On April 12, 2023, our world shifted in a way we never could have imagined. Connor, our energetic 20-month-old, began showing signs of what we assumed was a routine stomach bug. At the same time, our family was already adjusting to life with a
7-day-old newborn, and exhaustion blurred the line between worry and reassurance.
That morning, while attending his baby brother’s one-week checkup, Connor suddenly threw up in the doctor’s office and had a loose diaper. The pediatrician gently told us it was likely a stomach virus. We were sent home with instructions to focus on rest and hydration. It felt reasonable. Familiar. Manageable.
But as the day went on, Connor’s condition worsened.
By late afternoon, we noticed blood in his diaper.
Fear replaced uncertainty instantly. We contacted his pediatrician right away and were told to collect the next diaper as a stool sample and bring Connor in first thing the next morning. That night felt endless. Connor couldn’t keep anything down, and the bloody diarrhea continued without pause.
On April 13, we returned to the pediatrician, where they told us about a newer, rapid stool test that could return results within 24 hours instead of several days. Given how sick Connor looked, they moved quickly. Over the next day, his vomiting continued, and the bloody diarrhea never stopped.
By the afternoon of April 15, the call came.
Connor tested positive for Shiga toxin–producing E. coli (STEC), strain O157:H7. Because of the severity of this strain, doctors were immediately concerned about his kidneys. Arrangements were made to admit him to the emergency room for urgent labs and monitoring.
Once in the ER, Connor was placed on IV fluids right away. He was severely dehydrated. After just one round of bloodwork, doctors told us they were not comfortable keeping him there. His levels were too concerning. We were informed that a hospital in New Orleans—about 45 minutes away—had a pediatric nephrologist who wanted to oversee Connor’s care.
That night, Connor and my husband were transferred to Ochsner Hospital. I went home to stay with our newborn, torn in half by impossible choices no parent should have to make.
By late afternoon on April 15, Connor already had a urinary catheter placed to closely monitor output and a PICC line to manage the constant blood draws. He was officially diagnosed with
Hemolytic Uremic Syndrome (HUS) and confirmed to be in acute renal failure. As he was transferred to the Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, I made the drive to New Orleans, relying on my parents—who lived there—to care for the baby so I could be fully present for Connor.
That evening, when we entered the PICU, we were met by a line of doctors waiting for us. One by one, they introduced themselves as nurses prepared Connor for surgery to place a catheter in his neck for CRRT, a form of continuous dialysis. The nephrologist carefully explained what HUS was doing to Connor’s body and how CRRT would support his kidneys while they rested.
He told us something we clung to with everything we had: he believed Connor’s kidneys would recover. He didn’t know how long it would take—but he was hopeful. And that hope carried us.
In the early hours of April 16, Connor returned from surgery on a ventilator and connected to CRRT, receiving dialysis 24 hours a day. The ventilator was preventative, allowing his body to rest and focus on healing. Connor remained on it for eight days. There were moments when his blood pressure was difficult to control, but mercifully, there were no major complications.
Connor stayed on CRRT for nine full days before his kidneys began working on their own. When the dialysis machine began clotting and his urine output increased, doctors made the decision to pause dialysis and observe. By his tenth day in the PICU, Connor was producing urine at levels normal for a healthy toddler.
The following week focused on recovery—slowly weaning medications and beginning physical and occupational therapy to rebuild strength and movement lost during his illness.
After 19 days in the hospital, Connor was discharged—on our newborn’s one-month birthday. For nearly three weeks, our baby had lived with my mother in a hotel room connected to the hospital while my husband and I rotated shifts, doing everything we could to hold both children together in the middle of chaos.
On May 3, 2023, we finally returned home as a family of four.
Connor bounced back with a resilience that still amazes us. He returned to his normal routines, his laughter, his curiosity. He remained on blood pressure medication for a year, but in April 2024, one year later, doctors confirmed he had Stage 1 kidney function.
We will forever be grateful—for quick action, for skilled doctors, and for a second chance we never take for granted. Connor’s story is a reminder of how fragile life can be, and how powerful hope becomes when everything else falls away.