How Veradene started

I am a man building a company that helps women in perimenopause and menopause feel like themselves again. People ask how that happened. Let me take you back to where this story started.

In 2023, just hours before I was scheduled to fly to Mexico for my cousin’s wedding, my mom told dad and me that she needed a new liver.

“Son, I might die from this.” She could barely speak between her tears and quivering lips. “The doctor said I need a new liver.” How? She has never had alcohol in her life.

The next year was grueling. Her belly and feet became plump with fluid. I took her to the emergency room two or three times a week for a draining procedure called paracentesis. Some sessions she could fill ten Coke bottles with yellow ascitic fluid. There were bouts of hepatic encephalopathy, which made her confused and angry. I haven’t drunk Coke since.

She lost so much weight and strength that it became difficult to recognize the woman who spent her life taking care of everyone and every rescue animal she met. I tried to help her while also continuing to work on my business.

One day I drove mom to USC Keck for her appointment and stepped into the parking lot to take a conference call about packaging design with our graphic designer, for a consumer product I was launching. I thought it would be a quick meeting. By the time I finished and returned, I had missed the meeting with her doctor. My mom had gone through it alone.

I kept thinking about why I had driven her there and how I had chosen to take another meeting. I couldn’t keep saying mom was my priority and then make a decision that left her sitting in the doctor’s office without me. So I stopped working and became mom’s full-time caregiver.

When people hear our story, they often describe my actions as those of a dutiful son, but I only wanted to reciprocate the unconditional love my mom shows me. Sure, I missed working. Entrepreneurship, creativity, the possibility of birthing something new and wonderful in the world: those things always make me feel alive. Giving them up took adjustment, even though I knew exactly where I wanted to be and who I wanted to be serving.

What good care looks like

During mom’s transplant journey, I witnessed firsthand how much the people caring for her mattered. From doctors and nurses to hospital volunteers, everyone supported the mission of keeping mom alive. When we went to the ER, the doctors coordinated with her regular transplant team. Their notes were consistent. I had a number I could call when something happened, and there was someone on the other end who knew our situation and what to do next. Mom was treated with respect whenever she was hospitalized. Her team was attentive and friendly. They followed through on what they said they would do. USC Keck was just on top of it, and when you are that frightened for someone you love, you notice all those details.

Some days mom was too sick to go to appointments, so we met with her medical team virtually. I didn’t know that was possible. I didn’t even know it was called telehealth. We sat together, me holding mom’s hand, and talked to a nurse or doctor who answered our questions and gave us comfort, all from her computer.

“What’s a hot flash?”

Mom is alive and thriving after her kidney and liver transplants. Oh, and she got a new hip too, but that’s another story. As she recovered, I started dancing again. I’m a competitive country two-step dancer, and at the local honky tonk (shoutout to the Cowboy Palace Saloon) some of my dance partners bring little fans they attach to a booth table. I assumed they were hot from dancing, until one day I finally asked and was educated: “I’m not just hot, Kabir. I’m having hot flashes!” I asked, “What’s a hot flash?”

The next morning I had breakfast with mom. I looked at her and remembered how we had seen no signs that her liver was failing. Then I kept thinking about my dance partner’s answer. I could twirl her, dip her, or flip her, and we would both be smiling, but our experience of the moment was wildly different. Here I was enjoying myself, unaware of what was silently happening inside my dance partner’s body.

I thought it was just awful that women could be struggling right there with me and I wouldn’t know. I wondered how many other women suffer with a smile, in quiet dignity, just getting through their days.

I began asking more questions of female friends and family. They couldn’t believe a man was so curious, and they began introducing me to other women. I started hearing about parts of women’s lives that hadn’t come up in the ordinary course of knowing them, sometimes for years.

One woman from our dance community told me about the fatigue and frozen shoulder she had been dealing with. I knew her as an energetic dancer and someone who has always been a pleasure to be around with her vivacious spirit. I told her I would never have guessed, and she said only a handful of people knew.

Another woman described paying for appointments where she had to retell her story to the same clinician every single time. When she eventually found a nurse practitioner she could trust, after four dismissive clinician visits no less, she complained there was never a quick response when she had questions.

Listening to her, I kept thinking about my mom’s wonderful team.

Building Veradene

My long-time friend Rolf stayed in touch during mom’s transplant journey and her recovery. We have been friends for decades, since we met in the undergraduate entrepreneurship program at USC. His encouragement meant a lot during the time I cared for mom. During one of our catch-up calls, he asked me what I took away from the experience and what I would do next. I told him about mom’s medical team, about those appointments from home, and how these conversations with women from my dance community were revealing the shortcomings of hormone care. As Rolf and I talked, we built the conviction, and the excitement, to build a solution for problems that more and more women in our lives were starting to experience.

Working on Veradene feels like living again. The familiar energy has returned. I’m listening, asking questions, and making something that helps people. After spending so long focused on getting my mom through each day, I have a way to use what we went through that does good in the world. It feels rewarding in a really personal way.

When we began deciding which clinicians Veradene would work with, I kept thinking about my mom’s team. They knew her history, coordinated with each other, and followed through. When we were frightened or unsure, I had a number I could call and a compassionate, empathetic human being on the other end who could help us understand what was happening. I want women coming to Veradene for help with perimenopause and menopause to be able to count on that kind of attention.

This is the story of how I became one of the few men in menopause.

Veradene is what came of it: evidence-led health information and clinician-led care focusing on women 40 to 60, from perimenopause through postmenopause. We started it in 2026, and we are building it for the long term.