Our Story
I was sick for almost three years before anyone could tell me why. It started not long after we moved into a rental house in 2021: sinus infections, hives, headaches, fatigue that never lifted. Test after test came back clean, and all I heard was that no one knew what was wrong. In December 2023 I started coughing and never stopped. What finally gave it away was travel. Days into a trip I'd feel fine, and within minutes of walking back through our front door my chest would tighten and the cough would return. We had the house tested in March 2024 and found water damage and mold.
By then my immune system had turned on my lungs. I ended up in the hospital that April, on oxygen around the clock, and they put me on high-dose steroids. We moved to Florida that June, and in August I landed in the ICU, where a pulmonologist finally stopped and asked the right question: what are we missing? The answer was a rare autoimmune disease called Churg-Strauss, now known as EGPA.
Surgery #2. I thought the worst was over.
What saved my lungs is what nearly killed me. I was on those steroids for months with almost no break, and they slowly broke down the tissue everywhere else. My colon perforated that September. I went into emergency surgery septic, with a surgeon who couldn't promise me what I'd wake up with. What followed was a colostomy, then an ileostomy, four more surgeries, a rehabilitation center, and learning to walk again with a walker after being an athlete my whole life.
The physical part was brutal. The lonely part was worse. We had been in Florida two months when I went into the ICU, and I didn't know a soul besides my husband Rex and our two kids. Rex and our daughter could only visit so often, and our son had just left for his freshman year of college. I used to joke that I got new friends every twelve hours when the nurses changed shifts. Looking around, I realized I wasn't the only one. So many patients, especially the older ones, had few visitors. Some had none at all. What I missed most in those rooms were my two golden retrievers.
Making Sure Mama's Okay
One Sunday morning over coffee, I told Rex I felt like I was supposed to do something with all of this. I said, do you know how happy I would have been if a golden retriever therapy dog had walked into my room? I would have been filled with joy, distracted from the loneliness and pain, even for 15 minutes. He said, maybe that's it. Maybe you're meant to bring people joy with a therapy dog. I started crying, because I knew immediately he was right. We started playing with names off my diagnosis. Autoimmune became auto, and Rex spelled it Otto. Our daughter Livi said the tagline should be “ottomatic joy.” That was the moment the Ottomatic Joy Foundation began.
Medical Supervisor Wallace
It took longer than we expected. Every time I thought I was ready, another surgery got in the way, and I kept asking why this was being delayed. Rex told me I was probably meant to add more to the story. We established the Ottomatic Joy Foundation on June 1, 2026. Otto was born on July 25, 2026, and he comes home in September. Our mission is to bring comfort and joy to anyone who needs it, one visit at a time. It begins with Otto, a golden retriever with a gift for showing up exactly when he's needed. It starts in hospitals and rehabilitation centers, the places I know firsthand, but it won't stop there. Nurses, doctors, first responders, hospice patients, veterans, schools. There's no limit to who needs a moment of joy.
Henry Missed His Mama
Kristin
Founder
Ottomatic Joy Foundation