HJAR May/Jun 2023

HEALTHCARE JOURNAL OF ARKANSAS I  MAY / JUN 2023 11 Smith, as many of you may remember, was the genesis of the Journal you are read- ing. This was his brain child. We worked together to give birth to it, but it was his desire to have this Journal provide news, information, and analysis for the local healthcare industry; he thought it would improve the health of our citizens. Before starting the Journals, he was one of you — a healthcare professional by trade (MBA/ MHA) with a passion for the intersection of health and healthcare and hopes of improving both. He believed all healthcare is “local,” and he wanted a journal worthy of the healthcare industry at a local level. Before going to graduate school, Smith had hopes of playing in the NFL. He loved athletic games and was a gifted high school basketball and football player. In 1985, he was awarded a football scholarship to Texas A&M. He was redshirted his freshman year and played on several Southwest Confer- ence championship teams as a tight end. Smith’s football career ended abruptly his senior year when a switch to right guard put him dead center of a pileup of massive bod- ies during a goal line push. This time when the players got up, Smith couldn’t; his ankle ligaments were torn beyond repair, and the pain was excruciating. He was sent home with a bottle of Tylenol #3. The following Monday, the team doc- tor’s assessment included injecting Smith’s ankle with some “numbing substances” that apparently were ineffective, because Smith said he screamed in pain as the doc- tor twisted the ankle as far as he could in every direction to determine the extent of the injury. The exam ended with the doctor telling Smith his football career was over and he should “take up golf.”All NFL hopes dashed, he followed doctor’s orders and grew to love golf. C’est la vie. Smith did have a unique way of looking at life; he found the whole experience fascinat- ing and truly enjoyed people. He was often perplexed at how uptight we were, but that, too, intrigued him. He would usually elicit a pause from folks when he interacted with them because, somehow, they knew they were seen by him. He had the ability to pull you into the moment, get you out of your head. It didn’t matter what costume you wore — CEO, inmate, housekeeper, senator, yoga chick, homeless dude, teacher, cashier, doctor — if you were lucky to be in his pres- ence, you walked away somehow more whole than you were before. He appreci- ated kindness over anything and seemed to tilt the world in that direction. In 2017, Smith began exhibiting what we now know as symptoms indicative of early chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) and/or glioblastoma. At the time, we were struggling to understand what was hap- pening to the normally laid-back, balanced, smart, thoughtful, kind man I had married before his senior year at A&M and had been living with for nearly 30 years. We sought help fromhis doctors who patted him on his hand and told him his heart was fine, which it was. Still, he did not feel right; something was off. Finally, we sought care for him at the Professional Athlete Care Team (PACT) at Tulane Medical Center in New Orleans. I knew they were caring for retired profes- sional football players through partner- ships with the National Football League and National Football League PlayersAsso- ciation. I had received their press releases announcing the creation of the center and how it was set up by the NFL to help former players who were exhibiting mind and body health issues from playing football. Since I thought his symptoms were probably foot- ball-related, I hoped they would see him. The center agreed to assess and ulti- mately treat Smith, even though he had not played pro ball. If you go to the Tulane PACT website, you can see why we were both comfortable with that choice. The site says they understand the unique neurocognitive health of former players and provide a place where players can speak freely about what is happening to them in an understanding, private VIP setting. I was told by multiple people at the PACT center that a lot of former players suffer from issues like Smith was experiencing. He was scheduled to be seen the next day by a neuropsychiatrist at the center. I remember him asking the intake person, who spent a lot of time with us, if she had any advice on sleeping. He couldn’t sleep and had been awake for days. As he asked that question, for the first time in our lives together, my 6’6”, 250-pound protector, that gentle giant who at one time could hold his own in what may be the most violent sport in America, felt fragile to me. Smith did not invite me into those neuro psych sessions, and the psychiatrist never asked to speak to me, which I thought strange at the time; but I honored that decision. I wanted my husband to get help. I wanted my friend, partner, and lover back. Looking back now, I think Smith was partly scared about what was happening to him, partly embarrassed to share withme the full extent of what he was actually experiencing Texas A&M Junior Tight End Smith “Wally” Hartley with Dianne Normand wrapping up Media Day before the start of the 1988 season.