What’s In A Smile?

This week Don will officially become the bionic man. Watch out Lee Majors, Don Horton is after you! After four weeks of healing, the surgical implants from Deep Brain Stimulation will all be connected.  Many have questions… How does it work? Will you immediately see the results? How long will it last? and What are the benefits?

Well, one of the gifts that we look forward to seeing the most… …. is his simple smile.

Hadley asked “why doesn’t dad smile when he sees me?”  I felt my heart brake into a million pieces right before her big hazel eyes.  I responded reassuringly “he smiles”.  She’s my debater, so I knew this wasn’t going to be over as quickly as I wanted and I desperately needed to put my heart back together in my chest. “Mom, when you pick me up you always smile and I know you’re happy to see me but dad doesn’t.”  “Oh honey”, trying to stall and put together my words to be able to communicate to a five year old child as to why it seems that way. “Your dad smiles when he sees you, when he thinks about you, when he watches you sleep at night and even when you are arguing with your sister.  It’s just that there is a part of his brain that makes it hard to show emotion. You just have to feel it.  When he looks at you, when he takes you for a walk, when he reaches for your hand, when he’s playing with you and when he kisses you goodnight.  You are the highlight of dads day! You are why he wakes up. You are why he breathes and you are why he won’t give up.”  She’s 5, so I know I can relate everything to a song.  I said “Hads you know the Bruno Mars song we always sing… Just the way you are?”  THATS EXACTLY how dad thinks about you.  To quote……

This might be one of the harder parts for me to explain. Parkinson‘s sufferers often lose the ability to control the facial and vocal muscles which allow them to convey a range of different emotions. Although they continue to have natural emotional responses, often, they cannot indicate them in the normal manner, by smiling or frowning or by raising or lowering their voice. Instead, their face appears expressionless.

SO… if THIS

plus (+)  THIS

Don Horton Wedding

EQUALS (=)  THIS

Hayes Horton and Hadley Horton – The Ultimate Smiles!

Then it will be a success!!

Stay Strong !

Stay Strong – Be Humble

A Duke Fan Forever

Team Sweeney

We currently reside in the south and in a triangular area of a state that has deep dividing “what team do you pull for?” lines. We’ve been associated with teams for all of our lives. Beginning from the ones we are born in to.  My first team was a family of 12.   We could actually field our own football team, with a substitution for injury to boot!  An Irish Catholic group whose heart and soul could stand close to any Notre Dame team. My father had a friend actually suit our family up. This gear was pre Adidas or Nike contracts. Our small frames and entire backs  were incased with the letters SWEENEY.  Now and then when we went on family excursions to Kings Island or Disney, we would proudly don our jerseys, making it easy for my parents to assess if a child had strayed from the flock.  My mother, who has in uncanny sense of preserving our childhood memories, recently “presented” me with my  jersey.  I was Lucky number 12.  Memories flood back now when I see my youngest wear it to sleep at night.  I am thankful to recollect my first official group.

Don – Indian Hill Jersey

Don has been a life long team member.  The first jersey number he can recall – 21.  His favorite number – 70.  He literally has played a role at every capacity a team member can be.  Father, player, coach, recruiter, husband, speaker, rookie team trainer, brother, statistician, water boy.  You name it.  He has been it as some point in his lifetime, from little league, Indian Hill, Wittenberg, Ohio University, UVA, Capital, Ohio State, Southern Illinois, New Mexico State, Boston College to NC State.  His hope is that whatever lives he touched during this process, they were positively influenced and changed.  At our wedding rehearsal dinner one of his  close friends and fellow team mate, Scott presented him with his basketball jersey.  It was from their alma matter Indian Hill, where they proudly took the Eastern Hills League by storm in basketball. They fondly reminisced about their playing time and the roles they played on and off the field in each others lives. Being a part of a team is special and those relationships formed generally last forever.  We hope our kids remember more of the process of being on a team than their stats.   As parents, we would rather our kids receive a good teammate or sportsmanship award than a MVP any day.

We all like to be on the winning team, or working feverishly to achieve that status.  In this profession many ethical and great leaders have been “cut loose” because their wins didn’t necessarily translate to victories that were seen on a score board.  When Don had made his mind up to go ahead with the deep brain stimulation surgery, we both felt the immediate need to evaluate our team.  Don had been seeing a neurologist at Duke that was recommended when we relocated to North Carolina.  He was fine.  I’m sure inundated with patient overload had caused our appointments to be short and for several phone calls and emails to be unreturned for days.  After asking a few questions about his surgical experience and knowledge with DBS, we decided, together, that our team needed new players.  Research ensued, phone calls placed and meetings / appointment set.  We decided that we needn’t search far. We had found the right facility.  We just needed 5 star rated players.  We came together for the first appointment, armed with a defense of questions that would take hours.  Don stated our intentions of assessing his candidacy for DBS and we were looking for the right person to lead this effort.  One of the keys would be,  if you were going to cut into his brain and body, we would need a little better response than what we had been receiving from the previous doctor.  It felt right from the moment we shook hands. Our defenses put at ease.  We confirmed what the best game plan and forms of communication would be and to date his attention has been amazing.  So great, that a veteran recovery nurse remarked out of surgery that she rarely sees surgeons examine their patients in recovery, but there was Dr. Turner – just checking in.  He has been the beacon of light we needed to make such a large decision and I’m glad were weren’t afraid to make an adjustment.

Having worked in athletics now for 30 years, we completely understand the word loyalty and dedication to a team and now a cause.  So, when someone has any question of what team we root for……. we will proudly claim Duke.  So, go Coach K!  Carry on Coach Cutcliffe and most importantly, thank you Dr. Turner and Duke Hospital for the first class care that we have received.  We couldn’t ask for a better team in a battle that isn’t just a season at a time but everyday of our lives.

The Sands of Time

I love design – reading about it, discussing it endlessly (my apologies to my friend Elizabeth), reviewing and tweaking mine, pinning my wish lists and dreaming of. I am a by nature a set designer. Everything in our home has meaning and some sort of attachment. Three years ago during the holiday season, on a trip to Anthropologie I stumbled upon a sand timer. It made me do a double take. A simple piece of beautiful handblown glass with silver crystal like sand sitting in the base. I had already checked out and then I inquired as to how many more were on hand. I only saw two. After checking the back for stock, they appeared with a total of 5. I declared I’d take all. This would be the gift to our closest friends that holiday season.

This hourglass piece, when I looked at it I didn’t just see something that was structurally beautiful or that just measured time. Some may see it as a conversation piece but I saw it as a meaningful listening tool. I had already visioned where it would live in our home. So as soon as I returned, it was placed in the living room or as my children call it, the meeting room. After school this is where I open mail and they decompress about the day they’ve conquered. Its our regrouping point. All uninterrupted by televisions or phones. We don’t spend much time in this room but it’s our sanctuary. Libby noticed it first and I explained the purpose of it. She flipped it over watching the sand for what seemed like a lengthy amount of time to transfer down through the glass channel into the bulbous end on the other side. She remarked how “cool” it was. I think she could have watched it forever, attempting to count each morsel of sand. I told the girls what my thought was for this new acquisition to our home. If any of us were ever happy, had a question, mad, sad, scared or just needed to be heard, this is the tool they would use to have the floor, uninterrupted. Our own pro-bono , free of fee therapy session. Just turn it over and start talking. You have until the sand reaches the bottom to speak your peace, deliver your news, plead your case or just be silly. With two girls I have always been focused on keeping the lines of communication open in our home. I assured them that if I were using it to speak my mind about something I was upset with them over – that by the time the last sand sliver had touched the bottom glass my anger would be gone and I would let it go. In theory, this sounds good and I attempt to maintain this commitment- but flashing forward to high school years- there may have to be an amendment to these rules! We have had a lot of fun with this. So much fun that Libby actually broke our first one. I think lots of truths have been spoken and more importantly heard. I treasure this small accessory.

The first holiday present I handed out that year was a couple of weeks early. My daughters best friends mother was fighting colon cancer at 39 valiantly. I placed a note in the box – stating what my hope for her family was. That all the hard moments would be gone by the time the sand had shifted sides. Unfortunately, she passed away a few months later. The rest I distributed to my closest girlfriends. Sharing with them a simple quote and a note about how clear I was on the importance of their friendship and how vivid I saw their roles in our life.

“The more sand that has escaped from the hourglass of our life, the clearer we should see through it.”-Niccolo Machiavelli

Preparing for Dons impending surgery, we have spent a lot more time in the “meeting room” and we are a little less formal about picking the hourglass up and turning it over to speak. That is of course, unless someone is in trouble…. As our truths have been spoken lately, I wish for the same note that I placed in Lisa’s box…. a hope that the sands are shifting.

A Childs Awareness of Disability

Sibling Love

Disability is a broad word.  We live with one. Parkinson’s. And by “we” I mean my husband who battles it everyday, myself and our two sweet children.  It means different things for both of them.  My oldest in someways is the lucky one. She has had many more care free experiences with Don prior to his diagnosis.  When I remember her childhood I have vivid images of Don pushing Libby in her Reebok jog stroller to parks in Boston. Going down, what seemed to be at the time, a huge slide in front of her just to catch her- not an easy feat for a 6 foot 4 man. Picking her up when she fell or tossing her in the air for a thrill.  Sitting on the floor playing Polly Pockets for hours. Trying to teach her golf, basketball and how to really throw a football-  “a girl with the proper grip will impress many people in life” he would say. We had four years of living in this relative bliss.  Then the diagnosis- which we thought didn’t REALLY apply to us.  His progression will be slow.  He’s in such great physical health. For the love of God, he works out everyday for two hours – sometimes a contention in our marriage.  Eats healthy.  If anyone could fight this it would be him.  It cant happen to us.  It will be a long time before the outward signs start to manifest.

Hadley Ellison- our spitfire

Then we had daughter number two. – a sure spitfire!  We made a conscious decision to have another child knowing that Don has Parkinson‘s.  Truth be told after his diagnosis I was even more driven to try to have a sibling for Libby.  I couldn’t bear the thought that an only child would have to endure the burden of the disease alone.  Hadley’s  life with her father has been great just in a different way. Any time she gets is appreciable and looked at as a gift.  Don plays Polly Pockets with her as well.  He’s interested in her basketball skills and wants her to learn the proper way of handling a football but the innocence of her youth seemed gone before she was born.  For all of us dealing with big issues, it sometimes seems unfair.  My 43 year old brain has difficulty dealing with Parkinson’s daily. What can this 5 year old be thinking?

Map of Disability

I don”t have a map for how I am to handle this with my children. Often I lay awake at night and second guess how I do, but the other night I was proud. My oldest recently went ice skating at night with a friend and her family.  She came home late.  I asked- “Was it fun?” “Yes mom -a blast!”  “I’m just really tired.  Can I go to bed?” I could tell there was something else on her mind.  Night is our “talking” time so I put the youngest to bed and then went to Libby’s room.  We started our chat… “What was the best part?” – a question I always ask to find the light in her eyes.  “Mom, a lady there fell.” I reassured her people fall all the time.  “No mom she REALLY fell. I think she broke her arm.”  Again reassuring her it will be alright.  I replayed a story that my mom had the same type of accident just on roller skates.  It landed her in a cast and time with a physical therapist. “MOM (clearly I was missing something) the ambulance was there and I think she had a disability.”  Stopped in my tracks I decided I needed to listen closely to the answers of the questions I was about to ask.  “How could you tell she had a disability?”  “Mom, I could just tell.”  “Did you see it happen?” “No.”  “Did you try to help?”  “No mom. I couldn’t and she didn’t have anyone there with her and it looked like it really hurt.” “Did you think she was scared?”  “She had to be. Mom, I’m scared.” “Scared about what?” “I’m afraid that something might happen to dad and we won’t be around.  No one should be alone mom.”

When my head hit the pillow that night I was dismayed about my inability to calm her fears because I cant promise her anything.  I can’t promise everything is going to be ok.  I can’t promise he wont fall.  I can’t promise I wont get sick- a questions she asks regularly.  I have no promises for what lies ahead for us.  We don’t know what will happen- we have to expect the unexpected. But I do know we can promise we will always be there for her dad.  I was  proud that my daughter understands that there are people who may stand out to her for different reasons in this world and that NO one should be alone in their fight.

Together Forever

Why I Admire Russell Wilson – The Last of Which Is Football

This Sunday there is an amazing NFL game on – The Seattle Seahawks vs The Washington Redskins. Both teams have incredible rookie quarterbacks with current ESPN passing stats impressively ahead of Tom Brady, Ben Roethlisberger, and Drew Brees.  Their unexpected success so early in their career is an inspiration, and they have already become huge role models among rising youth, but in a battle between Robert Griffin III and Russell Wilson, Russell will always get my vote for MVP.  All things Russell amaze me.  Not only does he have the ability to persistently conquer challenges and routinely dispel doubts from his critics, but on and off the field, he actively lives a life that makes him a player with a tremendous heart.  These qualities are awe-inspiring, and for him, they seem to come naturally, and we were lucky to get to know him as a young athlete at NCSU.

A lot of things happen in the locker room.  Its a place where men celebrate victories, lick their wounds, visualize their next game and make new promises to themselves.   It’s a place of camaraderie where boys build each other up to become men.  In these walls are the sounds of pep talks, prayers before and after a game, strategies on how to win, the boisterous howls of team spirit and determination when the coach delivers his pre game speech. I just know that whatever happens in this ultimate mans cave stays in the confine of those walls.  Afterwards, once the game is over and the crowd has dispersed, the room gets quieter.  During away games, it’s a scramble to get cleaned up, get back to the team plane, and get back home. And it was in this type of moment, in the hush of a locker room after all players and coaches had gone, that my husband had a real struggle with Parkinson’s.  He was unable to button his shirt.

So, there stood 2 men.  One was  Don – a 50 something year old man responsible for teaching his players to protect the quarterback. The other was Russell Wilson, the 20-something-year-old quarterback that my husband was supposed to protect.  I’m sure Russell was one of the last guys because he had just completed post game interviews.  In the boundaries of this locker room, is where common decency and humanity happened.  Unfortunately limited mobility is one of the side effects of Parkinson’s and Don had expended all his energy on the field. Unaware of Don’s disease, Russell, a player with tremendous heart saw his struggle and helped. He just walked over and helped Don get dressed.  Without speaking a word, a tremendous human being didn’t pass judgement, didn’t ask questions and more importantly didn’t walk out of the room without making sure all was good.

Russell, Girls and Friend Just Outside The Locker Room

When Don got home that night, he shared what had happened in the locker room.  He was embarrassed.  Yes, for the fact that he needed help, but more so for the fact that he was losing the ability to do the things that he took for granted.  That was early on in his disease where he, and truth be told we, had difficulty accepting some of the challenges that were ahead of us.  This was our wake-up call.  As he shared his concerns about getting into a situation like this again, inspiration hit, and I thought I could help him.   I’m not sure if Don ever thanked Russell, or if in a man’s world, that’s just something not spoken about.  However, I do remember personally giving Russell a letter of thanks from me.  In a football environment where struggles aren’t an everyday occurrence, Russell showed grace and humility.  The thank you was truly heartfelt because it’s difficult to express gratitude for something so personal.

our guest speaker… the bully?

In the off season of that year, Russell came to the rescue again.  I asked if he could come to my daughter’s school and speak to the students about bullying because I knew he would impart his wisdom, grace and first hand experience.  Without hesitation, he agreed to help out.  Obviously, the kids were enamored by his presence, but surprisingly it was what he shared that left the impression.  Russell admitted that he himself was a bully!  He talked about growing up and how he would target kids on the playground in attempt to acquire friends.  He then conveyed his turning point and how he now chooses to live his life.  The kids couldn’t get enough of him.  He was there to give a 30 minute lecture, but ended up staying and interacting with the kids for over an hour fielding questions on everything from his relationships with girls (he wasn’t married at the time), to God, to the music on his iPod and to the challenges of being a student athlete.   He was personable and kind and gave each of those 440 kids a once-in-a-lifetime experience.  Russell didn’t need to spend his down time doing this but somewhere I felt he was happy to have the platform.  Again, just a man living the life he speaks about.

My eldest daughter recently asked me in all seriousness, “How did Russell get a bowl named after him already?”  She just assumed that the Russell Athletic Bowl was named after him and not an apparel company.  When we watch Russell play, we see more than just a great athlete, or a stat with a story.  We see a remarkable human being that we know will have many things named after him one day.

Building Walls – The Offensive Line

Don Horton’s True Love- the Game of Football

Don has known he wanted to be in athletics his entire life.  At the earliest age of remembrance, he was geared up with some sort of ball, ready for action at anytime, blessed to live in an area and an era when pick-up games happened everyday, rain or shine, sleet or snow.  Those days in the open fields are some of his best memories.  His mother often tells the story that he could have followed in his father’s footsteps and became a surgeon.  She recalls a phone call that she received from a guidance counselor at his school.  “Don seems fascinated with this whole football thing. His test scores are very high and it is our recommendation that we steer him in another direction.”  She didn’t miss a beat.  Where some parents would concur and assist help in the matter, she declared that it was Don’s decision.  She has always empowered her children (and now grandchildren) with that same voice of choice – often asking them, “What would you like to do?”  And so, his love of the game persisted to grow and to flourish.  By the time I met Don, he was so fully entrenched that I had only one choice.  If I wanted our relationship to survive I too had to jump in.  It was an easy transition for me; a sister to 5 brothers (sandwiched right in between) who had me outside for countless hours as well, playing basketball, kickball or hotbox.  Somehow, I was always in the middle – never picked first among the boys, but I could hang and my competitive genes grew as well.  I’m actually not sure my parents can recall a basketball game that I didn’t foul out of.

Don and I met after a football game, one of his friends was dating one of mine.  He was coaching at the time at a division three school in Ohio; his alma matter- Wittenberg.  We commuted to see each other, and I, like his parents, never missed a game. Home or away- it was just what we did.  Many games were far and in small but beautiful rural towns.  Upon arriving, I would watch with pure amazement.  His ability to make split second decisions, encourage his players when they were down and to give everything he had everyday.  He rarely ever raised his voice.  He always said that if they didn’t know it by game time – screaming wouldn’t jog their memories.  I have always admired his strengths.  His quiet nature is humbling – he is never boastful.  He could always take any discussion down to the simplest of terms and navigate it gracefully.  His strengths just illuminate from within.  I was marrying the best man on this planet, but I was also sharing him with many others; a group of men called the offensive line.

He wanted to win – who doesn’t want to be successful – but he always chose to leave his imprint as his mentors, Dave Maurer, Ron Murphy and Tom O’Brien did with him.  The position he coached was always the most fascinating to me …. The Offensive Line.  This great massive group of men – 5 who stand to defend and protect on every play.  They rarely handle the ball, unless it’s fumbled.  They receive no accolades – silent warriors protecting a quarterback.  They act as a unit to be perfect – every snap so that the team has a chance for success.  They are big but have feet like ballet dancers. They are often the most feared and respected guys on the team.  And, within each of them, I see an amazing large heart that matches their physical appearance.

Bricks and Mortar- Jeremy Trueblood, Gosder Cherilus, Pat Ross, Josh Beekman, Ty Hall, Kevin Sheridan, James Marten, Tom Anevski

Brick and Mortar Of Our Team

Don has been surrounded by some of the best offensive lineman out there at every level.  I’ll brag a bit.  He was voted the second best offensive line coach in division one athletics ALL while he was coaching with Parkinson’s.  Around him a wall has been built – a wall of men that stand together, impermeable.  The courage these men demonstrate now to be associated with Don – in sickness or in health – is almost as strong as the vow I took some 19 years ago.  These men call him just to pick his brain, to say hi, to check on our children and share good and sad stories about their families that we’ve come to know.  These men are why I truly love football, and when these players became aware that Don is living with Parkinson’s, I have been brought to tears by how strong and supportive they have been.  Even when Don accepted a change in position, taking him off of the field, he still felt privileged to be surrounded by such fine athletes.    These athletes are, and always have been, the brick and mortar of our lives.

Our Starting Point. I have good news…. I have Parkinson’s Disease!

When I married at the tender age of 24, my mom had told me that the things that will shake your foundation will come at the least likely of times. Ours happened on a random Tuesday morning when the sun is shining and the world was still looking bright. That’s exactly how I remember the day that I got the phone call from my husband relaying the news of his latest doctor’s visit. On this perfectly great Tuesday, I was in the car listening to a Laurie Berkner CD, driving our three year old to an art class. Nothing strange, just Don calling, much like clockwork, at 11:30 sharp. The funny thing is, that when he called, he said, “I have good news. I have Parkinson’s Disease.” Literally, I stopped in my tracks, and asked, “this is good news?”, and he responded, “Yes, Dr. Hayes said there will be a cure in our lifetime.” And, just like that, life resumed. He went back to work as a college football coach at Boston College, and I went about my day. But, despite the “good news”, questions began to form. Within a few hours, panic set in. What did this mean? How would we cope? We have a three year old and are trying desperately for another child to complete our brood…

We reconvened at home that evening. Both of us were separately searching the internet for answers, and both of us were at a loss for words. Which, is not unlike Don and his quiet reflective nature but definitely unlike me who feels compelled to be heard. I’m sure that is a product of being raised in a family of eleven siblings. Phone calls to were then made… disbelief ensued… second opinions were urged…. and later a lengthy denial persisted. Never in motion was a written plan of attack ever drafted, but in the quiet of our own home, we often discussed the strategy of how we would handle this information.

Unfortunately, in the athletic world there are no signs of weakness allowed (that are actually made known out loud); that’s the law of the jungle. The weak are discarded. Only the strong survive. So, after much thought and consultation, our plan was that we would tell immediate family only, and Don’s boss, head coach, former marine, and well respected friend, Tom O’Brien. Though I wasn’t there the day this discussion happened, Don has told me that it was short and sweet and no time for concern.

Shortly after the diagnosis, Don’s commitments with Coach O’Brien brought us to Raleigh, North Carolina. We would be soon be discovering a new environment, great challenges professionally, and a very odd beginning to new friendships. You see, it’s not often that you have to explain why your husband may speak softly, freeze in a chair, or not be able to move his left hand to someone that you’ve never met. Though I don’t believe that you should feel the need to explain, we were now in the South where everyone knows everybody’s business. And as a result, we secluded ourselves and became a much stronger family unit. Despite the change in lifestyle, we were happy, and had a new daughter in the mix.

In the midst of a relentless coaching battle to improve a new program at NC State, Don started to show outward signs of his disease. The hours of a coach are grueling, and I truly mean giving 24 hours of one’s self to not only to better the program, but, more importantly, to the development of its young men. But this was his passion, and he was becoming frustrated by the lack of movement his body was beginning to trap him in. I recall the night he came home after a game, and I’m not sure if they won or loss, but I’m SURE he can recall that fact. I was sitting at my computer and he said to my back, “…hard day today”. I replied something sarcastic, like “what was your offensive line thinking”, or “how many sacks were given up?” He said, “no…hard day today”. I knew better than to turn around. In the 3 ½ years since he was diagnosed, we had never discussed his difficult days with Parkinson’s because neither of us would actually give in. I just asked what happened. He said, “I was stuck, stuck in the locker room, and I couldn’t button my shirt.” I remained silent. He told me that Russell Wilson had helped him. Then very slowly and he told me in defeat that a player had to help him get dressed so that he could catch the team plane. I stood up, not addressing the difficulty, and said, “That’s just the kind of person Russell is, Don”. I knew that he was feeling a lack of control, a bit of embarrassment and humility, so to soften the blow, I said, “If anyone understood, it was Russell.”

This conversation churned over and over in my mind. I felt desperate to help him and his situation. How could I ease the burden of the simple task of getting dressed? I spent hours online searching for a solution – surely there were options in menswear. I saw Velcro dress shirts and had them FedEx’d in time for his next trip. Upon receiving them, I was disappointed by their quality. I noticed how thin they were and knew that they would only last a few dry cleanings. I also saw he would still need his dexterity to line it up properly. Then the wheels started spinning, and I had an epiphany – Magnets – why not put magnets on the inside – they would line up independently and I could just convert the existing shirts that he already had. But, after tearing one apart I saw this wasn’t a possibility, the magnets slipped and needed to be sewn into a system. Back to the drawing board, but I knew that I was on the right track. I made a phone calls. I sketched my ideas, and I decided to order a few prototypes. Once the idea felt realistic, I told a few friends. It felt encouraging, and I was so optimistic, I actually flew down to Florida to present the idea to Shark Tank ready to jump in with both feet.

After being chosen as a finalist, I knew that I had a viable idea. I was asked to put together a video to bring to the taping. I shared this with a few friends, and within weeks, I had an investor (and dropped out of Shark Tank). And, long story short, that’s where we are today, finally launching MagnaReady, a magnetically infused dress shirt and the concept of stress free shirting. Obviously aimed at people with limited mobility (and not just the 5 million Parkinson’s sufferers but stroke victims, arthritis sufferers, wounded warriors, etc.), this product could be great for a number of other people (including nursing moms). It is truly our hope that until there is a cure, we can help people who struggle with their daily tasks live a little simpler and help restore a little dignity to their daily routine. After all, getting dressed shouldn’t be a stressful task – Living with a disability is hard enough…