About

Why I do this.

It started at home — caring for an uncle, a grandmother, and my father after his surgery.

Nobody trained me for it. I learned by doing it, the way most families do, and I learned that the hardest part of caring for someone you love is almost never the medical part.

Someone told me it was a talent.

A nurse watching me move my father after his operation told me I was doing it well — that I had a talent worth studying. My father wanted me to. I went back to school and earned a Bachelor's degree in Health Sciences.

Then I spent years beside patients.

Through treatment. Through decline. Through the end, more than once, sitting with people whose families could not always be there. I learned what people are actually afraid of, and it is rarely the diagnosis. It is being a burden. It is losing their dignity in front of a stranger. It is not knowing who is going to walk through the door.

Then it was my turn.

I had surgeries of my own. And when it came time to go home, there was no one to take me — and you cannot be discharged alone. I had to find someone. I remember exactly how that felt.

I built this so that no one in this city has to answer that question by themselves.

If I'm going to take care of someone, I'm going to treat them like my own family.

That is not a slogan. It is the only standard I know how to work to, and it is why I am careful about the line between what I do and what I don't. I am not a nurse here. I am the person who shows up, who knows what to ask the doctor, who writes it down so your daughter in Houston knows what happened — and who treats your mother like an adult with a life, because that is what she is.