Hi everyone,

I’m writing this on behalf of my wife.

If you know her, you know how much she pours into everything she loves—her art, her garden, her clients, and the people around her. What many don’t fully see is how much she pushes through, every single day, just to be able to show up for those things.

My wife lives with Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome, a condition that affects the strength and stability of her connective tissue. Over time, this has led to a serious complication called craniocervical instability.

In simple terms, the ligaments that are supposed to hold her head securely on her spine don’t do their job well enough. This creates instability at the base of her skull, which can put pressure on her brainstem—the part of the body responsible for essential functions like balance, coordination, and neurological communication.

I’ve watched this slowly take its toll.

There are days when standing still is difficult. Days when her vision shifts, her hearing changes, and the pressure in her head becomes overwhelming. And still—she keeps going.

What’s been hardest to witness is how much of her world has gotten smaller.

She used to love traveling, exploring, hiking, and spending long days in her garden. Her work preserving bouquets—something she built with so much passion—requires precision, focus, and physical endurance. All of those things have become harder. Some of them, at times, feel impossible for her.

Two years ago, she asked for help to travel to New Orleans to see Dr. Courseault. That support made a real difference, and we are both incredibly grateful.

But we’re not at the finish line yet.

To properly address the instability, she now needs to see Dr. Scott Rosa in New York, who specializes in this condition. There is also a strong possibility we will need to travel to Colorado to see Dr. Christopher Centeno for advanced regenerative treatment.

The challenge is that none of this is covered by insurance.

What is covered is a surgical fusion of her upper cervical spine (C1–C3). But that’s a major, irreversible surgery with significant risks—and not something we’re ready to jump into without first exploring every possible alternative.

So we’re asking for help.

We’ve set a goal of $10,000 to help cover travel, lodging, imaging, consultations, and potential treatment.

I know how hard it is for her to ask for this. Truthfully, it’s hard for me too. But I also know how much she wants to keep fighting—to get back to the things that make her feel like herself again.

If you’re able to donate, share, or simply keep us in your thoughts, it means more than we can say.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, and for being part of her support system.