From Diagnosis to Strength: Navigating Thalassemia with Our Little Warrior

“It looks like your son will need blood transfusions... for life.”

It has been four years since the doctor said those words — gently, but firmly — and the ground beneath me shifted. I nodded like I understood, like I was ready to be the calm, collected mother I always hoped to be. But inside? I was unraveling faster than my laundry in the spin cycle.

To be fair, we knew the risk. Both my husband and I are thalassemia carriers, which meant we had a 25% chance of having a child with thalassemia major. But when you’re planning for a baby, those odds feel like just numbers on a brochure. Surely that wouldn’t happen to us, right?

Then came 2019.

My second son, still a toddler, started falling sick frequently — fevers, fatigue, little infections here and there. “He’s just building his immunity,” I told myself while Googling toddler flu remedies at 2 a.m. But the doctors began monitoring his hemoglobin count. It kept dropping — slowly, 0.01 here, another drop there — until the truth couldn’t hide anymore.

A blood test confirmed it: he had thalassemia.

In 2021, just before he turned three, he began his blood transfusion treatments. And let me tell you — nothing prepares you for watching your tiny, bubbly child lie still while a needle is inserted into his vein. For hours.

There were three major hurdles each visit:

1. The pre-transfusion blood draw (cue: tears and bribery with stickers).

2. Inserting and securing the needle in his vein — not easy when your patient is wiggly and full of opinions.

3. Lying there, still, for hours until the transfusion finished.

And to make things extra spicy, I was pregnant with baby number three.

Initially, my husband wanted to come with us, but we realized it wasn’t sustainable. Our eldest needed to get to school, and we had to manage our home like a tag team. So I went alone — pregnant belly, toddler in tow — learning how to pack snacks, distractions, and an emergency backup of patience.

And yet, through it all, something beautiful unfolded.

Our family became stronger. We learned to operate like a team. We learned how to hold space for one another without falling apart. Most importantly, I stopped viewing my child as fragile — because he’s not. He’s fierce. He’s brave. He’s my little superhero with veins of steel.

As parents, we often think our job is to shield our children. But I’ve learned it’s just as much about being strong for them. Not because they can’t handle life — but because they watch how we handle it.

Yes, there are days I cry in the shower. Days I want to curl up and disappear. But most of the time? I show up. With love. With strength. With snacks. (Always snacks.)

And if you're a parent navigating a thalassemia diagnosis — or just trying to stay sane through the chaos of motherhood — know this: you’re stronger than you think.

To strength, sweat, and showing up every day —

Finding power in motherhood and muscle