure id="figure-asjeqacn6cmf5hrvoj"><img id="asjeqacn6cmf5hrvoj" src="https://cdn.durable.co/blocks/1a7y6x3YdhG4bM0nygpS0BAW2hmA7txn1ktgboSsBi6TJqJFg0xMoZfWcamL4VyG.png" alt="" title="" class="object-cover bg-gray-100 rounded-2xl md:rounded-3xl lg:rounded-4xl" style="aspect-ratio: 16/9; object-position: center center;" data-corners="default" data-aspect="16:9" data-caption="" data-positionX="undefined" data-positionY="undefined" data-fullWidth="false"/></figure><h3>Advocacy isn’t a polite word we sprinkle in for good measure. For MiM, it’s the backbone. Alzheimer’s (and especially early-onset Alzheimer’s) is not just a medical condition. It’s a cultural taboo, a stigma so thick that too many families whisper instead of shout, and suffer in silence because of it.</h3><h3>To advocate is to break that silence. To say, this isn’t good enough — not for my husband Tim, not for the millions of families like ours. It means refusing to nod quietly while systems fail, and instead showing up with stubborn hope, clarity, and yes, a bit of irreverence.</h3><h3>Here’s what advocacy looks like with MiM:</h3><h3>Giving structure and dignity back. Routines and agency, not pity checklists.<br>Confronting policy blind spots. When Medicare or Medicaid cuts off support, families collapse under the weight. That’s not acceptable.<br>Erasing stigma. Talking about dementia openly — and naming early-onset Alzheimer’s — chips away at the fear and shame that isolate families.<br>But here’s the truth: I can’t do this alone. MiM needs advocates. People willing to use their voices, their networks, and their courage to help change the narrative around dementia.</h3><h3>👉 <a data-mce-href="https://livewithmim.org/register" href="https://livewithmim.org/register">Register here to become a MiM Advocate.</a></h3><h3>By joining, you’re not just clicking a link. You’re helping us push back against stigma, raise the volume on real solutions, and tell every family facing Alzheimer’s that they are not alone.</h3><h3>Can you be our advocate too?</h3>

Advocacy: What It Means for MiM

Memory In Motion

A support platform for people with early-stage Alzheimer’s, focused on daily routines, identity, and compassionate structure. Called MiM: Memory in Motion.

The MiM Spark Blog

⚠️ No, Dr. Gupta Did Not Cure Alzheimer’s

AI Won’t Take Your Job, But Alzheimer’s Will Take Your Me...

Why I Wrote to Milken

From Dick Tracy to Apple Watch: Learning Never Stops

It Starts With Broccoli

Advocacy: What It Means for MiM