I Traveled the World as a Public Speaker. Soon I May Be Unable to Talk (Exclusive) Cara Lynn Shultz, John CorvinoJanuary 31, 2026 at 1:18 AM 0 John Corvino. Andrew Potter John Corvino was a dean and public speaker when he began to have difficulty talking He was eventually diagnosed with Primary Progressive Apraxia Of Speech (PPAOS), an ultrarare progressive brain disease that impacts speech He has pivoted in his career but stays busy writing and making the most of time with friends and family The signs were subtle, and they started gradually. At my annual physical in August 2023, I told Dr. G.
- - I Traveled the World as a Public Speaker. Soon I May Be Unable to Talk (Exclusive)
Cara Lynn Shultz, John CorvinoJanuary 31, 2026 at 1:18 AM
0
John Corvino.
Andrew Potter
John Corvino was a dean and public speaker when he began to have difficulty talking
He was eventually diagnosed with Primary Progressive Apraxia Of Speech (PPAOS), an ultra-rare progressive brain disease that impacts speech
He has pivoted in his career but stays busy writing and making the most of time with friends and family
The signs were subtle, and they started gradually.
At my annual physical in August 2023, I told Dr. G. I'd been stuttering occasionally. He reassured me there could be many causes — notably stress — and said if it gets worse, he'd run some tests. I concluded that it must be stress: A few months earlier, my husband Mark and I had decided to downsize; we packed up and sold our home of 21 years.
But the stuttering didn't go away. Once, when Mark and I were talking, I found myself tripping over my words. "Spit it out," he said jokingly. Another worrisome sign happened when I was on the phone with my sister, Jennifer. In response to one of her questions, I paused a bit too long. "That's a pregnant pause," she said. "I think you're trying to tell me something." I explained that, no, I wasn't. That's when I told her about my speech difficulties.
Soon after, I contacted Dr. G. "I think it's time to run some tests."
Mark and John Corvino in Palermo, Sicily.
Courtesy of John Corvino
My MRI came back normal, as did my EEG. So for a while I assumed that the problem was all in my head. (My tendency with medical issues has been that if I ignore them long enough, they'll eventually go away.) In August 2024, I returned to Wayne State University in Detroit for a second 5-year term as dean of the Honors College after a year's sabbatical.
My symptoms did not go away. While most people didn't notice my speech issues, I did. Even in everyday conversation, I had to exert an unusual level of concentration. It felt like I was saying tongue-twisters when I was saying things that should have been easy to say. I developed techniques for masking the problem — mostly by refraining from speaking. I'm loquacious by nature, and friends began suspecting that something was wrong.
My problem was getting more noticeable. As a philosophy professor and later as dean, I was sought out for my oral communication skills; it was my "superpower." In my previous stint as dean, I was known for my weekly videos, which I usually completed in one or two takes. But I found I couldn't complete a video without tripping over my words and becoming immensely frustrated. I was also having difficulty in conversation: I found myself hesitating where previously words would flow freely. That's when I started telling colleagues.
Wanting more answers, I decided to request a PET scan from my neurologist. As a result, in January 2025 I was diagnosed as being in the early stages of Frontotemporal Dementia (FTD). Frontotemporal Dementia is like Alzheimer's in that it's degenerative and incurable. Unlike Alzheimer's, it tends to strike younger (with the average age being 55, my age at the time of diagnosis), and to initially target capacities such as speech, language, and emotional regulation.
John Corvino lectures at KU Leuven in Belgium.
Courtesy of John Corvino
If you Google "FTD," the first few results will be about floral delivery. Then you'll find a lot of information about Primary Progressive Aphasia (PPA, what Bruce Willis has) alongside mention of a behavioral variant. I wasn't experiencing any personality changes, so I inferred that I had aphasia — which is a language-processing problem affecting the ability to recall and comprehend words.
I had been working on a book during my sabbatical, and it was important to me that I finish it. Terrified that I would soon lose the ability to read and write, and finding it more difficult to be the face and voice of the college, I stepped down as dean. My priorities changed: I wanted to use the time I had left focusing on writing and spending time with Mark and our nieces and nephews.
I became preoccupied with dying; having a degenerative brain disease will do that. For the previous Christmas, Mark had given me an electronic picture frame loaded with highlights of our life together: us with our nieces and nephews, us traveling with dear friends, me lecturing on stages large and small. Every time I glanced at it, I imagined the photos looping at my memorial service. I pictured my Facebook page as a "Remembering John Corvino" page. Mark and I met with our attorney to update our estate plan.
Still, my presumptive diagnosis of aphasia wasn't adding up: I wasn't having any difficulty recalling words or comprehending them. I wasn't having any cognitive difficulties. My writing and thinking were just fine. That's what was so frustrating about my speech difficulties: I knew what I wanted to say; I just had trouble getting the words out.
John Corvino with his sister Jennifer in Catania, Sicily.
Courtesy of John Corvino
— sign up for PEOPLE's free daily newsletter to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer, from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories.
That's when I sought out another neurologist — a specialist in neurodegenerative disorders — and received a more precise diagnosis: Primary Progressive Apraxia Of Speech (PPAOS), which is so rare the Association for Frontotemporal Degeneration website (theAFTD.org) doesn't even mention it (but they are updating their site to include it). That neurologist encouraged me to stop thinking of myself as having dementia and to replace the D in FTD with "Degeneration."
PPAOS is a motor-speech problem due to degeneration in the brain networks that coordinate the muscles for speaking. PPAOS affects fewer than 4 in 100,000 people, according to the National Institutes of Health, but it is often misdiagnosed, and likely underdiagnosed.
The refined diagnosis of PPAOS gave me answers — but not entirely welcome ones. Doctors cautioned me that neurodegenerative disorders are not stable: indeed, the "Primary" in "Primary Progressive Apraxia Of Speech" means that the speech difficulties were my first symptom — I may eventually have others due to the degeneration in my frontotemporal lobe — and the "Progressive" means that symptom is likely to worsen over time. ("Apraxia Of Speech" refers to difficulty planning the motor movements to produce speech, as distinct from a language or word-finding problem.)
Did I mention I once had a thriving public speaking career? I used to travel frequently for lectures and debates, mainly on LGBTQ equality and same-sex marriage. I have spoken at over 300 venues around the world — including Harvard, Cambridge, Princeton, and Cornell — and my YouTube channel has over 3.8 million views. This history is a double-edged sword: On the one hand, I'm grateful that when I had the gift of smooth speech, I used it to the fullest. I'm particularly grateful for the legacy I left on YouTube: I still get messages about videos I posted decades ago. On the other hand, PPAOS robbed me of something central to my identity.
The worst part about PPAOS, however, isn't the lost professional opportunities. The worst part is personal: talking is a skill most people take for granted; our primary means of connecting with others. I feel like a prisoner in my own thoughts: speaking is difficult, so I often don't. I worry that my silence comes across as cold, unfriendly, and distant. When I do speak, I worry that my halting cadence will lead people to suspect slow thinking.
Mark and John Corvino (center) with their nieces and nephews.
Courtesy of John Corvino
I spend my days toggling between gratitude for what I have, and bitterness about what I've lost. I am well-situated to face this disease: I have a good marriage and strong family support (although I have nagging grief that Mark got stuck with a "defective" husband). I have excellent health insurance through my university, and I can continue working: Moving forward, I'll teach asynchronous online courses, utilizing AI voice-cloning technology so that my written lectures will be read in "my" voice.
My writing remains unaffected by PPAOS; I've enjoyed focusing on that. I recently completed my book, The Other Side: A Moderate's Manifesto on How to Disagree, about public discourse across moral and political divides — forthcoming from Oxford University Press later this year. And I've begun work on a memoir. I never thought my life was interesting enough for a memoir, but for someone who had a meaningful public speaking career to develop a neurodegenerative disorder that targets speech — well, let's just say that I've found my "hook."
These days, I try to approach life with curiosity: curiosity about what life looks like lived in relative silence, curiosity about showing up differently than before, and, optimistically, curiosity about new research on treatments that can slow and even reverse the disease. In short, I'm still focused on making the most of the time I have left.
John Corvino, Ph.D., is professor of philosophy and former dean of the Irvin D. Reid Honors College at Wayne State University in Detroit. For more about PPAOS, visit the National Aphasia Association website or the Mayo Clinic website.
on People
Source: "AOL Entertainment"
Source: Entertainment
Published: January 30, 2026 at 12:45PM on Source: PRIME TIME
#ShowBiz#Sports#Celebrities#Lifestyle