On Wednesday January 21, 2026, our 9-year-old son Lincoln started complaining of stomach pain. At first, it didn’t seem like anything out of the ordinary. But the next day, he developed diarrhea, and by that evening it had turned bloody.  As a parent, there is something deeply unsettling about seeing your child this way — you know something isn’t right, even if you can’t explain it yet.

On Friday January 23, we took him to our local emergency room, where they collected a stool sample and sent us home. Days passed, and we were never contacted with the results. I eventually checked his labs myself through the patient portal and saw that he had tested positive for Shiga toxin-producing E. coli.

We called our pediatrician’s office and informed the nurse, who reviewed his results. Even after seeing the lab confirmation, we were told to wait and make an appointment for Monday because the doctor was not in.

Over that weekend, Lincoln got worse. He became increasingly weak, pale, and lethargic. His energy disappeared, and his coloring began to change. I could see him turning yellow. We were watching our normally active, happy boy fade right in front of us, and something inside me knew we could not wait.

On Monday morning January 26, instead of waiting for the appointment, I took him back to the emergency room. That decision changed everything.

He was quickly transferred to Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital via ambulance, where we were told he had developed Hemolytic Uremic Syndrome. Hearing those words was terrifying. Everything moved fast from there.

One of the first things that happened when we arrived was that Lincoln was placed into a limited clinical trial being used at select hospitals, including Vanderbilt. The protocol focused on providing increased fluids early in the illness to help protect kidney function. They were on top of it immediately — as soon as we got to his room, they began the double fluid protocol.

As overwhelming as everything was, I didn’t feel fear in that moment — I felt grateful; truly grateful. I believe God placed us exactly where we needed to be, at the right hospital, at the right time, with access to something that could help him. I understood the potential benefits, and we were thankful to be part of something that could not only help Lincoln, but potentially help other children in the future.

Lincoln’s condition became critical. His kidneys began to fail. His blood counts dropped dangerously low. His platelet count fell to 8,000. He required multiple blood transfusions (I think five but I honestly lost count) and multiple rounds of dialysis as his body fought to recover. We started him on his NAC and vitamins as soon as they approved them to help his recovery be as successful as it could have been.

There were many nights I found myself at the foot of his bed, praying — praying for his life, for his healing, for strength for his father, and for the strength I needed to be strong for him… to be the advocate I needed to be for him…

As traumatic as this experience was, I truly don’t know how we would have made it through without our faith in God and the power of prayer. It carried us in the moments when we felt like we couldn’t carry ourselves.

There was one particularly frightening complication. One night, while he was sleeping, a rapid response team had to be called because fluid had built up in his lungs. An X-ray showed fluid in the lower parts of his lungs. This happened after a combination of events — he had received platelets and fluids, and during a necessary procedure to place his dialysis port, there was likely a miscommunication about how much fluid he had already received that day. It was a moment that reminded us just how fragile everything was. It reminded us WHY we were never going to leave his side. Looking back now I believe there were multiple days I forgot to even eat.

Lincoln’s dad went home to care for our daughter and I (his mother) lived in that hospital room for 18 days with my son. And during those 18 days, I never left his side.

As parents, we learned very quickly that we had to be more than just present — we had to be advocates.

I paid close attention to everything, asked questions constantly, and spoke up when something didn’t feel right. There were moments where medications were being continued that we had already questioned, and situations where we had to ask for adjustments to ensure Lincoln’s safety.

There were also moments when we were told he could eat freely, even though certain foods — especially those high in potassium — could have been harmful during his kidney recovery. That’s when we realized how important it was for us to stay closely involved in every part of his care, including nutrition. We became very intentional about what he was eating, choosing foods that would support healing and avoiding anything that might place additional strain on his body.

Because of our prior knowledge and experience with nutrition, we felt equipped to advocate for him in this area. But that also came with a heavy realization — if we hadn’t already had that background, we truly believe his recovery may not have been as strong. That’s something that has stayed with us. Hospitals do an incredible job at providing critical treatment, but there is a clear gap when it comes to supporting the body’s healing through proper nutrition.

During this time, we came to understand something that was both eye-opening and emotional — hospitals are designed for treatment, but true healing often happens beyond those walls. As grateful as we were for the care he received, we found ourselves longing to bring him home where his body could fully rest and recover.

At the same time, our hearts broke for the other children and families around us. Being surrounded by so many kids facing life-threatening illnesses gave us a perspective we will never forget.

We were incredibly grateful that the medical team listened when we spoke up and allowed us to take an active role in decision making for his nutritional needs. We also had the support of a trusted friend with a background in nutrition that helped guide us toward supportive options like NAC and carefully selected multivitamins for morning and night to support his recovery, which the doctors approved. Even though we didn’t see eye-to-eye on a few things, we also didn’t want to work against them.

This experience opened our eyes to how important it is for parents to trust their instincts and stay involved. No one knows your child better than you do.

During those long days in the hospital, I found myself searching for answers anywhere I could. I went to Facebook, looking for other parents who had walked this road before us. I wanted to give Lincoln the best possible chance at survival, so I joined groups of parents who had experienced HUS — some who were currently in the middle of it and others who had tragically lost their children to it.

Reading their stories was overwhelming. It was heartbreaking. And if I’m being honest, it terrified me.

But in the middle of that fear, someone directed me to a group called Parker’s Promise.

That connection became such a blessing to our family. From the moment we were connected, they reached out daily — checking on Lincoln, asking for updates, and walking alongside us through every step. They helped calm my fears in the middle of the storm and gave me guidance when I didn’t know what to do next. They shared things to watch for; ways to support his healing, and most importantly, they gave me peace when everything felt uncertain.

Their kindness, love, and support meant more than I can ever fully express. I am so grateful that Parker’s Promise exists for families going through something like this.

No parent should have to walk through something so terrifying alone, and because of Parker’s Promise, we didn’t have to.

We don’t know exactly where the infection came from. We cook at home most of the time and are very careful with what we eat. The only thing different during that time was that Lincoln had eaten a Sonic kids burger — something the rest of us did not share. While we can’t say for certain that was the source, it’s something we’ve had to wrestle with as parents.

Lincoln was discharged on Friday February 13, one day before Valentine’s Day. Walking out of the hospital was emotional in a completely different way — relief, gratitude, and also the realization that recovery was far from over. He came home weak, exhausted, and still healing.

Today, Lincoln is recovering. His kidneys are improving, his blood counts are rising, and we are beginning to see the same boy again we used to have. His comedy, quirkiness, and personality are all back. He still has moments where you can tell he’s thinking about what he went through, and sometimes he becomes overwhelmed in loud environments and needs quiet time to regulate.

This experience has taught us to trust our instincts and it showed us just how strong our son truly is. We are thankful for every step forward, every continued good lab result, and every moment we get to see Lincoln smile again.

I’ll be honest — as someone who has always leaned toward holistic and natural approaches to health, this experience was overwhelming in a way I wasn’t prepared for. I’ve always believed in supporting the body, nourishing it, and allowing it to heal naturally. But I also believe just as strongly in using those tools wisely.

One thing this experience reinforced for me is the importance of not reaching for every remedy in your apothecary without truly understanding what you’re dealing with. Even with natural herbs, tinctures, and vitamins, there is a time to pause, observe, and seek answers before taking action — especially with more serious or unknown illnesses.

This has always been the approach in our home, and I believe that because we were careful and intentional, we avoided doing anything that could have made his condition worse before he was admitted to the hospital.

I haven’t always had a great deal of trust in the medical system as a whole. But I do believe it has a time and a place, and this was absolutely one of those moments where hospital care was not just helpful — it was critical.

With HUS, there is no direct treatment — only supportive care. And that was one of the hardest parts to accept. We were told that his body had to go through this process… that it would likely get worse before it got better. As a parent, that is an incredibly difficult place to stand. You want to fix it. You want to intervene. You want to do something. And yet, so much of this was out of our hands.

It was humbling and, at times, terrifying to realize that even the natural methods I trusted couldn’t stop what was happening. Instead, we had to shift our mindset — from trying to “fix” things to supporting his body in every way we could while trusting the process, the care team, and ultimately, God.

We focused on what we could control — nutrition, advocating for him, staying present, and surrounding him with love and prayer. And while it wasn’t the path we would have chosen, it taught us a deeper understanding of both medicine and healing — that sometimes healing isn’t about stopping something immediately, but about walking through it and supporting the body until it comes out the other side.

If there is one thing I would want other parents — especially those who think like I do — to take from this, it’s this: this condition is serious, and it can escalate quickly. Knowledge truly is power. Knowing the signs, acting quickly, and not waiting when something feels wrong, not waiting for call-backs from doctors and being pro-active can make all the difference. There is a time and place for every approach to health, and in situations like this, timely medical care can be life-saving… and it was!

Above all, we give thanks to God for His grace, His protection, and the healing He has brought Lincoln through.

There were moments we truly didn’t know what the outcome would be, and we felt His presence carrying us every step of the way. We are incredibly grateful for the doctors and medical team who cared for Lincoln and used their knowledge and skill to help save his life.

We are also deeply thankful for Parker’s Promise, whose love, guidance, and daily support brought peace in the middle of the storm. And to our friends and family — your prayers, your visits, your messages, and your unwavering support meant more to us than we can ever fully express. We did not walk through this alone, and we will never forget that.