The Brain Experiment

The doctors may not use the term, but the Watsons refer to it as "zapping."

And it works...to a certain degree...at least for a while.

In that equivocation lies the challenging combination of potential and frustration that this work presents.

The science that counts: tDCS

Dr. Ben Hampstead is a neuropsychologist at the University of Michigan. He is working with the Watsons to better understand the potential for patients like Dennis of tDCS—transcranial direct current stimulation. I interviewed Dr. Hampstead as part of an audio documentary about the Watsons’ story. Here's how he described it:

 ...people may have had an EEG...in which case we're measuring electrical activity in the brain by putting electrodes at different points on the head. Well, with the "transcranial direct current stimulation" [tDCS] we're actually doing the opposite...we're passing that weak electrical current back into the head. And depending on the size and the location of these different electrodes, and the polarity of these electrodes, we can more or less shape where the current is going and how much is reaching particular brain areas. There's evidence that in at least some individuals we can either make those neurons more likely to fire or to function, or less likely to fire or to function and communicate, with the goal of trying to enhance underlying brain functioning.... If we give it a little boost with some of this weak electrical current, can we patch some of those holes in that filter and allow him better control over his overall cognitive and emotional and behavioral functioning?

Dennis often asks, "Are we making it count?" It's a deceptively simple question.  

The first phase of the experiment began in August, 2016.  For 29 consecutive weekdays, Mary Ann took Dennis to Hampstead’s lab where a careful process of measuring Dennis’ head allowed electrodes to be precisely placed using a hood of netting. Each session was 20 minutes of stimulation.

Mary Ann was surprised to notice results after even the first day.

During the following weeks, Dennis continued to improve. Here’s how a published case study reported his treatment:

Although he remained dependent overall, qualitative reports from his wife and caregiver described him as showing greater empathy and social appropriateness with less impulsivity and pressured speech. Per his wife’s report PT1 [DW] began independently planning and completing household chores, was better able to follow commands and showed improved memory (e.g., remembering events, requests, conversations) within the first two weeks of HD-tDCS treatment. By the end of the HD-tDCS treatment sessions, he successfully began texting (with complete sentences) and using a computer tablet independently—neither of which he had been able to do despite months of practice with his wife and caregiver. [Neuropsychology Rehabilitation, HD-tDCS as a neurorehabilitation technique for a case of post-anoxic leukoencephalopathy.  Sara Garcia and Benjamin Hampstead, Nov. 2020)]

However (a word you don’t want to read in this kind of story), shortly after the cycle was completed, Dennis’ improvements began to fade. By his 10-week follow-up appointment, nearly all the changes had regressed back to the baseline. And while it wasn’t necessarily unexpected, it would be easy to underestimate how hard this was for Mary Ann.

But now, for the first time, she also knew it was possible to help Dennis’ injured brain.

In the summer of 2018, Mary Ann and Dennis met with Dr. Hampstead to discuss extending the experiment, but with the inclusion of a program of cognitive training.  Mary Ann even wondered if it would be possible someday to administer the tDCS sessions at home. Dr. Hampstead was optimistic about this. It would take a lot of groundwork, but he agreed that they should work toward that goal.

So the sessions at Hampstead’s lab began again in February 2019, and I spent that week with the Watsons. It’s hard to describe simply with words the complex combination of characteristics that make up post-tragedy Dennis. But having interviewed Dennis before and after the first day of this second phase, there was no question in my mind that there had been an improvement. He talked a bit more slowly, for example, and with less repetition. But more importantly, there was a different clarity to his thoughts and the way he was connecting them.

It was surprising, exciting, and, honestly, just a little unnerving. How is it possible that an injured brain can change after just one 20-minute stimulation session? And were the improvements I saw even real, or just a classic case of expectation bias? I remember lying awake that night wondering what, if anything, I should say to Mary Ann. I thought my experience with Dennis, our conversations and my recordings, were important, but I had a very real fear of adding to what might be false hope—a road Mary Ann had been down many times.

In the end, though, there was really no question that this remarkable experience needed to be shared.

I’ve learned from following the Watsons’ story just how slowly a process like theirs unfolds. And this is by no means a criticism. I’ve just never been part of something like this before. It’s given me a much deeper appreciation for Mary Ann’s—and maybe Dennis’—journey.

Three years passed between that first visit of mine with the Watsons to Hampstead’s lab and the latest step. On December 18, 2020, the goal of home-administered sessions became reality. The Watsons have designated Dennis’ old office as The Zappatorium. The sessions are monitored remotely by the clinic staff, but Mary Ann has been trained to do the actual “hands on” administration. Each Friday morning Dennis works on daily life tasks while the stimulation is active. During the week, between sessions, he practices those tasks with the help of mnemonic devices. He is making progress, and the ability to do the sessions at home is a dramatic improvement in the quality of the Watsons’ lives. But the ebb and flow remains the same—as long as the sessions keep going, Dennis continues to make improvements. And when they take a break from the sessions, he regresses.

Hope is a tricky thing because it’s often tied to the other half of our “hopes and fears.” Understanding that truth, and choosing to persevere, requires a certain kind of strength—and maybe even bravery. Mary Ann, through it all, has continued to believe there is hope.