It’s still difficult to talk about. But I feel I have to, because if sharing my story helps even one person avoid the pain I live with every day, then it’s worth it.
By the time you finish reading this, you’ll know exactly what to do in a choking emergency. Whether you’re at home, at school, in the workplace, or caring for someone in a nursing home, this could help you save a life.
Maybe even your own.
But first, let me tell you what happened.
It was an ordinary weeknight. We were sitting down for dinner, just like we had hundreds of times before. One moment my 4-year-old son Ethan was laughing, and the next, he wasn’t making a sound.
He wasn’t coughing. He wasn’t breathing. Just frozen with fear, staring at me.
I’m an E.R. nurse. I’ve trained for emergencies. I’ve coached others on how to handle them. So I jumped into action and started with back blows. When that didn’t work, I moved to abdominal thrusts. But I couldn’t get enough leverage. It wasn’t working.
My husband tried next. He’s strong. He followed the steps exactly. Still nothing. I was on the phone with 911, praying we still had time.
We didn’t.
Ethan died right there at the table. Surrounded by his family. While we took turns using every method we knew to save him.
There is nothing more painful than holding your child and knowing you couldn’t stop what was happening. Especially when you’re someone trained to save lives.
I thought I was prepared. I thought I would know exactly what to do. I thought I would be enough.
But I wasn’t.
For weeks I couldn’t sleep. I stopped answering calls. I couldn’t walk past the dinner table without breaking down. I replayed that moment over and over again. Wondering if I had missed something. If I had done something wrong. If there was something else I could have tried.
Eventually, I realized I couldn’t stay silent. I couldn’t bring Ethan back. But maybe I could help someone else keep their child safe.
So I began speaking at schools, offices, daycares, and nursing homes. I shared what I knew about choking hazards. I explained how to spot them, how to reduce the risk, and how to respond when every second counts.
And I kept teaching the same methods I used on Ethan. Back blows. Abdominal thrusts. The only tools I had at the time.
Even though they didn’t save my son.
“What happens when abdominal thrusts and back blows don’t work?”
For years, I didn’t have an answer. That question alone was enough to bring back everything I tried so hard to suppress.
But everything changed last year.
Today, I finally have an answer. You use LifeVac.
LifeVac is an anti-choking device designed to save someone when traditional methods fail. It creates powerful suction to pull the obstruction out of the airway—safely, quickly, and without needing special training.
I first learned about it from a doctor I work with in the E.R. He showed it to me during a shift, casually, like it was just another new tool.
I wish I could say I was excited. But the truth is, I felt sick. Angry. Because I knew, deep down, that if LifeVac had been in our home that night, Ethan might still be here.
It felt cruel. Unfair. Why didn’t I know about this before?
But then I learned the numbers. LifeVac had already saved over 4000 lives. And it was just beginning to reach families like mine.
That was the moment I decided I had a new mission.
If you’ve never heard of LifeVac, you need to. It’s the safety net I wish we’d had, and the one I now tell everyone about. Friends. Patients. Teachers. Caregivers. Parents.
Because when seconds matter, and the standard methods don’t work, LifeVac gives you one last chance.
And sometimes, that’s all it takes to save a life.
