Yet Here We Are

If you had told me three years ago that I would be designing medical-adjacent products, working through patents, building a company, and sending bags to hospitals around the country, I would have laughed.

Yet here we are.

It's honestly wild to think about.

Three years ago, I was just a mom. A swim coach. A realtor. Someone trying to balance work, family, and the beautiful chaos of everyday life.

Then cancer entered our story.

One phone call changed everything.

Suddenly, I wasn't learning about open houses. I was learning about blood counts, chemotherapy protocols, ports, lumbar punctures, steroids, and survival.

Within hours of Parker's diagnosis, we were admitted to the hospital and thrown into a world we never wanted to be part of.

And like so many cancer families, life didn't stop.

There were still clients to help. Bills to pay. A newborn daughter to care for.

I found myself showing homes with Payton strapped to my chest. Bringing Parker to inspections. Taking phone calls from hospitals while negotiating contracts.

I became a medical mom and a working mom simultaneously.

I didn't know it then, but cancer wasn't just changing our present.

It was quietly changing our future.

About five months into treatment, Blina (Blinatumomab Is an I’mmunotherapy) became part of Parker's protocol. For those who don't know, Blina is delivered through continuous infusion, meaning Parker had to carry his medication with him 24 hours a day.

As I searched for solutions, I found nothing designed specifically for children.

Nothing that let kids move freely.

Nothing that let kids play comfortably.

Nothing that let kids feel like kids.

And I remember thinking:

"There has to be something better."

What I didn't realize was that I was about to create it.

Parker's Pak wasn't born because I wanted to start a business.

It was born because my son needed something that didn't exist.

The first goal was simple: help Parker.

That's it.

I wasn't thinking about manufacturing

.I wasn't thinking about patents.

I wasn't thinking about entrepreneurship.

I was thinking about my child.

But sometimes the things we create from our deepest pain become something bigger than ourselves.

One prototype became another.

One conversation became another.

One family became another.

And slowly, this thing that started on our kitchen table became real.

Today, Parker's Pak are helping families across the country.

They've been sent to children's hospitals, clinics, and families navigating some of the hardest moments of their lives.

Every time I see one on another child, it stops me in my tracks.

Because I know that family.

Maybe not personally.

But I know their fear.

I know the exhaustion.

I know the uncertainty.

I know the feeling of wanting to fix something that can't be fixed.

And I know how much the little things matter.

That's why this work feels so personal.

It's not really about the bags.

It's about the families.

It's about helping a child feel normal.

It's about helping a parent feel seen.

It's about taking one of the hardest experiences of our lives and turning it into something that makes another family's journey a little easier.

Cancer changed everything for us.

It changed how we see time.

How we see community.

How we see what truly matters.

But it also gave me something I never expected:

Purpose.

I would never choose this road.

I would never choose for Parker to have cancer.

But I am incredibly proud of what has grown from it.

Because if you had told me three years ago that one of the darkest moments of our lives would eventually allow us to help children and families all over the country...

I never would have believed you.

Yet here we are. ❤️