Joy, the MOA
I write for life's most important moments.
Moments like these.
A smile without worry. A walk without fear. A hug that doesn’t hurt. The simple moments we often take for granted—until illness steals them from us. Along with our joie de vivre.
Joy may not be an endpoint in a clinical trial, but ultimately, it’s the outcome that matters most. If my writing can help expedite a diagnosis, facilitate access to care, or inspire someone to ask for help . . . anything that helps them rediscover moments of joy, I’ve succeeded.
They're my pride and joy.
And the reason my writing connects.
Fifteen years later and still smiling. Earned, moment by moment, despite (or because of) setbacks, surgeries, leaps of faith, and the kind of resilience that humbles you. As their father, the journey gave me more than perspective—it gave me purpose—and the belief that joy is always worth fighting for.
When you’ve advocated for your children in the operating room, making your case in a boardroom feels surprisingly familiar.
Add the heavy-duty, emotionally-charged conversations that happen in the family room
(see my LinkedIn profile) and you’re ready for anything. Because it turns out that raising two medically complex special needs children is excellent training for a career in healthcare communications. The stakes are different, but the pressure, need for clarity,
and urgency are the same.
Combine that heart with real pharma rigor, and you’ve got something people respond to.
Launches, messaging and positioning platforms, strategic and tactical planning, deciphering clinical data? Yeah, I’ve done that. Annotating claims then tagging and linking in Veeva? That too. Being a real partner with my colleagues and providing genuine leadership to my team? Ask them. Whether I’m speaking with patients or parents, providers or PRB, I bring the same purpose and precision I’ve learned to live by . . . along with a knack for finding joy in every moment.
Here’s a look at some of my most recent work . . .