Sarah Stone

@sarah-stone-6 | contributor
Wife to an incredibly hardworking partner, raising our super hero son who lives life with FPIES and Neutropenia. Just a small town writer, telling our story - one day at a time.
Sarah Stone

The Moment I 'Go Blank' When My Child Has a Medical Procedure

There’s a moment when I hold my son, T, for his blood draws, before the countdown starts. Before the elastic band gets tied above his elbow. Before the nurse tries to make overly lighthearted conversation. There’s just a minute when I allow myself to feel guilty. I know what’s coming, and by now so does he. He’s already getting agitated and I can feel him start to pull on my sleeve. It’s a quick second before all hell breaks loose. Before the cold alcohol swab warns him what’s coming. My eyes flutter closed, and I retreat away from the room, the nurses, the tablet and the bright hospital lights. I sit there, in the recesses of my mind and let everything go blank. You see, you need to be the strong one. Even if you don’t want to be. You need to be the brave one, even if you feel the tears prick the corner of your eyes. You are the mother bear and the protector, even if you feel shattered. So I take a moment. Just a quick one. Because once the elastic is tight, the vein has been felt and the alcohol has been swiped, the countdown begins. And then there’s no turning back. Three. Two. One. We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here .

Sarah Stone

What I've Learned as the Mother of a Child With FPIES

Our FPIES diagnosis was a “curve bat” that finally settled me down. Just kidding — it opened up an entire new world of medical terms, symptom tracking and enough “poop pictures” for medical staff that would make your head spin. I wonder if you are thinking, “Lady, the phrase is ‘curve ball.’” No, not in this case. In this case it’s far more appropriate to say that FPIES is a giant wooden bat swung in my direction, and I definitely didn’t doge it in time. But I’ve learned that’s OK. Without FPIES, I wouldn’t have learned the entire process of digestion, how to appropriately decline any and all meal invitations, how to tear apart a food label faster than you can whip out Google and most importantly, to tell you in far too much detail what my son can currently (not) eat and why. The thing is, whether your child has a disability, high needs, is chronically ill or somewhere in between, the real lesson to take away is as parents we become their advocates. And in doing so, we tend to learn a lot of skills that could be otherwise seen as irrelevant. But they aren’t to me, or to any other mother who has had to go through the ringer to be told, “yes mama — you’re right.” If you ever get two allergy mamas in the same room and ask them for the top 10 cross-contaminated grocery store food items, you’ve got the WWE of the medical world. While some people might think this is not impressive, some of us think we’re pretty cool. Follow this journey at Motherhood Unhinged. We want to hear your story. Become a Mighty contributor here . Getty image by Ridofranz