It is for the sake of happiness that I am looking forward to my appointment with Dr. Asher Stemson at Baptist Universal Health for stem cell therapy to heal my aching arthritic hands and, hopefully, regenerate my brain. Stem therapy has not been approved by the FDA for that application yet, but the FDA does not interfere with medical practice absent substantial complaints.
The pain in my hands led me to the notion that stems can not only heal my hands; I may be saved in my entirety by replacing cells possessed of the depressing personal history embedded in my brain. I might, in effect, be born again and then be remodeled by new memories into a happy man.
Dr. Stemson aka Dr. Happy does not advertise any such thing; I suppose that would attract too much attention, so he keeps it under his hat. His own bestselling book on happiness may be secretly based on his own brain replacement therapy instead of fortunate experience. I must ask him about that under condition of strictest confidentiality.
I had noticed a controversial article by professors, based on studies of Alzheimer patients, claiming that our identities are not dependent on our memories but rather on our moralities. That professed dichotomy between memory and morality confuses me because I am ignorant enough to think that morality is memory, that morality is a normal manner of thinking learned, remembered and expressed inwardly or outwardly so as to become habitual behavior for which the motivations are often forgotten. For all I know, Alzheimer patients, if merely behaving mindlessly according to the usual individual or group norms might as well be robots or zombies, and so might we be if we were not programmed to think we knew otherwise. Many of them descend into madness but others ascend into bliss. The reason why they do, and how we may save them, we should discover.
The professors have more explaining to do in the case of a dear one I knew. She suffered a form of Alzheimers after being a torment to her family long before she succumbed to the malady. She did not remember her own husband and children, or even her own name or who she was, for that matter, but she was very happy to be with them when they visited. In fact, she was happy with everything and died smiling.
Maybe certain zones of the brain and their complex neuronic relationships determine the outcomes. I see they have different colors in the textbooks. I must ask Dr. Stemson about that and about a patient who had 4,321 distinct personalities. Can only the decrepit cells be replaced so that I become a happy young man, another person who makes people happy? My main concern, however, is longevity, say, living 150 or more years, not the personality per se, for the persona is mere facade although a pleasing mask can be essential to survival. Ah, If only I could pursue my acting career for a century or more, my polished hypocrisy would be undetectable even to myself, and I would not be hung on this crucifix between my real self and my ideal!